Learning

When I was growing up faith was like an English lesson, absorbing stories whilst the wise pointed out the moral tunes strung through each tale.  There were the victors and conquerors whose side we knew we should follow.  And the losers and the condemned; warnings of a path strayed.  The ABC was emblazoned and truths learned.

I grew to find it was all rather more like learning Maths.  I was old enough to realise I was being taught the basics, confident that if I studied hard I would learn the formulas that would one day open the doors to understanding.  It was all about building the foundations that would take me to enlightenment.

It didn't take long to move on the science, a religious kind, balancing evidence and the as yet undiscovered.  Now for the first time, wiggle room was allowed for a hypothesis to evolve and space made for a range of conclusions.  Faith became a logical, rationalised exploration with truths to uncover.

I think that now, I've graduated onto some kind of art course...  I've joined a discussion that expands even to the far reaches of what art is valid.  I'm intrigued by all the different interpretations of the same piece, Some critics burn with passion about the subject and fear dilution or distraction, they want to teach and protect what they see.  Others feel utter apathy, others still see art all around beyond the boundaries of a gallery or what could be taught in a classroom, while some had such a horrible art teacher once that they shudder at the sight of a paintbrush.  Some fear their opinions won't count, they've been shouted down in the past or shown up.  And there are the people that are utterly ill informed yet seem to be heard loudest.

And what I love is that some things that I looked at a while ago now speak to me when before there was nothing.  That sometimes I crave a simple drawing and at other times I want a complex canvas.  There's always a new way to see, comfort and questions to find.  The discourse with others only shapes and strengthens my own critical thinking, opens my eyes to see more than I could if I were to learn alone.

Fear and padded shorts.

On Sunday I preached on Matthew 16:21-28.  If you've not picked it up from my previous blogs, it's worth knowing that I'm not feeling much at the moment, it's a numb trudging through treacle type time.

When I first approached this text my heart sunk - here we go again, another passage that is interpreted in a number of ways; not all of which are particularly helpful.  There it was ready to thwack me about the head; pick up your cross and carry your burdens.  Some people add 'these things are sent to try us' or 'give everything up because then you'll be rich in heaven'.

Here's what I saw.

Jesus lived a life, and it can't have passed him by that most humans picked up a fair bit of baggage on the way.  Surely Jesus was inviting us burdened folk to pick it all up and come on the journey with him.  Maybe Jesus was essentially saying 'your baggage doesn't exclude you, bring it with you, you can use it, we can find hope within it.'

Blessed are the cracked; for they will let in the light.

I feel like I'm carrying a heavy load at the moment and it makes me want to give up, a lot.  I'm often like a child silently whimpering 'please don't make me go.'  But that load doesn't exclude me from moving forward and interacting with the world around me - not despite the brokenness but through it.

Tomorrow I travel to my childhood home for the last time before my parents leave that side of the country, and embark on simply the hardest thing I've ever attempted.  It sounds so silly in a world of serious stories and conflict, but my 300 mile charity cycle ride is a big deal at this moment in my life.

If I make it to the start line, I will have overcome the anxiety that makes it hard to leave my flat.  If I manage to ride most of the route each day I will have overcome my lack of fitness.  If I do the whole challenge I will be exceeding my own expectations.  But pulling out or giving up is not an option - I won't deal well with letting anyone down or having another failure on my books.

Whatever happens I will be carrying my burdens and my brokenness with me, all the way to Brussels, because they are part of my journey and there is hope within them.

Sinking, Standing, Speaking

There are certain moments in life where you think 'I just need to get through this somehow'.  These are the moments that if you fall, you fall irretrievably - or so it feels.

I had the privilege last weekend of leading four evening sessions at the Greenbelt festival as part of the worship programme.  I had done something similar last year but used a lot of content I had already tried and tested and a team I knew I could change things on.  This year we had no projection facility, a new venue and well, I'm far from the high last year's festival put me on.

I chose to take a whole new approach to it all and actually plan the sessions, write them out and have them printed ready if someone else needed to step in (always wary of a migraine, falling into a hole or some-such).  As I played out the sessions on the safety of my laptop I wrote freely and included some of the poems I've churned out over the past year.  Just lots of words on the page, as I prepared I knew I had plenty to read.

Only a flipping double rainbow

Before I knew it, set up was done and the first session was fast approaching.  I felt nothing.  Ready to go through the motions for the weekend.  The musician I was relying on to make the whole thing wonderful couldn't make it until the Saturday, so it was just me and my pre-written content.

The details aren't important really. The whole weekend went well, several people even asked for copies of my poems.  I was pretty astounded. What I will remember is the lack of nerves, the overwhelming feeling that I just had to get through it.  And being really surprised that no one found me out...

Always a little bit exciting to see
something you designed being
carried by thousands of people

As if to push the point entirely, on the final evening I went up to the venue without my notes.  I'm not sure why.  None of my colleagues could make it and my wonderful musician had gone home.  I assumed it would just be me sitting in the rain for an hour...  But the people came and huddled in under the canvas.  I stared at the mic with a few minutes to go.  There was nothing going on in my mind, no nerves, no excitement, nothing.  In that moment I could sum up what I had been feeling; 'I feel so worthless, such lack of self esteem that I don't even care if these people hate what I have to offer.  There is no ego to bruise, nothing to lose.'

For the following 40 minutes I completely made it up.  Drew from the depths of my memory and wrote poems on the hoof.  I led prayers from my heart and told a couple of old faithful stories.  It was improv worship and pretty darned stupid.

I doubt I impressed everyone in the venue, nor did I fool the crowd that I was reciting carefully crafted material.  But one lady summed it up for me; 'I haven't been to many things because of the kids and I came to this simply because the time worked.  But it was worth several seminars, and it was perfect.  You have the gift of getting out of the way and letting God speak through your heart.'

And so I've been reflecting on this; maybe it is a privilege and a gift to feel so empty sometimes.  To feel there is no pride at stake, no confidence to dent.  Because you offer only what you have, and in a world of fakes and pretence that honesty is well received.  Maybe the gift of depression is that on occasion, you're able to get out of the way.

I'm not advocating lack of preparation and I am fortunate that Greenbelt offers audiences of openness and understanding so that my heart on sleeve, ever so slightly experimental style fits right in.

But at a moment in my journey where I feel so low, having nothing to lose might just be my most precious gift.

A reply

Ah the feedback I was waiting for.  I wasn't fishing for it, but I would be lying if I didn't say I was braced.

Bizarrely my blog has spread beyond my own networks, which is lovely if a little strange.  I've been receiving thoughts every so often from all sorts of people, and I'm very grateful and humbled.  This one I relish because it gives me the opportunity to offer my opinions on a couple of things.  And I love sharing my opinions nearly as much as I love a list.  Here it is, enjoy...;


'I know I don't know you, and I don't want to offend you.  But I read your blog and it made me feel very uncomfortable'

You. Are. Welcome.

'On one hand I applaud your attempts to be honest and encourage people in similar situations.  But I think that this kind of sharing should be done in private not over the internet.  I think that it encourages people to celebrate how hard their life is rather than working to get back to normal.  It's very clearly a way of attention seeking which is indulgent.'  

I think I'll ponder on your use of the term 'normal'.  I do know I plan never to get back to it though.  Sounds dull.  I plan to sail through to 'slightly eccentric with a hint of special'.

'It sounds like you are turning your situation into a badge of honour.  Lots of people do this and prefer to stay miserable rather than turn there life around.  In fact some people choose it.'

You meant 'their'.

'You also wright about how you are a woman of faith.'

write.

'Yet you do not mention prayer as a way , THE way, of getting better.  It is GOD who heals us and can free us from our bondage.'

Sounds racy.

'I think the best thing you should do is find a spiritual director, which you CLEARLY do not have, and petition GOD for his PEACE to flood your heart.  Looking to your OWN strength is what has brought you to your knees, and on your knees you will find healing in God's love.  

PLEASE don't encourage people to look to themselves when as a CHRISTIAN you should always be pointing to God.  I hope you have some Christian friends who can be a support instead of anonymous readers on the internet.

Shouty.

I wish you well for the future.'

I'm not sure about the morality of reproducing this on my blog.  But then, reading about a stranger suffering from depression and deciding to write to them with some criticism feels just as morally dubious.  So... forgive me. I'll deal with any guilt if and when it comes.

Ok.  I wrote a reply, then deleted it and wrote this one;

'Thank you very much for taking the time to write to me, you clearly felt strongly and I applaud you for acting on your scruples.  I don't want to make any assumptions about your experiences, your faith or your own situation.  I only have what you have written and it would be unfair to make a judgement, don't you think?

I hope I'd made it clear that I'm not an expert nor am I trying to dish out advice.  My blog is just a collection of my thoughts to share with my friends and anyone else who is interested.  But I'm happy to offer my opinions on your message. Delighted, in fact.

I agree that attention seeking is indulgent.  However, you have got me wrong and I'm glad to have the opportunity to say a bit more.  Firstly, I'm quite the introvert.  I don't want much attention at all, I'd quite like to be left alone.  But I realised that repression and folding into myself was not doing me any good; even someone naturally aloof needs relationships.  So the blog is a safe place for me, I can share and think out loud and make connections without crying in anyone's face -which in my opinion, still might not be attention seeking.  It might just be being honest.

I don't encourage the 'celebration' of  hardship at all, it is rather impossible to celebrate anything when you're depressed.  Believe me if I could do a jig every time I had a panic attack at the thought of leaving my flat than I would.  I'm half Irish so it would be a fabulous sight.  Apart from the dry heaving.

Instead I feel that sharing struggles actually defuses them. The more we can take the shame and secrecy away from mental illness the more we will find strength, community and hope.  As for sharing on the Internet, well everyone's doing it. I just wanted to be cool.

I believe that there are people who do not want to work their way into a healthier more stable way of being.  Somehow the sadness becomes a safety blanket.  However I don't think this is a sign of someone who has chosen to be lazy and grumpy.  I think that if someone prefers to be sad rather than seek an alternative then they have another set of problems weighing on them.  In which case they need more understanding and support than ever.

The idea that you can 'choose' to be depressed is outright ignorant - apologies, I don't mean to offend.  It is an illness, just like physical ones.  You need help, time and to be treated as an individual to get better.  And of course, some people have the kind of illness that doesn't get better, instead it just gets managed.

In the office of the Church of North India, Delhi,
by John Stott

It is wonderful for you that you have such a clear understanding of your beliefs and what God does and doesn't do.  It frustrates me that I'm tempted to justify my faith when in fact, it does not need justifying.  But please don't worry.  I have friends who are being answers to any prayer that might be prayed.

What I will say though, is that I think that I do point people to God.  God is love after all. When I encourage people to not be ashamed of their struggles, to find trusted friends to hold them up, to serve even when it is difficult.  Ok, I'm not quoting scripture on my blog.  But I do reflect the gospel - the gospel that promotes nurturing relationships that love sacrificially, without prejudice or agenda.  Oh, and yes I look to what God has given me too rather than waiting for an unlikely caped superhero to swoop in.  After all, I'm flipping awesome.

Thanks for your thoughts and I wish you well.'

Gethsemane

As I've been planning for Easter activities in town with the churches I've pondered long and hard about all this suffering stuff.  It seems to me that our culture massively celebrates 'strength' in terms of holding it together, not letting things get to you, being a positive person... I guess that means that weakness is falling apart, feeling deeply and sensitively and allowing negativity to have a voice.  However, I have a theory;

It is not despair that makes us weak.  It is denial.

I find Jesus to be a pretty good example (maybe not fashion wise) of how our true humanity can be realised and without wishing to boast, it would appear he backs me up on this.

It was recorded that the night he was arrested, Jesus took his friends to a garden and popped off by himself to have a good rant at God. He was honest and upset, he was scared and he prayed hard for things to be different.

Interestingly Jesus then went back to his pals, and presumably for someone to have written it down Jesus must have told them what he was feeling.

It's sensible to know when and where to let it all out - screaming your heart out in public isn't always a great idea.  Neither is making everything about you and your problems - far from it.  But letting people close to you know where you're at can only be a good thing.  It's vulnerable, and its real.  It gives others a chance to hold you and you some perspective.  Here healing is found.

For me this idea that strength is putting on a good front is nonsense, and it tells people like me that we're weak losers.  We. Are. Not.  It is courageous to let the right people in.  It takes immense bravery to be proactive in overcoming the clouds.  It takes all the strength in the world to nurture hope.

I'm not writing this and patting myself on the back.  But I am going to stop telling myself I'm rubbish when I break down, when I fall apart.  It's in my human nature to be that way.  I'm strong enough to admit it.

A bit of light

I've been thinking further about a thought from last week, about finding peace with my moodier self, the low, cloudier one that sometimes greets me without warning.

I didn't mean that I intend to give into it, saying 'what the hell, I'm going to be horrible sometimes'.

I wonder (and I can only try) whether the dark side has a place in the mix.  Whether it can be channelled - a darker shade in a well rounded rainbow.  Or something.


There are three elements to my theory, an action plan if you will;

1) Celebrate the struggle
What if those days when things seem a bit hopeless and difficult become an opportunity?  Seeing struggle as a tool gives it purpose, diffusing the temptation to be introspective and allowing us to connect with others in a real and authentic way.

So, when the grey takes hold all it might take is a little strength to find a new vocabulary that expresses the raw truth and cut through all the pretence.  Our words have such power when they are borne out of experience, our gestures carry sincerity when they are offered with empathy.

When you're in the hole, look around for who's there with you.

2)  Honesty is not weakness
It would be lovely to have have happy days all the time, for us all to be people who wake up on the right side of bed and let nothing get to them.  But most people have hard times at the very least (and some of us have grumpy DNA) and the more we deny it, the more power the loneliness of low adds to the problem.

There's a lie that the clouds tell you; that you'll be a burden to anyone else and you shouldn't inflict your foul mood on them.  The reality is that showing your vulnerability is the most courageous, relationship nurturing thing you can do - not keeping it all together.

So how about when a rough day shows up,  you send up a flare?


3) Let the light in
When hopelessness hits and the mood is morose it's not game over, it doesn't have to be a waste of a day or a reason to run away.  It's a darker shade to be embraced, the most authentic way to grow and with just a grain of strength purpose can be found even in the very thing that tries to tell you there is none.

And after a while, the low days may just be fewer.


Worth a try?

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…?

Probably a little out of season now but hey

So, it’s almost here. The Christmas season is upon us accompanied by snow, the decorations are out (and have been since September!) and everywhere there are children preparing for their nativity plays at school and church. The Christmas Story is surely one of the best known in the world and is re-enacted in such beautiful ways every year (despite the baffling additions of fire dancers and cowboys these days in some school productions!). The beauty and tranquillity of that peaceful stable scene in Bethlehem still manages to draw us in and bring a tear to even the wisest old eye.

But I walked the streets of Bethlehem just a couple of weeks ago and, I have to say, the Holy City seemed a million miles away from the sentimental nativity scene we all grew up with. I stood by the huge concrete separation barrier which cuts the area into dead, soulless ghettos, I spoke to inn keepers and shop keepers who are slowly getting back on their feet, I realised that the Wise Men from the East would never have made it to the manger without digging a tunnel…

I was allowed to travel freely throughout the region on my British Passport but I met Palestinian Christians who had never travelled to the holy sites or Jerusalem, just 20 minutes away from their homes in Bethlehem, because they were not permitted through the check points without an expensive permit. I met the refugees who have been waiting, some for over 60 years, to return to their homes. They still have their keys.

And I began to see that Bethlehem today is in fact much closer to the first Christmas than our romantic carols and nativity plays portray. The fact is that Jesus was born a Palestinian Jew under military occupation, the only reason Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem at all that night was because the Roman Empire were reviewing its oppressive tax system and trying to control the masses. His family had to flee as refugees soon after his birth and he grew up watching those in power abuse the weak and dispossess them of their property and their dignity. It was in this harsh reality that Jesus preached and practised non-violent resistance against a ruthless and oppressive empire. He demonstrated the fragility and value of every human being, audaciously crossing the boundaries of states and culture to unite and transform the world he loved. He revealed the character of God by living a life of sacrificial love and he gave his life to that cause…

and that is why we still call it The Holy Land.

Many thanks to Martin Nicholls who often has a hand in the Pause for Thoughts, and this one in particular has his fingerprints all over it!

The Constructive Use of Discontent

I’m a bit of a ranter. I’m fairly laid back in general, I don’t get angry with people at all, in fact I hate confrontation! Yet, get me on something that hits a nerve and I provide an impressive rant. There are a few topics which spark this kind of reaction; anything to do with poverty, inequality and development, the future of the church, and the lack of dairy free cheese that melts on toast.

In general I get pretty wound up when I see what’s really going on in the world, the majority of human beings who live with so little, women who don’t stand a chance, children with no options. Add my ability to rant at will on such topics, with an unsettled urgency to change the world – and I find myself with a tangible feeling of discontent.
I was asking my friends recently whether this was something I was afflicted with forever, or whether I’d grow out of it and chill out. Our discussion could be summed up like this: ‘look at the world, and look at what God wanted for us. I don’t think we can be anything but discontent.’

The constructive use of discontent is an ongoing challenge for me; between rants I aim to ensure my actions reflect my words and trying to balance dissatisfaction with hope is sometimes a struggle. Oscar Romero used a phrase that I cherish; ‘my soul aches’. He was talking of his people in El Salvador, persecuted, poor and oppressed. I think my soul aches, and honestly it’s a bit tiring. But I think it’s supposed to. Seeking the Kingdom of God doesn’t come cushioned.

Improvement eclipsed by numbers

I read something this week talking about the surprise a particular writer finds each time she observes a community acting like they ‘still believe in each other and their possibilities’. That phrase hit home with me. I get accused every so often of being an idealist, even a bit naïve. Actually I take it as a compliment and a challenge! It is sad that optimism and belief in people comes as such a surprise, and I have to confess that even with my naïve idealism I have been guilty of writing people off or sometimes possessing an unhealthy amount of cynicism.

In the same magazine I read another article about the history of economic progress and came across the idea that ‘improvement has been eclipsed by numbers’. For example, what society once strived for was a better standard of life for people, and some would argue that this has become an exercise in reaching higher targets, accumulating more wealth and shrinking human experience and need into statistics.

These two phrases – believing in each other and human possibilities, alongside the idea that improvement has been eclipsed by numbers led me to think about the church. (I need to get out more.)

The Christian church teaches that people are full of potential and that as community we can open up endless opportunities, we can do big things and be loving world changing people. Yet in our heartfelt need to keep our traditions alive we’ve been occasionally guilty of striving for numbers rather than putting our focus on improving the way we engage with the Kingdom of God and the people made in His image.

God doesn’t need us to package Him inoffensively, give him a gloss and market him strategically. I truly believe becoming Kingdom focussed involves equipping each other to serve and stand up for those who are left out in the cold. I don’t think we need to worry too much about that putting people off!

I have seen how churches who have chosen to be outward looking first have found that with such a prophetic calling their congregations have been set alight to realise countless possibilities. And it’s hard to ignore that people with a purpose attract people. I wonder if it’s time we just get on with loving each other...

Something new to strive for

I am one of those people that always needs to be doing something. I can’t watch TV without my laptop going, or walk without listening to music, or drive without preparing a talk in my head! I am learning, mostly the hard way, that sometime soon I should really try and implement some kind of strategy for stillness.

I talk a lot of the urgency of what we do for others, the drive to give all we can to change things, to be outward looking as a matter of importance. And I stand by all that! But the danger of not stopping once in a while is that you miss the whispers. You miss the glimpses of beauty all around. You miss the chance to know peace.

You’d think that in the poorest communities of the world they’d spend most of their time listing the needs they have, but in my experience it’s quite the opposite. In India recently a friend of mine spent the beginning of every one of our conversations listing the blessings of the day, including that he was about to talk with me! On one occasion he paused mid sentence and said ‘Laura – stop! Let’s just be still...’ We had a lot to do that day including discussing the problems faced by their community project, but in that moment of quiet I felt the pressure of the task replaced by calm perspective.

I’m trying to learn that resting does not let anyone down, instead it equips and prepares for what’s to come. I’m going to learn to listen for the quiet whispers and develop the art of stillness.

I couldn't say it better...

This is the PowerPoint I used today having spoken at Brentwood Baptist Church, the church from whence I came...

Click here (will take you away from this page, do come back...!)

Messiness

I grew up in the church and was a youth worker in various churches and denominations. I had a pretty tidy view of God; there were the answers I’d learnt mainly in Sunday School and Youth Group, and anything I couldn’t grasp I put down to my youth. Tidy.

The thing is that through my travels around the world and my work, I’ve been exposed to seeing the world as it is – a world of pain and suffering and struggle. So my once neat and tidy image of God no longer fits. Where is my God of love who saves us, where’s my gentle Jesus meek and mild? Now my image of God has no neat lines or easy answers. It is an image that challenges me and fills my world with more questions than I have answers. Messy.

Maybe it’s just my awkward character, but I’ve come to quite like that God isn’t that easy to put in a box. I like that my messy God understands my messy spirituality, which seems to reflect a messy world. But this untidy God hasn’t left us without any idea of how we should be. In the early 20th century George McLeod wrote this:

“I simply argue that the cross be raised again at the centre of the market place as well as on the steeple of the church. I am recovering the claim that Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral between two candles, but on a cross between two thieves, on the town garbage heap, at a crossroads so cosmopolitan that they had to write his title in Hebrew, Latin and Greek. It was the kind of place where cynics talk smut, thieves curse, and soldiers gamble. That’s where he died. And that’s where Christians ought to be and what Christians ought to be about.”
That quote reminds me that if we shy away from the frontline, if we’re too comfortable, we become ineffective. Being tidy about our faith and our mission might well be the easy option, but it’s when we get messy that we start getting the job done.

I should be cleaning the house...

... as it's Christmas eve tomorrow and don't want to come back from seeing family to a mucky home. And yet, I'm sitting writing emails and watching TV while feeling a bit sleepy.

I have to confess that beyond practical arrangements, family logistics and some impressive forward planning in the present department, I've let Christmas go over my head a little.
Is it just me, or is it that because Christmas happens on a regular basis and is just one of those things you know about, it never really occurs to give it a fresh look instead focusing on the messages of hope, peace and new beginnings. Bit of a cop out?


This year has been a time of honesty and the beginning of an awakening for me. I'm tired, and I want to curl up and eat too much. I could try and focus on all of the lovely themes of Christmas, but the way I'm feeling now means I really don't think it would be all that authentic. The choice is this: coast for another Christmas and survive out the year, or rid myself of any falseness and decide to be deliberate in all I do... and feel.

Christmas is also about light shining in a dark world. I think I'll try my best to have a mental tidy up over the next few days, shine a light into the dark areas of my mind, take a fresh look at this Christmas lark and come back to a new start. I'm going to go and clean the house too.

Merry Christmas x

When I grow up

It's funny how there are occasional themes to a week.

At a Nightchurch meeting last week we shared in an exercise from Brian McClaren's book 'Finding Our Way Again'. The idea is simple, in the context of thinking about your character - fill in this sentence for 1) a day ago 2) a year ago and 3) ten years ago;
'I am more ..... than [time frame] and less .....'

Next, what would you like your character to be in ten years?

Finally, what kind of trajectory are you on, and what can you do to make sure you're on the way to being who you want to be?

I decided I want to be confident in ten years, and to get there I need to not let my insecurities hold me back. This sparked a conversation about what confidence truly is and whether that's what I meant... but that's for another time.

At a work team meeting yesterday we reflected on the stages of life and which characteristics infancy, adolescence and adulthood all have. The final question was 'what do you want to be when you grow up?'

My answer was 'effective, I want to change the world and be effective in what ever part I have to play.'

There was a moment of quiet and I thought back to the theme that had emerged over these seven days. I realised I'd not given the most real answers and a far more honest one kept popping into my head.

When I grow up, I want to be whole.

What's my trajectory to that?! What can I do to help me achieve it!? I'm not sure I even know what it really means... but it seems like a destination worth journeying towards.

I'll keep you posted.

The Point of Contact

I had no idea how I would cope in Uganda for three weeks with no phone, no internet, no laptop, no TV... I barely noticed the lack of TV (particularly when we had the West Wing and DVD player to keep us going) but I barely watch TV at home so that was fine. I coped fine with pen and paper and even without Facebook.

There was a small desire to tell people about how I was getting on, what I was seeing and doing and my deep and profound thoughts on things, but actually I had a far greater need to hear about how other people were getting on. Before you think I'm heading for sainthood (because I know that's what you were thinking) the true realisation was that I evaluate my own life in the light of others'. And without any familiar reference points, I found that in Uganda I was able to see my world in stark 3D as I scrambled to find some context.

These reference points I find in my relationships at home give an insight to the person I might have been had I made different choices, they provide benchmarks for me to evaluate whether I still want to be where and who I am. They challenge and inspire as well as shine the light on those areas where I still feel I need to make progress. Take that all away... and it's just me, myself and I.

Who are we when we are taken out of our home culture, job, even clothes... yes feel free to roll your eyes with the stench of an identity crisis quickly approaching. I don't think it's a matter of crisis though, more a check up. How often do we get the chance to point a healthy spotlight on ourselves and our choices without the comparison to others or pressure from media and society. In essence, who are we when we have no one to blame but ourselves?

The Secret, part 1

I have a fairly unique perspective when it comes to churches; I grew up in a Baptist Church, worked for Pentecostal and United Reformed Churches and with ecumenical, multi-denominational, inter-church networks... in short - I'm denominationally confused.

This does mean that my knowledge of church alongside the fact that I'm in my twenties and of what has been termed an 'apathetic generation' gives me an interesting vantage point. I can't remember how many times I've been told how much people would like new and younger people involved in church and in things like Christian Aid. Recently, I discovered the secret which might just tackle these and other such problems. There are three parts. Here's the first:

Be something that people want to be part of. You know what? The most important issues for new or younger people looking for a spiritual home do not include furniture, flowers - or even whether there's a drumkit. We're looking for community; authentic, loving, inclusive community who accept people because God does and not because they fit, and allows them to challenge life not demand they conform to a certain world view.

And what's more, younger people are flooding through my office door at Christian Aid at the moment and I'm sure that their reasons include this search for a community that is outward looking, accepts them with their flaws ready to help them be part of the action, and practices the love it preaches.

My Bracelet

Visiting overseas projects with Christian Aid can sometimes be a bit embarrassing as they tend to give you presents even though they themselves have so little.

I was leaving a women's rights project in Northern India when they presented me with a number of gifts simply for giving them some of my time to hear their stories. One of them was a plastic red bracelet and as I sat in the back of a car on the to the station with a few of the project's ladies I explained to them that my wrist was unfortunately too big to wear such petite jewellery. They suddenly grabbed my hand while simultaneously producing some sort of cream and the next thing I knew my hand was contorted in a way it probably was never meant to be and I had a bracelet on my wrist which I was fairly sure would never come off again.

After my hand recovered and I had spent a few days with the bracelet annoying me, particularly as I tried to sleep with it on, I returned to the UK. For many many months after I returned from India I wore the same red plastic bracelet on my right wrist. Most of the time I didn't notice it but occasionally it niggled at me. I kept it on for two reasons (other than at the time it appeared to be indestructible). Firstly it reminded me of the strong women I met in India who are working to change the position of women in their country and bring themselves out of some of the most extreme cases of poverty in the world. And secondly, it was annoying. Unfortunately I still needed something tangible to remind me that for the majority of the world life is more than simply uncomfortable, that if I get too comfortable then I become ineffective and I lose touch with not only my calling as a Christian but my responsibility as a human.

The bracelet eventually broke, but I still have it. It sits in my room, I see it every day and it still niggles at me. And I'll keep it in view as long as I still need reminding.

Something Kinda Ooh

Yesterday I did a practical training day to finish my Indian Head Massage course. It was in the middle of nowhere in North Devon, and was a full class of eight plus teacher and her assistant (the poor thing was demonstrated on all day!). Not only did I learn a great deal (and am keen to practice on anyone) and as we worked in pairs I got massaged half of the time (it was a hard ol' day...), but it was a delight to meet such an interesting group of people.

I'm into gender equality and not being the judgemental type, of course. But even I was surprised to find three men in the group and not a hippy in sight. It turns out that holistic and complimentary therapies no longer come with a side order of hemp. There was a beer bellied builder from London who having started in a friend's salon practicing reiki wants to build up his portfolio, a divorced pilates teacher from Staffordshire wanting to offer massage to her one-on-one clients, a Ukrainian seamstress living in Cambridge who wants to start her own therapy business and a young African guy studying all sorts of massage so that he can offer his services to spas in Somerset.

I loved hearing their stories and struggles, who believed in chakras and energy healing, and who was starting a new career because of a midlife crisis or redundancy. It was a pleasure to spend the day with such warm, gentle, accepting people who couldn't have been more different. I'll save the 'don't judge a book by its cover' lesson for now, and leave it at - if you go for a massage you might be surprised by your therapist, but I'm sure they'll be jolly nice.

The L Word

I've learnt a thing or two about love in my young years. Mainly that love is not soppy, nor sentimental, not sweet or sickly or nice. Love is a force to be reckoned with, it does not sit back and watch and it promises a fullness of life. Christian Aid is rooted in the Christian gospel and if we believe that Jesus is the most perfect representation of love then the cross is the most loving act in history, setting in motion a powerful and life-changing chain of love.

Love sees others. The Bible tells us that we cannot say we love God but hate those around us - and some scholars have argued that the hate referred to in the New Testament of the Bible isn't rage or bitter hatred, but merely low-level contempt or indifference, working from the Greek root which means 'loveless'. This is an interesting idea because there are many people we neither dearly love not actively hate - just many whose concerns are not ours - whom we simply do not see. But if we say we love God then we can no longer turn away from these people and we are challenged to see them as God does. And once we do, we won't be able to hold back from outrageous, active, powerful love. Love that acts, love that moves, love that can change the world.