Savane Sunrise with Glósóli

God speaks to each of us

2012-02-10T09:47:00.005Z

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks silently out of the night.

These words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

This thin place

2012-02-08T22:27:00.003Z

Water is my thin place. Where I'm reminded to take off my shoes because this is holy ground. Particularly the ocean; I can't help but look at the sea and see You.

- Savane (Am I that incredible?)

- Tofo (Where "I see all this and think of God" Such incredible beauty which existed for so long before anyone but you saw it.)

- Bracklesham Beach (You were dancing between me and James, inhabiting our words and the spaces between them.)

- Penarth (With Hannah, sitting on the big rock, thanking You for each other; with Karen, grateful to have someone else who looks at life like we do; with Jean, eating ice cream which tasted like toothpaste, discussing exploring the infinite abyss; and recently with Emily, relishing the time to take a breath.)

- The Taff (Escaping to sit on the bank. My first declared thin place.)

- Nautico's (Running the giant grains of sand through my fingers.)

- Barry Island (Sitting on the wall with Hannah, freezing cold and drinking coffee; two years later fighting to light chinese lanterns while she got engaged.)

- Sanya (Dancing with sparklers.)

- Roath Park (Talking honestly and deeply with Tim; talking honestly and deeply with Debs.)

- Mumbles (Enjoying the vapour, but knowing that it isn't the point.)

- The Bay (Reflecting with Hannah on You and life.)

- On the boat to Yangshuo (Hanski. Incredible. Beautiful. And Rick and Susan.)

- The Severn (In such deep conversation with Karen that the rain didn't make us turn back.)

I feel more whole just remembering.

A Moment In Time

2011-11-16T23:04:00.002Z

I wonder who you were,

Who you could have been.

‘I wonder who’s in there’, as River said;

Not an ‘is’ now, but a ‘was’.

But still there?

Ever there?

Now where?

I can’t be alone now.

Is that what you left me with

To remember you by?

Did you die so I could live?

The greatest love,

A wise man once said.

Do you love Him too?

Maybe you know Him

Better than I.

Question of Freedom

2011-10-23T21:43:00.005+01:00

Life is about discovering the right questions more than having the right answers.

- Richard Rohr

Of An Anxious Heart

2011-09-22T11:43:00.001+01:00

I’m discovering that I’m a lot more anxious than I thought I was. I thought I was one of those relaxed people, who didn’t really worry about things. That held things lightly, and danced through life. But I’m beginning to see that I’m not really like that. Maybe my outer bit that I want everyone else to see is, but my inner crazy seems to be a pretty anxious crazy.

I don’t remember always being this anxious; but at the moment I often find that I have a funny unsettled, anxious feeling that flits between my heart and my stomach. Sometimes when I’m trying to sleep I listen to my heart anxiously beating, beating quicker than I feel like it’s meant to.

Sometimes my anxious feeling seems attributable to something, often, I think, how tired I am and whether I’m going to be able to have enough energy for later or tomorrow. I have to make myself assess that I’m ok right now, and that if I stop feeling ok I can do something about it. Like go home and go to bed. That makes the funny feeling settle a bit. I also have to remind myself that it’s not the end of the world to be tired, even if it feels like it is. I can still cope, even if I’m tired.

Sometimes I get anxious about all the things I need to do or want to do. I have to make lists so my head can see that it is manageable and I won’t forget something. But then the anxious feeling combines with the guilty feeling about not having done the things I was meant to have already done (like go to the opticians to get a receipt for my glasses which I lost (yes, both the receipt and the glasses) so I can claim on my parents’ insurance to get some new ones (glasses, not a receipt).

Sometimes I don’t know why I’m anxious. But I know praying makes me less anxious. Maybe that’s why I’m more anxious lately, because I’ve not been praying so much. I’ve kind of forgotten how to pray. Which feels like that weirdest thing in the world to say, because I used to be such a prayey person. And, you know, prayer’s just prayer: you just talk to God, kind of natter away and process life with Him. Sometimes it’s an active sit-down-and-pray kind of prayer, and sometimes it’s prayer when you don’t even consciously acknowledge that it’s prayer. Like when you’re having one of those conversations with a good friend, and there’s so much more than words going on between you, when you realise that there's an aspect of the divine in your conversation, that God is joining in too.

I don’t know how to do the sit-down-and-pray bit anymore. I don’t like treating God like Santa, asking him for all the stuff I want. I want prayer to be so much more than that. I want to be sharing my life with God, for Him to impart Himself into me so I can carry my friends to Him, without even consciously doing so, and without them necessarily realising it. I want to be whole; when I don’t connect with God, I don’t feel anchored. I feel anxious.

I think that’s a prayer.

The Gospel According to Helena

2011-06-03T09:36:00.013+01:00

Damn
She loves to write
She knows she may not even be that good
What does it mean when somebody
Loves to do something
So much
She
Doesn't care
Whether or not
It makes any sense to the world

What does it mean when somebody
Does something just because
It makes her feel more alive

What does it mean when somebody
Does something just because
It opens her eyes

What does it mean when somebody
Does something just because
She's missing God

And knows she always will.

- Linford Detweiler. My new favourite poet.

Praise

2011-05-30T18:38:00.011+01:00

I cannot say it with mere words

Convincingly

I sing it with the life I live

Unflinchingly.

- Linford Detweiler

When There Are No Words

2011-05-29T17:26:00.003+01:00

There aren't any easy answers. There simply aren't. My usual answer when I'm thinking about something big is to read a book on it. But however many books I read on suffering and prayer, kids will still die of cancer. I'm still going to go into the hospital on Tuesday morning. and short of a miracle (God, I'm not sure if it's already too late now, but, I tentatively still ask. Please.), news will await me that two patients died this weekend. Two girls, one 9 months, one 12 years old; both there, and then both... not.

It's not an intellectual question - I'm not sure if it even is a question, if it has words. It's a wrenching pull on the inside of me, too deep for words, too deep for reasoning, for books, for intellect.

If I can find God here, in this brokenness, where there aren't intellectual arguments I can hide behind, I'll be able to find Him anywhere. If I can see Him in this, I'll be able to see Him everywhere. If I can find His relentless hope, His peace that passes understanding, and, dare I say it, His life here, there will be nowhere I can't find them. To find "strength for today and hope for tomorrow," like manna, fresh each morning, and just enough for that day.

It's not about me though - it's about these families, families who will wake up every day with the emptiness of having a daughter that's not there. The grief never goes away, they say, but it just becomes a constant companion you learn to live with, with whom you spend your whole life. How can they do it without You, God? Where can they direct everything they feel, if not at the One who's safest to express anything to? I trust that You're there even when they don't acknowledge You. Trusting You and believing in You in this awakens soul-wrenching, world-view shaking questions, to which, it seems, there are no answers. But doing it without You? It would be hopeless.

In Lamentations, when everything is falling apart, the writer "calls to mind" God's great love, His "compassions...new every morning", His faithfulness. These things have to be called to mind, they don't come naturally, it's a choice to believe it. I'm trying to call it to mind, and most of the time it works. But when it falters a little, I'm glad I have friends who stand with me, friends who believe it enough for the both of us. Thank you.

Coming Back

2011-04-12T22:14:00.002+01:00

My friend Hannah wrote this poem, and I think it's beautiful.

The first time I ran away because you scared me

The second time because I was angry

And the third time because I needed to run.

I needed to run away so that I could come back to you.

Running away to walk back.

You let me run as far and as fast as I liked,

following me with your eyes.

The first time I ran without thinking

and you kept me safe.

The second time I pushed you away

and you told me it was ok to run.

The third time as I ran away

you already saw me walking back.

I thought that I was running straight

but you saw the circle.

You waited for me at the end.

But a circle has no end

Or perhaps a circle is all end.

You let me run because I needed to run.

When I was tired of running, I came home.

All You Can Do

2011-03-28T18:09:00.001+01:00

"Sometimes I think more scandalous questions revolve around the issue of healing than any other. God's arm is not too short, and yet somehow, somewhy, He holds back - not just from Kyle, but from millions of others. Doesn't God see? Doesn't God know? Doesn't God feel? Why doesn't He do something?

This question, this prayer, stirs my heart. As I've wrestled with God, I've discovered four words that have been like a balm to my weary soul:

Bring them to Me.

... This sacred echo brings a holy hush to my soul. I am reminded that some things are beyond understanding, but God does not leave me there. He invites me to run back to Him.

Bring them to Me.

These words take the focus off the pain, the horror and the loss, and invite me to shift my focus back to Jesus. He is the one I am to turn to and rely on. After all, He is the only one strong enough to carry any of us through. When Jesus is at the forefront of my mind and heart, I am in a better place to pray, to serve, and to be a voice of healing and life.

In these moments when the heaviness of a situation and the pain that comes with living in a fallen world become too much, God echos,

Bring them to Me.

... My intellect tells me that this particular sacred echo raises too many theological questions wihtouth providing any answers. That makes me uncomfortable. Then, I begin to realise that the echo isn't speaking to my mind as much as to my heart. The words are a reminder that I never really know what's in someone's past or future. I may never really know what tragedy has befallen them or what's to come. I may never really know what causes someone's pain.

But I can still be a source of healing. I can still love. I can still pray. And I can still listen for the sacred echos, because during times of unexplainable loss and pain, the words of God are what get me through."

- Margaret Feinberg, The Sacred Echo.

Give It Away

2011-03-20T22:32:00.001Z

It's not my responsibility to fix people. I don't, apparently, have to be all things to all people. I don't have to make everything ok. It's not my job. My job is just to give what I've got; to offer what I can.

That's all my responsibility is: to give what I have. Giving generously, loving extravagantly, without agenda. But what is done with the gift is not my responsibility. I just need to take joy in the giving, and let that be enough.

I feel that working with broken people is what I want to do, what I've been created for, what brings me alive. But it's just my job to take joy in offering what I can, in living generously and loving extravagantly. I don't have to take responsibility for what comes next, for fixing them.

Wow, that's a weight off my shoulders.

Emphasis

2011-03-15T22:21:00.006Z

Death is promised to the bee who's sting protects the colony
Was it's life worth nothing more than honey for the queen?
Life is a branch and it is a dove, handcrafted by confusing love.
Sign language is our reply, when church bells make no sound.
In hollow towers and empty hives,
We craved sweetness with a fear of heights.
Was it all just a grain of sand in an hourglass?

The smartest thing I've ever learned is that
I don't have all the answers,
Just a little light to call my own.
Though it pales in comparison to the overarching shadows,
A speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow darkness whole.

Death is a cold, blindfolded kiss.
It is the finger pressed upon our lips.
It puts an unwanted emphasis on how we should have lived.
Life is a gorgeous, broken gift.
Six billion pieces waiting to be fixed.
Love letters that were never signed, sent to where we live.

But the sweetest thing I've ever heard is that
I don't have to have the answers,
Just a little light to call my own.
Though it pales in comparison to the overarching shadows,
A speck of light can reignite the sun and swallow darkness whole.

Be Here Now

2011-03-05T20:18:00.001Z

You might have worked out that I'm finding my work quite tough at the moment (for anyone that doesn't know, as part of my degree in Psychology, I'm doing a year-long placement with a Clinical Psychologist, working with children with cancer and their families). I struggle with the fact that these lovely kids have cancer, and that some of them are dying, and seeing how families' lives are thrown into turmoil at the point of diagnosis to never be the same again. I feel for the siblings of our patients, who suffer unseen, because no one has time for them anymore, even though they'd like to have. Siblings have nothing to show for their pain, which doesn't just go away when their brother or sister (hopefully) gets better. I struggle to see God in the hospital, yet I hope He inhabits the interactions I have.

I've found that recently I've been oscillating between two extremes. I see the need and run around trying to fix everyone. Then I see the need, get overwhelmed, and feel that I can't actually do anything about it, and get discouraged and don't see the point. Then I see the need and run around trying to fix everyone, and so on.

I've realised that I'm rarely here, focussing my attention on what I'm doing now. I don't focus on the patient that I'm with, as I'm worrying about all the other ones and what I'm going to do for them. I've noticed recently that I worry much more than I thought I did. About what's happening next, usually. Or even if I'm not worrying, I'm still thinking about other things. I'm living for the precious every-other-weekend that I get to spend with James, to the extent that even when I'm with him, I'm already looking forward to the next time. In short, I'm focussing on the future, and life's passing me by.

I've been trying in the last couple of weeks to be here now. To be fully in each conversation that I'm having, giving my all to the thing in front of me that needs my attention. When I remember to actually be here now, at the hospital I find that helps me to find a happier median between the two extremes; by focussing only on the need right in front of me, it helps me not to run around like a crazy person and not to lose hope. And fingers crossed, it means I can better help the person I'm with. At home, it means I'm more conscious about how I'm using my time, and am hopefully a better friend, as I try to give my complete attention to whomever I'm with.

Turns out really listening is pretty tiring.

The Sound Of Silence

2011-02-23T20:08:00.001Z

First
there is
   prayer
and where there is prayer
there may be
   miracles
but where miracles may not be
there are
   questions
and where there are questions
there may be
   silence
but silence may be
more than
   absence
silence
may be presence
   muted
silence
may not be nothing but
   something
to explore
defy accuse
   engage
and
this is
   prayer
and where there is prayer
there may yet be
miracles...

(A poem called Engaging The Silence by Pete Greig)

Oh God, Where Are You Now?

2011-02-22T17:41:00.002Z

There's a prayer I'm too scared to utter. And too scared not to.

What if I were to pray and nothing were to happen? What if I were to pray and something were? I can't cope with it either way. If one, how can You let an 11 year old boy die from a lump of cells in his head that just don't stop growing? Don't You care? If the other, how can You trust me with that responsibility? I don't want You to leave it to whether or not I mutter a few words. That's mental. And then what about the 10-year-old girl who seems to be forever balancing on the brink? And what about the "miracle baby" who's parents were told they couldn't have kids, who's still only tiny, so his skull isn't hard yet. So his whole head will swell as his tumour grows. Where were You when the little 4-year-old boy who made the train in the playroom died last October?

Where are You in this?

Six months ago I remember saying that perhaps You're in me, and that You're going into the hospital through my hands and feet. But how is that enough when children are dying?

I'm too scared to ask for it, and too scared not to.

Some comfort themselves saying that You're not powerful enough to change any of this even though You'd love to if You could. Others comfort themselves saying that although You could change it if You wanted, You don't care. I don't buy either, and so it doesn't fit. There's a tension here that's unresolved, like a piece of music in C finishing on an F. Except it's a whole lot less romantic.

Some say that it's not about this life anyway, that this is only transitory. But how can that make all this ok? This transitory seems to be going on for a very long time. The Long Now, I suppose. Still, I can't just decide not to care because one day we'll be sitting on fluffy clouds.

I guess "You are who You are, no matter where I am", but where I am is so broken. I know this isn't how it's meant to be. I asked You to break my heart for broken people. It seems You granted me that prayer. But it's breaking me.

Evaporated: an unedited, inarticulately honest prayer.

2011-01-27T17:16:00.003Z

God, I feel like my life is meaningless. And I guess that's what I listened to Rob Bell talking about this morning about Ecclesiastes - that the things of this world are meaningless...but You. I guess I'm expecting to feel fulfilled when I get married and have a job that does something. I'm feeling restless at the moment. I have been for a while, I guess, but I've been ignoring it. It's my Africa feeling - but I'm beginning to think that it's not about Africa. I don't want to organise my biennial trip to Africa and focus my energy, my dissatisfaction on that. It's not about that anymore. It's a feeling that there must be more. That this can't be it. That something bigger must be happening and I want to be part of it. Not saving the Africans. And not the revival apparently going on the other side of town. Bigger. Transcendent across time and space and lives. It's all to do with that deep gnawing feeling in my stomach that I can't get rid of, that I keep talking about but not doing anything about.

I'm not even sure if beneath my gnawing there's an even deeper sense of You? I think they're kind of linked - my unrest with the world and my sense of You, of Other. But I don't think I'm letting myself focus on the Other. Which is making me lose hope. I've been ignoring everything. Hoping that all these feelings will go away and that I can just get on with life like my friends do. And perhaps the feelings have gone. But the emptiness and the pointlessness left is even worse. So I'm coming back. But I don't want to be a Super Christian. I'm not up for that. But I'm hopeful that there's a way that I can be passionate that feels like me.

I want my purpose to come from You. Otherwise i'll float through uni, get married and distract myself with marriage and sex and finding a job because I expected to feel complete and I won't.

Because everything is meaningless except You. Everything is like vapour. Except You.

But when I focus on You, the meaningless, the vapour, won't matter. I can enjoy it, but its meaninglessness won't matter, because it has no value in itself. I can enjoy it, but it's not about the vapour. It's about You.

But God, I'm not really sure how that will look. I know my life isn't right, but I'm not really sure how it needs to be. I don't know if it will look that different, on the outside at least. I think it's about a difference inside. I have to put You in the centre, to revolve around You. I wonder if it's coming back to aiming to do something intentionally focussed on You every day. I can't ignore this again. I can't just keep going how i am. Ignoring it leaves me with emptiness. So i need to embrace my unrest and act on it.

"Faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love."

I've lost these. As well as peace. My peace is gone. I used to have a peace deep within. It's gone. I'm beginning to embrace hope again... but... help. I can't carry on the way I am, but I can't go back to the way I was. I don't know where I'm going. But i've got a glimmer of hope.

So, I'm getting over myself. I'm admitting, again, that I can't do this life thing without You. I need You. I'm coming back. I'm choosing to revolve myself about You. Maybe then I'll be able to enjoy the vapour, because then it won't matter that it's all meaningless. Because it isn't the point.

Color Of The Fire

2011-01-11T17:36:00.010Z

I've been thinking about the wonderfully charismatic idea of being "on fire for God". Which I would really say that i haven't been for a while. I've kind of been ignoring the whole faith thing recently, i guess. I'm not really sure exactly how that happened, but it has. And except for a slight gnawing feeling in my soul which i try to ignore, i haven't really noticed. Life has just kind of carried on. Christmas happened, and it was lovely. The mixed blessing of my dissatisfaction with Christmas wasn't there this year, it's had enough time to wear off. It meant Christmas was very happy, but i'm not sure that's enough. Life has kind of been slipping past without me noticing. I wonder if that's due to me not really praying, because i think i process life when i pray (note to self: write about the psychology of prayer, i think it would be interesting. Other note to self: write more generally. It makes me think.)

But the gnawing deep inside that i'm missing something has continued. And i'm finally paying attention to it again. The apathy i've had has made me think about the opposite: of being "on fire for God". An idea that actually really scares me. Because i look at people who i perceive to be "on fire for God", and i don't want to be like them. I don't want to spend my Saturday mornings praying for another Welsh Revival. I don't want to offer healing on the streets of Cardiff or talk to my friends about their salvation, or update my facebook status about how much we need Christ. Some of that is due to some hesitations that i'm slowly working through (such as my discomfort with praying for healing because of the psychological damage when healing doesn't happen; that i can't cope with the brutality of the "Gospel"; my need to be accepted; and my preference to spend my saturday mornings sleeping), but even so, it doesn't feel like that would be me.

But i'm beginning to think that perhaps, just perhaps, i don't have to be like them. That God made me different, and that's ok. That i can be "on fire", but still be me. Maybe even more me than i am when i'm trying to ignore my soul's yearning for more. Passionate and still genuine, passionate and still thinking. Passionate about God, and not that gooey feeling inside you get when the lights are down low and the music's right.

So what does being "on fire" look like for me? I think part of it is the deep seated feeling within me that this isn't how it's meant to be. That kids aren't meant to get cancer, that old people aren't meant to get dementia, that marriages aren't meant to break up, that 10% of the population aren't meant to use 90% of the world's resources (or whatever the statistic is), that war isn't meant to happen, that leaders aren't meant to be corrupt. A holy dissatisfaction with the way things are, i think i've heard it called, or a righteous anger.

I think a few years ago, i'd have attributed this to a hunger for heaven. And yeah, maybe it is. But, if i'm honest, i don't really like thinking about heaven; i can't really cope with the whole heaven/hell thing. And anyway, i don't want to just accept that this is how it is, and sit and wait for heaven; telling people that they should become Christians so they can sit and wait for heaven too. I want to change the world. And happily, i'm still young and naive enough to think that i can. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do (thanks Jack Kerouac).

But how can i change the world? Well, on my more dissatisfied days, i want to go back and work for Oasis in Moz (because i did so much there?), or my latest dream is becoming an Invisible Children roadie, and traveling across America for a few months. But, although i'm getting itchy feet again, perhaps i don't have to get on a plane to change the world. Yeah, i can't stop children getting cancer, but i can help them through the treatment process. Perhaps i can't make the world leaders less corrupt, but maybe i can make my friends consider how they choose to live. Maybe i can let my righteous anger, my holy dissatisfaction, infect my life, and hope that in the process it infects the lives of those around me.

So maybe my fire looks a little different to nights spent praying for revival and days spent evangelising, but it certainly feels a lot more genuinely me.

I Don't Wanna Waste Your Time (with music you don't need)

2010-11-25T08:05:00.004Z

Last summer, around exam time, I worked and worked and worked and worked. The worst was the beautifully sunny day when I had an exam on Friday morning then on the Saturday (I know, Saturday!) morning. That day, I worked ‘til I couldn’t think properly. I’m not bragging. (Bragging would be telling you that I got a First last year… but that would also be lying). I’m just saying, I worked until I had no brain left. I couldn’t think. I felt like a shell of a person through my exam period, with knowledge so precariously placed in my head that if someone bumped into me it would all fall out.

And someone unintentionally challenged me by commenting in passing that they took a Sabbath. I’m sorry, a day off? In exam time? Come on. My file of notes that I still had to learn was *this* big, and my exams were imminent. I’d have been crazy to take a day off, it’d have been a complete waste of time. Right?

I’m not so sure anymore.

By taking a day off, I free myself to become me again, to be present. I can give my frazzled little brain a day off, in the knowledge that wasting time isn’t wasting time. It’s a time when I can be for the sake of being. Dance for the love of dancing. Sew for the joy of creating. Sit in Coffee One, enjoy a cappuccino with a pretty little pattern made by the frothy milk and the cocoa, and read whatever I feel like. Reading to enjoy the beauty of the words; letting the ideas they provoke float around my head without worrying about how it all fits together, and what’s the main point that’s being put across and what the implication is. Or to go to a Life Drawing class and be (perhaps foolishly, in hindsight) rather taken aback that the man we’re drawing is hilariously naked.

It’s time when I can remind myself that life isn’t about completing and achieving and becoming; that the point of life isn’t to get the best degree I can so I’ll be in good stead for applying for training to be a Psychologist (although that’s still a worthwhile aim). Life is happening now, and by focusing on setting myself up for life in the future, I’m missing now. And happily, by taking a day off, it refuels me to be able to do the rest of my week so much more effectively.

So I’m taking a Sabbath (although not necessarily on a Sunday). And filling it with life-giving things, things that “bring out the God-colours in the world” for me. Because on a Sabbath, I’m reminded that my worth is not based on my abilities and achievements, but based on being me. Being me when I’m just being.

(p.s., This is very easy for me to say this year while I’m on placement and I don’t actually have any psychology-related work to do out of 9-5 working hours. Please remind me of this resolution this time next year, when I’m entirely consumed with getting the best degree I can so as to put myself in the best position for the future.)

Little Droplets of Heaven

2010-11-09T22:19:00.002Z

Written by the inspiring Hannah Iqbal:

Reminders of the God glimmer like tiny sequins against the canvas of our ordinary lives. When we stop rushing around and look around us, we are sure to see that the kingdom of God is closer than we think.

In the gift of friendship; the way that a damp and forgotten house becomes a home, with friends entering and leaving daily, bringing with them stories of days that went well and ones that didn’t. In the way God equips us to get alongside one another; sharing fears and hopes and prayers, sometimes weeping, sometimes laughing. In shared meals, hot chocolates, cakes and cups of tea, where each conversation has the potential to reveal a little bit more of a friend’s soul. In the patient way, we are comforted by those who do not mind if we are tired or anxious or scared or irrationally grumpy.

It is through these things that we begin to realise that we do not need to be sorted or have it all figured out.

But instead that it is ok to be broken, to be tired and to be weak.

For there is beauty in imperfection. In our rough edges and our tired minds.

For, as it is written, your grace is sufficient and your power is made perfect in our weakness.

In this we learn that those parts of ourselves we would rather hideaway are instead of great worth. It is in our moments of brokenness and confusion, when we are too tired to get up and do it all over again that we fully realise and begin to accept our need for you. And as we come to you, offering ourselves like the weeping woman with the jar of perfume, we realise that we can use our broken messiness and vulnerability as part of our worship to you.

That you are a God of restoration, who transforms ashes into beauty; and uses these messy parts of us as precious threads in the rich and ever-expanding tapestry of our lives.

So Lord, when I am feeling overwhelmed by the weight of life, responsibilities, work, and situations, I pray that I would not to ignore the little droplets of heaven that surround me. I pray I wouldn’t walk by without noticing the beauty that surrounds me even on the most familiar pathways. Lord please help to lift my eyes above my everyday and see these pearls, these little glimmers of beauty and hope.

Signs that there is something beyond what i can see.

My Intellectual Box

2010-10-10T16:21:00.005+01:00

In a similar vein to how i like to keep God in my back pocket, i like God to be in a box. Quite a little box. In a safe place, not too close. Because if He's in a little box, then i can control Him. Because if He's in a box, if i think He's going to say something i don't want to hear, i can just put Him back in His little box and ignore the gnawing feeling inside. Because if God's in a safe little box, i can decide what God looks like and what God thinks, and so how my faith is realised.

My box is intellectual. Because intellectual is safe. Intellectual faith means i can emotionally disengage from God, because it's not personal anymore. It's about ideas and concepts, about the Kingdom of God here and now, about all the implications of Jesus' life and teaching that we've missed, about the poor and broken, about what the world might look like if we really loved other people the way God loves us. My box is about what we should do, what we should be, and how things could look. All very exciting things. But safe things. Hypothetical things. Things that i can hold at arm's length and critique.

But if i let God out of my safe little intellectual box it will change things. It could become personal. Maybe even emotional. Perhaps this little thing that i have with God might develop into more of a relationship. And if i let Him come too close, maybe He'll begin to change me. Maybe i'd have to listen to what He says, because i don't have a nice safe box to stuff Him back into anymore. I might even have to admit that God's bigger than me, that i can't control Him. I could have to acknowledge that faith has something to do with the supernatural, not just the intellectual.

This scares me. I'm so used to having it all together, to keeping control of things. I'm sitting in my comfort zone, but the gnawing feeling keeps coming back. There's a whisper in my ear that i'm missing something. Something life-giving and and freeing. But to be able to embrace it, i need to begin to take down my barriers and my safety nets. And doing that makes me vulnerable. I suppose have to trust that Mr. Beaver was right when he said that He's not safe, but He is good.

Ribbons, banners and bows.

2009-10-20T16:08:00.002+01:00

Not faster and cheaper

2009-10-16T13:24:00.003+01:00

What if we lived life without the emphasis on getting things done quickly and cheaply?

Take a minute. Slow down.

Notice the yellow leaf brightening the grey tarmac.

Enjoy the smile on a child's face.

Appreciate the beauty of the music you're listening to and the effort that went into it to produce it.

Savour the taste of your lunch.

Take joy in the little things.

I've searched for Gold

2009-03-11T18:36:00.005Z

I see Go(l)d so easily and so readily in beautiful things.

Recently i've seen God in some wonderful things, i'll tell you about a couple.
- Going to Penarth last Thursday and sitting on the rocks on the beach with Beautiful Hannah, sharing such a Godly moment as the sun went down, as we appreciated the beauty of where we were and our friendship.
- In the joy i find in being creative. I love that my creativity reflects God's creativity.
- In the people at my church, who i don't know really well, having only been going since November, but i feel such a part of the family there, with people who i feel genuinely care about me.

But equally, i haven't seen God in so many things recently. I'm so quick to judge people who i can find irritating, i don't see gold in them. I don't appreciate their incredible qualities. On a grumpy day, when my perspective is in the gutter rather than the stars, i see gold in nothing. I don't take joy in life, appreciating the innumerable beautiful things that are around me.

Years ago, i was challenged to look for gold in everyone, to imagine what God takes delight in specifically about them. And i do that so easily with the people i love, when i see obviously beautiful things. But sometimes the gold that has to be sought out is more beautiful than anything that can be stumbled upon.

Standing in the gutter

2009-02-10T16:39:00.004Z

When i'm tired, i get emotional. I get introspective (and not in a helpful reflective way). Above all, i get really rather selfish. My world loses any focus it may have had on anybody else, and zooms in on me. I lose all compassion i have for anyone else. Stupid little things become hugely important. I stand in the gutter and i see the crap floating around my feet.

And then i have a choice. Do i chose to just look to myself, to stress and complain, or do i chose to lift my gaze?

Thinking about this reminds me of what i heard someone point out about Joseph once. Genesis 40v6 "And when Joseph came to them (the cupbearer and baker), he saw that they were troubled". He saw that they were troubled. Joseph had been sold to slavery, accused of attempted rape and thrown into prison. And he noticed they were troubled. When i'm feeling down in the dumps, all my focus turns onto me. I don't notice if others look troubled. And i don't think that whatever's bothering me is worse than slavery and accusations of rape. Somehow.

To lift up my head, i have to remind myself to be grateful. To write a long list of what i'm grateful for. And at the moment the beginning of that list is:

- for the sunset happening outside my window through the trees.

- for beautiful Hannah. For a million things, but today, for her reminders of my need to lift my perspective and to connect with God.

- for wise Liz and the interesting things she makes me think about and the interesting ways she makes me think about them.

- for James, and the way he knows me so very well and still loves me so deeply.

- for my creativity.

- for the river in the park near where i live that i like to walk next to.

- for the opportunities i have.

- and most of all, for God and His patience when i forget and ignore and fail. I love that He's still got so much to teach me and doesn't give up.

It's by beginning to remind myself of everything i have to be grateful for that i can lift my head up and start to focus on God and from there focus on others. And with my focus on the right place, i can begin to base myself in Him, to see how He sees me and how he sees others. And from there, i can see when others around me are troubled, and love them because they are worth being loved.

Oscar Wilde put in beautifully: We're all standing in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

Inestimable Intrinsic Worth

2009-01-25T19:44:00.004Z

It's only come to my realisation within the last couple of months that some people might not think that people have intrinsic worth. I guess it's just something i've been brought up to believe, and most of the people around me have affirmed it. But now, with a new set of people around me - a new set of people who i love (dearly), but who are very different to people that i surrounded myself with in the past - i've begun to find out that not everyone assumes everyone else's (or even their own) worth as a person. Just because they are. No matter what.

And that changes how you feel about yourself. That means you have to earn your worth. You have to be good enough. And if you haven't achieved enough to be 'good enough' (for who?) then people can treat you how they want. You don't deserve being treated well, so you get yourself a string of guys that each treat you worse than the one before them until you can't even name one single thing you like about yourself even though you are actually trying to. You can't accept that it might be ok to be how you are, so you come so close to suicide that you know how you're going to do it. The only thing that stops you is seeing the effect of someone else's suicide on your own family. You can't be beautiful enough as you are, so you eat less and less and until you're taken to hospital and your thighs are the size of my wrists. You can't be good enough without proving yourself, so you work and work and work to get good enough grades and then realise your friends have moved on without you because you just weren't there. You can't be good enough without someone else's validation so you give yourself to random guys and get infections that make you feel even worse inside.

And that's just not believing in your own worth.

If you don't believe in others' worth, then if you're having a bad day, why not take it out on everyone else? If they have no worth without earning it, why not manipulate to get what you want? Why not bitch and gossip and bully? Why not kill those who have murdered and abort the inconvenient babies. Love and forgiveness seem out of place where intrinsic worth is not assumed. I guess that's why Jesus' teaching was so revolutionary. To love those who hadn't earned it - in fact to love those who deserved it the least. To love your enemies, to love the nobodies. That's why grace is so incredible, so beautiful and so undeserved.

We change when we see ourselves having this worth. This worth that doesn't go away if you cheat and lie and steal and rape and murder. This worth that's just there no matter what. If means we see ourselves as good enough. We don't have to prove ourselves. We won't let ourselves be treated badly because we know we're worth more than that. We just enjoy being us. And it shapes the way we treat others. If they're worth loving no matter what they've done, then you'll treat them that way. You won't get impatient in queues, you won't make catty remarks about the girl with too low a top and too much lipstick. You won't give up on people. You find ways to bond that don't include putting yourself down and gossiping about others.

You'll just love because people are worth loving.

Now, this isn't easy. It's not the easy way. The easy way is letting yourself be treated however anyone else wants. The easy way is going with the crowd, passing on that little titbit about him and her who had sex last night but she's meant to be seeing someone else. The easy way is, surprisingly, definitely easier. But easy's... well, easy. Easy's boring. Who wanted to do it the easy way anyway. Love people because they're worth it. Love yourself because you're worth it (as L'Oreal like us to know). Join the challenge. Love outrageously, love creatively, love extravagantly, but most of all, love people without agenda. Love them just because they are worth being loved.

This is what i started to learn when the sun rose on the 28th of February over Savane, whilst listening to Sigur Ros. I still haven't learned it properly. It's so easy to forget and so convenient not to apply. But i'm learning. And that's a fun process.

Icy New Year

2009-01-03T23:26:00.004Z

It was icy on New Years Eve.

Christmas time, mistletoe and wine

2008-12-23T00:07:00.002Z

Christmas. What does that mean to you? Family? Friends? Presents? Decorations? Stress? Stress working out exactly who is and who isn't going to give you a present, so you can be sure to have one ready when they present their's (this process. when perfected to an art, probably involves buying some rather ambiguous presents and taking them in the bottom of your bag when you go to see your friend, so you can whip them out in the event of a Present-Giving-Emergency (known to the accomplished at this simply as a PGE.)). Perhaps the stress of keeping everyone happy, making sure you spend enough time with everybody who's come home for Christmas to make them feel valued. Perhaps the stress of simply being 'home'. Perhaps the stress of organising all the food so it'll be "just right" on Christmas day, so we can all eat enough to make us feel so sick.

Having rather missed out on Christmas last year due to being in Mozambique - sitting on the beach with team-mates, while lovely, isn't Christmas, it's not sitting round a real coal fire with family. Although spending Christmas on the beach (and eating sausage sandwiches for Christmas lunch) is rather nice to gloat about in these single- (or minus-)figure temperatures, it wasn't Christmas. None of us could cope with the idea of spending Christmas away from home, so we simply pretended it wasn't: not buying each other gifts, or indeed even wishing each other a merry Christmas. - Anyway, having rather missed out on Christmas last year, Christmas this year is very exciting. But also kind of sickening.

My family (me included) enjoy good food and good wine. Thus, this year, we're celebrating Christmas with a seven-course meal and a ~£50 bottle of wine. Seven courses. Fifty pounds on a bottle of wine. One glass each, between the six of us that shall drink it. Fifty pounds? And that doesn't include the ham for breakfasts and pheasant on Christmas eve (admittedly given to us by he who hunted it, which distresses me rather less). And then there's the presents.

I don't mean, at all, to sound like i'm gloating. Lovely as all this shall be (except the ham. I don't like ham), it unsettles me. It's all very cliched, but hasn't the meaning got lost somewhere along the way? We're celebrating Jesus, apparently. Jesus, who hung out with the poor. Jesus who hung out with the destitute. Jesus who hung out with the messy. Jesus who hung out with the broken. Jesus who hung out with the hurting. And i'm hanging out with my happy family, feasting on a seven course meal 'till i feel sick. Sick with the injustice of it. Sick with the wrongness of it. Sick with our consumeristic, individualistic culture.

I almost cried in Tesco the other week. Me and friends (all 21 of us) were having a Christmas meal, so went to Tesco to do the shopping for it. I stood there, looking around me. Looking at all the unnecessary crap we buy to make Christmas Christmas. Looking at the shelves stuffed with all that food. I couldn't cope with it. I could have sat on floor and cried. But, of course, that wouldn't be appropriate. One cannot display negative emotion, no, not in Britain. The British stiff upper lip and all.

See, the thing i hate about it all, the thing i hate most of all, more than anything else, is that i'm just the same. I'm just the same. I'm certain i'll be feeling sick on Christmas day. I'm just scared that i'll be another one feeling sick from too much food rather than sick of the injustice.

A Second Stolen Post

2008-12-02T15:16:00.001Z

The rest of what Rich wrote...

I am violently passionate about the church. I believe, when functioning in it's true capacity (i.e. when Holy Spirit's in charge), the church is the most powerful, transformative and revolutionary organisation the world has ever seen. However, it does not take an expert in theology or a generously anointed prophet to see that there is something drastically wrong with the way we are just existing, lifeless, and powerless. I seek not to offend or cause strife but merely to raise some rarely asked questions about what we do and why. At times you may find my tone and choice of language inflammatory and hyperbolic. Drastic times call for drastic measures. Luke-warm Christianity is no different to atheism. Now is the time for the church to wake up, stand up and be counted among Jesus' allies. After all, if we're to spend eternity with Him we should probably start getting passionate about our lover.

_________________________________________

Gathering for what?

The words of Jesus are the most precious words ever spoken. They are the very words of life. He is the Word made flesh.

So I wonder, how many of Jesus' words were directions given to the church about how to handle meetings, services and gatherings? And yet, flipping it around, how much of our thinking, strategy and focus is geared towards improving the smoothness of our meetings, the quality of the music, the depth of the preaching and even the finery of our dress code.

There's a myth in the church that if we can professionalise the Gospel enough then we can convince people that it's the truth. In essence we're creating an atmosphere where salvation is built upon a polished sales performance rather than on the grace, truth and love of God Himself. Then, when the charismatic personalities fall into sin under the immense burdens of celebrity we put on them, we wonder why it shakes believers to the core, often ending in them renouncing the faith that was built on the strength of the individual rather than the body of Christ. Grace has been thrown out in favour of the yeast of the Pharisees, conforming new believers to a religion of church culture with it's own unique language and pseudo-morals.

The church was never meant to be a building to invite people to come in and be another bystander. The church was sent to go into the world, not to attract the world to itself. People do come, simply to find a place to belong and to find something to conform to so that they can feel normal. This is in no way a bad thing. Church is to be a safe place for people to fall apart – a hospital for the broken, breaking and desperate. However, I don't feel that the current model for church that is found across the world is the best environment for this to happen. Our congregations have become so big and impersonal that they get lost into the crowd rather than become part of the community that we all long and ache for. The activities of the church in many places have been boxed into spectator sport meetings that are little different to a gig or football match – everyone's watching the few skilled people do their thing whilst they blend into the blur. We try and mimic Holy Sprit's movement with hype, forsaking the value of honesty and openness with God. We're forced into the hypocrisy of being happy, smiley Christians; free from problems, sin and anything that could disrupt the nice atmosphere that pervades.

We are all made in the image of God, the triune being. Within our very design there is a longing and a need for the same sort of community that God has within himself. This is the most perfect relationship of love in existence. In the same way, Jesus said that we, the church would be known for our love for one another. We are one body.

I am thinking that what we need is a radical change in our mindsets to re-adopt the idea of church that Jesus intended and the early believers glimpsed. We need to be willing to lay down the prospect of personal fame and career success in the church, downsizing to expand. Rather than creating large crowds to get lost in we can provide accountable relationships, transparency and safety for the world's refugees. If we choose to divide up the mega-church into small, mustard seed communities we can work our way through neighbourhoods, bringing the Good news to people first hand rather than over a PA system. We can show the world, one person at a time that church is about love and demonstrate this with our actions. We can "act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with God" in a way that not only appears to be genuine but really is genuine. We can destroy the hypocrisy that enraged our Lord and has marred the image of his body over the centuries.

Celebrityism

As a result of our super-sized church, there's a growing tide of unhealthy celebrity worship in Christendom. As much as we need good role models, we build up individuals rather than community and then spit on them when they have the impudence to actually be human and struggle with sin. Our bitter disappointment is not at their tragic stumbling but with the realisation that the idols we'd made are not as divine as we'd hoped.

'Worship leaders' are a particular source of idolism in the church, often at no fault of their own. I bless and praise God for the beauty of creativity and freshness in our expressions of corporate worship. However, there is a delicate balance that ensures creativity is the means and not the object of our worship. So many times we have used and abused the good gifts of God and turned them into despicable golden calves. This is often not the fault of the worship leader; I've met so many people who're genuinely passionate about God receiving all the glory and yet the people around them seem bent on robbing them of the humility that defines their character. Instead, in a bid to salvage their true servant identity they are forced into a vicious cycle of self-deprecation, utterly unable to receive any form of encouragement or affirmation from God or man (ducking down to avoid the stone tablets aimed squarely at their head).

The reason is that we've allowed the world to shape the church rather than the church doing what it's supposed to do and change the world. A depraved culture of celebrity-ism has infected our body, projecting man's attention on man and not on God. Human beings are created for worship. It's as natural as breathing and yet the misdirection of our praise is and has been a fundamental source of sin and decay for thousands of years. We desperately need to allow God to regain our attention so that the unbridled passion of our worship is a response to His goodness and not dependant on the quality of the music. We need to realise that He's more hungry or our attention than we could ever imagine. He is jealous for our affections.

The true fundamentalists

Where is our heart for the poor? Where are the Mary Magdalene's in our meetings? Why have we built sub-cultures and insulated Christian ghettos that make a religion out of ignoring the words of Jesus? Where is the passion of the apostles, the fire of the Spirit and the urgency of the Gospel? Where are the true Christians?

I firmly believe that a true, 'fundamentalist' Christian is radically different to the gay-hating, gun-toting, racist, Islamaphobic creationists that currently occupy that definition. They don't rally around a few peripheral moral or doctrinal issues, viciously guarding the righteousness of their own pharisaic high horse. Instead of protecting their right-wing bubbles, they transform underprivileged communities and love people into the kingdom of God.

A true, fundamentalist Christian is the most loving person in the world, who, realising the enormous grace showered upon their own life is filled with that same grace for the outcasts, sinners and tax collectors of our day. They daily deny themselves for the sake of others and are violent lovers of peace, reconciliation and even their enemies. They are concerned foremost with the issues that break God's heart like justice, poverty and rescuing the lost. They have the extraordinary grace needed to forgive murderers, rapists, drug-dealers and sex traffickers. They choose life over death, knowing that to be pro-life is more than screaming condemnation at teenage girls whose bodies are victims of a sex-mad culture – they welcome the single mothers and adopt the unwanted babies into their own homes. They make time for the lonely, homes for the homeless, food for the hungry and clothes for the naked. They are not intimidated by the enormous task ahead, firm in their identity and secure in the knowledge that Father's hands are enough. They are a voice for the voiceless, parents to the orphans, defenders of the oppressed and lovers of the unlovely. They are champions of the righteousness won on the cross, knowing that they need not ostracise a fallen brother to protect their own reputation – instead being the loving arms to hold them whilst they climb back up from the dust. They do not cling to, defend or identify with religion that seeks to enslave, divide and segregate the world. Their stance towards Islam is 'I Sincerely Love All Muslims'. They have a peace that transcends understanding, with the power to silence disputes and comfort the distressed. They are the light of the world whose footsteps bring good news wherever they tread. They are not afraid to lose their comfortability, reputation, rights or even their life – they realise these things all died with Jesus on the cross. They know the "secret of being content". They live in the now, with the perspective of eternity in the corner of their eyes and in the deepest depths of their hearts. They are an alarm bell to a sleeping culture. They are world-shapers, history-makers and bondage breakers. For them, freedom is not an intangible, glorified virtue but a daily reality that's as natural as oxygen. They scorn racism, xenophobia, and nationalism, knowing that they too are strangers in this world. They are not afraid to get their hands dirty. Their eyes aren't afraid to cry. They know that "perfect love drives out all fear". Love is their purpose, their fuel, their weapon and their message. Their impact is big enough to shape cultures.

A true fundamentalist Christian is so in love with God that no matter the circumstances, their hearts continue to sing a ceaseless song of praise. What we need is true fundamentalists.

Once again, all credit to the very wise Rich.

A Stolen Post

2008-11-27T01:30:00.001Z

This post is completely stolen from my incredible friend Rich (he's not even a hypocrite. He's in Kenya living it out, previously Indonesia):

We’ve ousted God from the church, chasing Him away from our neatly set agendas and formulated programmes. We’re afraid he might turn up and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard to preserve. Meanwhile, the true Gospel lies buried beneath our million dollar buildings, built with the money that has been robbed from the poor. [Weekly offerings were originally collected so that the early church could feed the destitute and hungry. If anyone was without food they’d fast until there was enough for everyone to feast together as one body. Conversely, our offerings are taken to sustain the perpetual cycle of spectator sport meetings and roof the buildings that keep a tight lid on the spread of the gospel – Jesus wasn’t joking when he said that we, the body, are all temples of the Holy Spirit. It was a serious mistake to take the church out of the household community and put it into stone-cold museums, surrounded by morbid graveyards that scare off the lost.]

In other places He’s simply grown bored of being ignored and walked out the door to go and hang out with the homeless – we wonder why we don’t see Holy Spirit move in power when we ask Him to come and pleasure us in the safety of our buildings (some people call this spiritual masturbation – it feels good but bears no children [1]). We’ve forgotten that Holy Spirit came to be our witness to the world. We cry out to God to bless us and fill our bank accounts when really He’s trying to get our attention so He can use us to be a blessing to the poor. We’ve forgotten that Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive”. I wonder how many times we’ve cried out for a blessing and he’s provided plenty of opportunity to be blessed in giving to a stranger but we’re too busy expecting that the very same stranger is waiting to give something to us.

I’m increasingly wondering whether we’ve got the wrong idea of what it means to be blessed. I think the modern definition is often interchangeable with ‘God, make me really rich’. We have grown into a habit of measuring our relationship with God by the number of zeros on our statements and the size of the garages housing our status symbol cars. Friendship with God has been reduced to a financial stock market, where we invest into our church offerings purely in the hope that we will get good returns. We give to gain and hereby fuel our selfish nature. I’ve found it hard to reconcile these ideas with the words of Jesus, “Blessed are the poor…Blessed are you when people insult you…Blessed are those who mourn…” found in the most famous sermon of all time. It’s not that God doesn’t want to give us His good gifts but I think we need Him to renew our minds to see what a blessing really is. Does the Lord want us to view blessing in the light of the eternity that we stepped into when we died at the cross? After all, economic collapse, persecution and tragedy have proven in past to do wonders for the spread of the Gospel and the winning of souls. Or was Jesus’ command to “take up our cross” and “go into all the world making disciples” mistranslated from the original, ‘go into and copy the traditions of the world buying big, spacious houses with high walls to keep out the homeless, furnishing your church buildings with million dollar stained-glass windows so that you don’t have to bother loving and discipling people as they will be attracted to the comfortable pews by your get-rich quick schemes that bastardise my messages and make a mockery of my aching heart for the poor’. Somehow, I don’t think so.

[1] Shane Claiborne will have to forgive me for stealing a lot of his thoughts from 'Irresistable Revolution' - I believe the best 'Christian' book I've ever read.

All credit to Richy.

My Back Pocket God

2008-11-18T20:49:00.008Z

I like to keep God in my back pocket. Carry Him around with me and whip him out when it suits me. Say the odd thank you and more than the odd please. Put Him in my cosy little box and hope that i can make Him do what i want. Make Him follow me around and use Him to sort whatever predicament i find myself in.

But every now and then i get struck by His magnitude. It tends to be nature that does it for me. Mountains, sea, sky are the usuals. This incredible beauty that this incredible creative being made to enjoy. I thought about it when i was diving in Tofo. I swam around singing the Duke Special song lyric "i see my breath and think of God", cept i substituted 'my breath' for 'all this'. I loved it. And i loved that it had all been there, so amazingly beautiful for years and years and years before anyone dived to the depths, when only God could enjoy it.

It kind of puts me in perspective, you know. How can i keep God in my back pocket, getting Him out only to try to convince Him to follow my every whim and wish, when actually He made that? It makes me feel very little, sometimes. Which is definitely good, i get way too proud.

So maybe i should try swapping the roles in my head. Try to listen to Him and follow His ideas rather than try and make Him follow mine. Enjoy His company more, rather than seeing Him as a commodity, a genie in a bottle. Listen to Him a bit instead of blabbering on all day. It might make an interesting change in the way i view things.

What chess teaches boys about life.

2008-11-17T16:55:00.007Z

I'm reading a Don Miller book at the moment - To Own A Dragon, reflections on growing up without at father. It's aimed at guys who grown up without fathers really, and i don't tick either box, being female, and having the best dad a girl could ask for. But it's still Don Miller and who isn't a little bit in love with Don Miller?

He was talking about goals and aims, and it got me thinking. So i set myself some goals.

Today:

- get the little piece of paper out of one of the holes next to the "y" key on my keyboard.

- read about cross-generational and cross-cultural social conformity and obedience a little.

This week:

- read more about social conformity and obedience.

- make a really cool card for Tim The Jew. As opposed to Tim The Brother, although i'm sure he'd appreciate a card too.

- positively input into the people living around me. Particularly those two.

- catch up with Beth, Marina and Jen.

- catch up with God.

Before Christmas:

- work more. Or, at least, procrastinate less. Mostly procrastinate less.

- keep up with God. Learn more of what His love for me means so i can love others.

- love others. Practically, extravagantly, selflessly and most importantly, without agenda.

- learn a little bit about what the above actually might mean and look like.

- do some art.

- go on a taking-arty-photos trip.

- let people i appreciate know that i appreciate them.

Over the next year:

- more of everything i want to do before Christmas.

- go to the beach.

- go to Penarth and be reflective.

- get good results at the end of the year.

- read a lot of interesting books.

- see Wise Liz again.

- look back on the year and be happy with how i've spent my time.

- make more crazy plans with Beautiful Hannah. And possibly even implement some of them. Like going to Marrakesh and going to a convent for a weekend and standing in the middle of town and giving people a flower each.

- take arty pictures of Beautiful Hannah.

In Life: (the ones i dream about, some realistic, some desperately impractical)

- learn. About anything and everything.

- get married. Hopefully to him. And have beautiful children and fill them with love, just like my parents did.

- learn to play the piano properly. Then write songs. Not for anyone else particularly. Just for the love of it.

- learn to ballet dance.

- get a job that i love. That actually makes a difference. That doesn't just contribute to The Man (Damn the Man, save the Empire. (see Empire Records)).

- make Joss Whedon produce more Firefly. This one probably applies to the second category.

- open the coolest cafe in the world, with sofas and cool wallpaper and newspapers and possibly newspaper wallpaper, and a piano, and art evenings, and art on the walls and bagels and humous and books and friendly staff. A happy combination of Rueben's, A Shot In The Dark and Milgi's, only better than all three.

- write a book or two. One of them about the girl in her room. Keep an eye out.

- sell my cards more than just to my friends. Probably in the cafe.

- travel. Maybe even go back to Moz, back to Beira and Savane and Tofo.

- go diving again. Somewhere better than here.

And that's just one of the lessons that chess teaches boys about life, apparently. I don't really like chess. And i'm not a boy. So it's a bit of a stolen lesson. But it worked for me.

La Vie En Rose

2008-11-11T22:58:00.004Z

It's the age-old adage. The grass is greener on the other side. Whatever i don't have i need. Whatever i was doing then was definitely way better than whatever i'm doing now. But if i think back to then, was it really so good?

I've been thinking a lot about this time last year over the last couple of days. I was in Mozambique, i spent 6 months there. I remember today a year ago, a sunday, walking to the chapa stand, jumping over the puddles, discussing how we'd forgotten to remember the 2 minute silence. It made me really sad actually. I've been looking at photos, reading others' blogs, searching 'Beira' in google. I miss it, you know. I miss the 5 hour-long church services that everyone else turned up to an hour or two late, but the precious muzungu team got there for 9.30am each sunday. With numb bums and sweat-soaked clothes we sat, danced, sang, prayed and sweated through the meetings, some weeks with rather more enthusiasm than others. I miss the 20 minute treks to the chapa stand, with half of the church in tow, afterwards. Asking us if "Irma, you hungry/tired?" because that was all they could say in English (even after 6 months of English lessons!). I miss the torrential rain, and the day it rained so much that we actually put jumpers on when we got home and drank hot chocolate. Hot chocolate. I miss having so little to do, so much time to read, to think, to sit in Fat Belles and eat ice cream and bolos and drink galaos.

I miss it. Really? I spent hours thinking of home when i was in Beira. After a week, i'd started planning my first meal once i got home. It wasn't easy, Moz wasn't. It was lonely. Very lonely. I didn't enjoy a lot of it. I wasn't happy a lot of the time. Yes, i learnt a lot from it, and goodness me, yes, i'm glad i went. But would i hop back on a plane for another six months? Doubtful.

Africa is so romanticised. Every experience you have there must have been wonderful with the cute children, the women with babies on their backs, wrapped in bright capulanas, the men with their huge smiles. How can you come back and say that actually a lot of it wasn't that fun? I missed my precious possessions. I missed my expensive food and power shower. I missed my clothes, dear lord, how i missed nice clothes. It's so shallow you know. Sitting there, listening to my iPod, complaining about what i didn't have, of my fatigue and utter boredom. And yet Teresa hadn't eaten that day, she told me as she walked us to the chapa she couldn't afford to get onto, that we took back to our precious flat to our welcoming family with matapa already prepared for lunch.

How can i come back and explain that i'm so wrapped up in my western world that i found coping without my insulating comforts so hard. That i missed my friends, my family and him more than anything, that i don't really want to go back. I've got so used to telling people that "Mozambique was amazing, i loved it, i'd go back tomorrow if i could" that i've started to believing it myself. I'm looking back with rose-tinted glasses, seeing the good times and forgetting the bad. But I guess that's what memories are made of.

As Bell X1 say, really, the grass is only greener where it rains.

I Never Thought This Day Would Come (And Now It Won't Go Away)

2008-11-06T23:26:00.004Z

I never liked the idea of blogs. So self-centred. Why do i care what you're doing, what you're thinking. I would never have started a blog.

But then i started reading one or two, on the recommendation of Wise Liz (she's so wise), and i suddenly wanted to know what they were doing and thinking. And as well as having my nosey self satisfied for a moment, i was inspired. Inspired is such an overused word. It gets overused and then stops meaning so much. I wasn't inspired. That's too strong. I just liked the idea. I like the idea because writing makes me think. And i want to think more. Think about the big things, things i'm learning, things i don't have the answers to, things that i can't make sense of, things that don't fit. And hopefully, if i get into the habit of writing, i'll get into the habit of thinking. And thinking's good.

I'm sure you don't care what i'm doing, what i'm thinking. That's ok. Read one post and never come back. I'm good with that. Never come across this at all, let no one take a first glance, never mind a second, and that's fine too. I'm not writing because of you. But don't let that put you off.

Why Savane Sunrise with Glosoli? Because it's the most beautiful thing i've ever experienced. Not that i'm claiming that this blog is the most beautiful thing you or I will ever experience, mind you. But still, maybe i'll write about savane and sigur ros some time. It's important that i don't forget what it means to me.