I don't care like I used to

As I've been blogging a bit more recently, I have found myself wincing as I see the title and description on my page.  When I started this blog a few years ago I was full of fire.  I wrote of my travels and opinions, shared the punchlines of my talks and sermons and spouted forth my idealistic belief that the world would change and I could be part of it.  I've never wanted to be a famous activist or thought for a second it was down to me.  I simply saw the world and its inequality and had to say something.  Not acting wasn't a choice.  And trying to share the possibilities of transformation was the easiest thing I could do (most of the time).  I was one of life's driven people.

I started working in development early and the feedback I received inevitably included reflections on my passion.  There were the more mature folk who wished they were young again, as though it was inevitable that the dynamism fades with age.  I was encouraged not to lose it.  And I honestly thought I never would.

There are two streams of thought mooching about my mind.

First off, the clouds' most cruel trick is to rain so hard on the flames of 'caring about stuff'.  Forget inspiration and excitement, now it's difficult to dredge up the energy to be bothered about the most basic things.  It's heartbreaking. To have no motivation is bad enough, but to value yourself so little you don't seem worth looking after and lose the part of you that made you who you were is ... devastating.

I can log that under illness and deal with it as it comes.  In your face clouds.

However, it seems that growing older does mean you face a crossroads in caring.  As life and responsibility change priorities shift, that's inevitable.  I think you also face a choice though - 'that's the way the world is, get on with it and make the most of it' or 'the world can change but it's really complicated and unpopular to keep going on about it so I need to be sensible and relevant.'

I hope I can keep choosing the second option.  That said I am wondering whether the nature of being driven is something that changes anyway.  It's not like I don't care, I do.  The nature of my response is what has shifted.  From impulsive emotional charge and urgent ranting at the state of the world, in my lucid healthy seasons I'm experiencing passion in a new way.  Fortunately I don't feel like I have to work all hours of the day to be worthy, or to make sure I don't feel guilty for standing by while others suffer.  Thank you age for that one.

Instead of my heart impulsively shouting, it's like my soul is aching and my caring has crept into my deeper experiences.  And that means that I feel a lot of despair that the statistics aren't changing and the world simply isn't listening to the cries of so many.

It means I see the faces of those I've met in Africa in the faces of those struggling on my own doorstep.  It means I am so so angry at establishments who focus so much on surviving they forget their responsibility.  It means I have to choose regularly to be one of the unpopular folk who won't let go of the idea that life can be better for the majority.  I'm no longer driven by something that has conveniently given me my purpose.  I'm driven by the knowledge that I've seen too much to let go of hope.

My passion is coloured with feeling so useless sometimes and so it becomes stubborn determination.  My passion is angry a lot more than it used to be, it unashamedly begs and it lacks gloss.

I still got complimented on my passion this weekend.

Phew.

I feel useless

I received a lovely message from someone this week which used the phrase 'I feel useless' no less than 7 times.  Having read my blog, she wanted to write in empathy and support saying that in the midst of her clouds she knows she is unable to help others as she knows she should, and this feeds the feeling of worthlessness.

It got me thinking.  As much as I may want to embrace the dark times instead of writing them off, denying their existence in my history, the truth is that a lot of the time it's hard enough to look after myself let alone reach out to others.  It's a frustrating reality that depression makes you inward looking, peeking out into the world only to find things to wallop you over the head with.

It's not only those who are low that find it hard to be useful in our world.  Strong introverts, those with energy and pain fueled illnesses, agoraphobics and people who are just darned shy struggle to find their place in a loud, brash 'look at me volunteering and climbing a mountain for charity and organising a community event' world.

So I wrote a list.  I love a list. Because whatever the world or your mind or your circumstance is telling you, you are not useless.  You can offer so much, even seemingly simple things can make a world of difference - trust me, I'm a charity worker.

1.       Give to a food bank

They are all over the place, and all you need to do is look in your kitchen or buy a few extras (non perishable and in date goods) then drop them off.  You're meeting a very urgent need.  If you're feeling up to it you could even volunteer to help pack the boxes? 

2.       Smile at shop assistants

Not as easy as it sounds when you're itching to get out of there, exhausted simply by being in a shop.  But it is a really straightforward free way to spread a little cheer.  The more you smile, the more others will smile, and then you'll smile genuinely and something warm and fuzzy will enter your brain for a while (that's some science right there for you)

3.       Pay for a stranger’s coffee or road toll

It's a classic random act of kindness and totally overwhelmingly brilliant when you're on the receiving end.  If you're going for the drink option but you're feeling shy how about giving the cashier the price of a coffee and telling them to use for whoever orders one next.  Then you can run away feeling lovely.

4.       Write a thank you letter

Or facebook message, whatever medium you fancy.  But letters are totally retro cool and everyone enjoys post.  It doesn't matter what kind of thing you're grateful for or how much you say.  People don't say thank you enough.

5.       Compliment a stranger

On a few occasions someone has stopped me in the street or made a comment when coming out of a public bathroom about how much they love my shoes or dress.  Once someone came over to tell me I had excellent shoulders.  Without fail I have smiled and my mood has been lifted.  And I am quite pleased with my shoulders.

6.       Pick up someone else’s rubbish

Simple and sacrificial.  I had a long think about whether this should include other people's dog's poop.  It doesn't.  It shouldn't.

7.       Deliver a meal to someone who might appreciate it

Do you know someone who's just had a baby or an operation (or both)?  Or who's had a rough or busy time (or both)?  Whip up something or buy a bag of shopping and take it round.  If you're shaky you can leave it on the doorstep with a note.  Maybe ring the doorbell and jump behind a car and watch...?  Maybe not.

David Tenant on JustGiving

8.       Donate to a stranger’s Just Giving page

I've badgered my contacts many a time for sponsorship and believe me, even a pound is encouraging.  And the anonymous donations are special for some reason.

9.       Send an anonymous card of encouragement

Make or buy a card and put a simple quote or your own words telling someone they are doing ok.  Regardless of our situation, I think most of us need to hear it.

10.   Leave chocolates on someone’s doorstep

Oh I do love anonymous kindness and there is no way you won't make someone's day.  (Out of the sun, people, out of the sun.)

11.   Read the news

Sounds like a tangent but looking outwards, engaging in things which have no direct link to you, and caring about people you've never met, makes you a better person.  

12.   Offer to take a friend’s cardboard to the tip

Here at least, cardboard doesn't get collected and the recycling centre is a little drive away.  Saving someone that job is a such a help, and cuts down car journeys too.

13.   Take someone in public service a drink or snack

I think many of us can remember a time when we feel unappreciated... how about taking a box of chocolates to the council offices, offering the parking enforcement officer a coffee or sending the fire brigade a thank you card?

14.   Make a mixed tape for someone

A project is a most useful thing for starters.  But spending time thinking about what someone else would like is a great antidote to feeling sorry for yourself.  You can theme it: 'songs to drive to' or 'songs to let off steam after a long day at work'.  

15.   Buy a Big Issue

Self explanatory I should hope.

16.   Clean out your wardrobe and donate to a charity shop

Several birds with one stone.  Don't live with clutter, have a refresh and do a good deed.  And no birds will actually be harmed so a winner all round.  

17.   Become an organ donor

If you haven't already, please think about it (and you can do it without talking to anyone here).  Same with giving blood, you could save a life no less.  How are them 'I'm useless' voices doing now ay!?

18.   Leave some nice thoughts in public places and library books

If you're feeling crafty, or can write or use a printer... you could leave lovely messages or quotes for the general public to absorb and be encouraged by. (Keep it legal, natch). I love some positive inspiration when I'm in a public loo. 

19.   Do a bit of sofa campaigning

Avaaz

Be part of something bigger than yourself whenever you can and do your bit.  Lots of charities have petitions and actions to take, you can also start here: http://www.avaaz.org/en/  and https://www.change.org/en-GB

20.    I couldn't think of a 20th one but couldn't bring myself to stop at 19.  Too untidy.

So that's my list.  Easy to write, easier to read, potentially tricky to take on.  Whatever we each struggle with I know for a fact we can reach beyond our own situations.  And don't do yourself down when your friend is raising thousands for a marathon (they're downright mad for starters) while you put your name on a petition from your bed.  

Stop competing with everyone else.

Let's get on with doing what can, there is no such thing as a 'little' act of kindness.  You are not only useful, you are important and powerful, honestly.  Yes, YOU.

And if anyone thinks of a number 20 let me know.

Midnight in Bogota; escapism fail

New Year's Eve in Colombia is a day for big family reunions, so many people go out of town, throw house parties or hire tables in restaurants.  The noise throughout the evening from the houses in my street were so joyful, traditional music and people of all ages singing and laughing.  A lovely tradition.  Apparently the 24th - 26th December is also reserved for close family, lucky them.

I wandered down the street at 11.30pm, bidding 'Feliz Anos' to the armed guards stationed along the way, having their own quiet party to music on their phones.  At the bottom of Calle 10, the party I had been expecting in the plaza had been called off, for fears that the political demonstration that had set up camp there might hijack celebrations.  So I picked up pace down Carrera 7, one of the city's main streets to find the big fiesta, the one streamed live on television. The normally crowded street was mostly deserted leaving the security guards, those who had escaped their families, those who had no family and the homeless to fill the space.

It was a ten minute walk and I nearly turned back, happy that I had seen the Christmas decorations and heard the sound of private parties behind locked doors.  I've not been a fan of the midnight point of New Year's Eve for a while; it has always been an anticlimax, an unfulfilled promise.  While closing a chapter you step onto a blank page with trepidation knowing that it will be so easily soiled.  

So it was enough for me just to have a new kind of memory, a new place, nothing profound expected.  But having hesitated, looked at my watch with 5 minutes to go I decided there was no harm in a few more steps, just to see where the road led.  With 30 seconds to go until midnight I was suddenly surrounded by music bouncing off the buildings and above me the graphics on the tower shouted the countdown.  I reached the edge of the party where I could see the crowd.  I stopped and stood with those also on the edge, the street sellers hoping to make a good night's income, those who had no one to go into the gathering with, tourists and migrant workers who looked like they wouldn't belong with the crowd.  At midnight I watched an elderly homeless man rip the rubbish bag from the bin and sift through the contents, while a teenager did the same on the other side of me. As the humble fireworks lit the sky a boy no older than 6 or 7 pulled a trailer of drinks in front of me, far too heavy for him, and into the crowd.

I came here expecting some form of escapism, hoping for a break from the norm, assuming I wouldn't fit in.  As the year ended and started life came and slapped me for being so stupid, as I stood in one of the most real places on earth.

In Colombia, wealth and power is concentrated in the hands of the elite - they dominate politics, monopolise resources, and repress social movements, trade unions, political opposition and others seeking to challenge the balance of power.

Colombia has the highest number of internally displaced people in the world, estimated between 4 and 5.5 million, and in the past 20 years more than 70,000 civilians have been killed or have disappeared.

Despite being a middle-income country, one in three Colombians lives in poverty. Poverty is widespread in rural communities and particularly affects those who have been forced off their land.

A recent UN study indicated that just 1% of the population owns 52% of the country’s land, which has contributed to making Colombia one of the most unequal nations on earth.

The reason for the heavy military and police presence in this part of Bogota is to encourage the tourist industry.  I have no problem with that, even the poorest in this part of town are relatively safe compared to those behind the tourist curtain and there is plenty of potential for work and prosperity for all the social classes.  

I went into the party, through security to the carefree revellers.  I enjoyed the traditional music and the apparently well known pop anthems blasting out.  Several tipsy couples did the 'we're the only two people in the room dance', except here they don't sway - they merengue.

I expected to feel like I had walked into to a different world, but those in the city identify themselves as Colombians and they are connected to their country.  There is a very real sense that the majority stand on the edge of the party, struggling and oppressed in one way or another.   The danger of a thriving tourist industry, and the glossy representations of the country on TV, is that the real Colombia is swept under the carpet with problems blamed on militants and small guerilla factions.  The people of Colombia aren't fooled.  Their cries as the New Year rolled in were ones of hope and change, of dignity and progress.  Those inside the party evidently feel lucky, but they are not blind.

I walked back through the quiet streets (heavily policed still, it's ok parents) wondering whether the reason I found New Year's Eve so disappointing was that I had hoped it would be a moment of freedom, of pure hope and expectation.  Maybe it's the realness that takes away the fear of the blank page, the opportunities not to keep it perfectly neat but to get dirty hands, trip and struggle, rifle through the rubbish for something good... that makes New Year an occasion.

So much for a care free holiday.  Thank God.

Silent Night

I met some incredible people in Israel and the West Bank, but one person I will never forget is Jonny. He is a Palestinian Christian from Bethlehem and I met him in the foyer of his family’s hotel. He was weeping. He was weeping over the hundreds of olive trees that had been destroyed the day before in a village near Ramallah. The olive trees – the Palestinian pride and joy, livelihood and passion. Ancient, beautiful life giving trees, ripped from the ground. Jonny wept over them, and for the destruction of his precious West Bank that had gone before, and that he knew would continue.

Jonny is 74, and he has skin cancer. His family have saved meticulously to ensure he gets the treatment he needs and can’t get under his insurance as because the hospital in Bethlehem hasn’t the resources, he needs to go to Jerusalem. He has to pay and apply for a permit to pass through the checkpoint to Jerusalem, he doesn’t always get the permit, and when he does, he isn’t always allowed through. When he stays overnight in hospital his family can scarcely afford the permit to visit him, and when they can they cannot guarantee their purchased permission will be accepted.

Early this year in the cold of spring and at the peak of his illness, Jonny travelled once again to hospital. At the checkpoint he was ordered to strip and be searched in the open air in front of the queue and the young soldiers. Jonny has every reason to weep. He is regularly humiliated, his hometown is an open prison and he knows his story won’t make the news.

Jonny has every reason to weep. And so do I. This is my world too. And these things are happening under my nose and in my lifetime and in my chapter of history. A time for action and a time for talking. There is a time to listen and a time to stand for truth. There is a time for shouting, and a time for weeping.

Risky Church

It’s a tricky thing, working with churches sometimes. I work alongside and in partnership with churches and faith groups from across the spectrum of culture and tradition. I love that there are as many things in common as there are differences – people always fill from the back row, there will always be one person in charge of 27 rotas and committees and usually dashing round after the service to catch up with people and rope in a few others. There’s one common element that I find that concerns me though. We don’t like to be too offensive. We as churches often find ourselves catering for the lowest common denominator so that we risk as little as possible. We chose our battles carefully, with a look over our shoulder to make sure we’re not alone and tentatively we tiptoe our way out into the world to gently try and change it.

And yet the history we have, the mandate we have, the example we have in Jesus and his disciples ... the church should be leading the way in standing against injustice, and seeking the Kingdom and being the most relevant institution there is! Yet, try and engage some churches in being a little reckless for the sake of the oppressed, and stick their head out of the bunker on behalf of truth, and tip over the tables of temple in the search for justice... Hmmm! People in our communities are looking for purpose, for a cause which carries a little more weight than who wins X-Factor, for a way to contribute to a better world for our children and grandchildren.

We have dozens of opportunities to do it, to be relevant, to be people who change the world! We did it and ended the legality of the slave trade, we did it and ended apartheid in South Africa. Now we need to once again open our eyes to the harsh realities this world faces and get vocal. Think of the rewards for our world and our church – now let’s take the risks.

Peace

This week I’m sharing some of my thoughts and stories from the Holy Land, the kind of stories you might not usually hear. For example, Hatim.

Hatim had always been aware of things not quite being right. He was outspoken from an early age, challenging those who sought to oppress and rule the proud people of his precious home, Bethlehem. In the early 1990s Hatim spent 8 years in prison for being a member of the Palestinian Liberation Army and for those 8 years he was nothing more than a number. On his release, he chose, for the sake of his children, to work face to face with Israelis, trying to change the situation for both sides. Even as violent conflict broke out again in Israel and the West Bank after the millennium, Hatim was advocating non-violent resistance and dialogue between all parties.

Hatim is a member of Combatants for Peace, an organisation with both Israeli and Palestinian soldiers who have turned away from combat. Those who went to prison or were certified mentally unstable for refusing to be drafted on moral grounds and who now feel they have to share the stories of what they have experienced so that the world will see the other side of the story.

In 2007 Israeli border police opened fire unprovoked on Hatim’s family as they walked past a check point. His 6 year old daughter was shot in the head and killed. In the face of tragedy and grief Hatim chose path he had chosen before. The path of dialogue, and non-violence and standing shoulder to shoulder with the other side. He chose peace. Hatim is one of many who have paid a high price in this conflict and yet, for him, revenge is not an option.

For both Israelis and Palestinians in Combatants for Peace their journey has involved great courage and a massive change of attitude, heart and mind. They have bravely chosen to look beyond what they were told, to see all people as human beings regardless of religion or ethnicity. Keeping the peace is relatively easy, but making peace is much more difficult. In a world of injustice it really is the only choice. And didn’t Jesus say something about the peacemakers being the blessed…?