Disappointingly Present

I don’t think pregnant women should be told they could give birth any time from 37 weeks pregnant to 41 weeks pregnant.  It creates this expectation from 37 weeks that labour could begin any time.  By the time you get to your due date at 40 weeks you’ve been in a state of expectation for three weeks and you don’t want to wait any longer.  Well at least, that’s how I’m feeling!

The reality is that most first pregnancies don’t happen early (before the due date).  And they do tell you this, but you hope to be early anyway.  They’ve given you a four to five week window and the due date isn’t right in the middle, so you’d think your chances of being early are greater. 

But I’ve discovered that this expectation in the pregnant mother’s mind doesn’t just come from medical professionals.  It’s from other people around you too.  It’s like everyone is expecting that you’ll give birth before or on your due date because as that date gets closer people remark on the fact that you’re still pregnant. 

Now that I’ve gone over my due date (by only one day mind you!) I feel like I’m disappointing people when I turn up to events, or pick up the phone, or respond to a text message.  I understand this.  I’m disappointed too that I haven’t gone into labour yet.  But this started before I even reached my due date. 

I think it’s probably more likely that my family and friends are just excited about the impending birth and any sign that it’s happening (e.g. I don’t answer my phone).  Perhaps they don’t remember exactly when I’m due but they know I’m really pregnant and it could happen any time! 

I didn’t think I’d get to my due date, I thought the baby would come early.  But I find myself here, still waiting and wondering why I expected this when I was told that first pregnancies are usually late.  Why did I think I would be one of the minority? 

Maybe it’s the words “due date”.  For everything else in life a due date is the last date possible.  The milk has a due date and you usually wouldn’t drink it after that date has passed!  But it seems that a pregnancy due date (technically called “Expected Date of Delivery”) is just a ball-park date.  Babies can’t be relied upon to be on time!  I knew this, which is why I wasn’t too worried about having February 29th as our due date.  But there’s still something disappointing about going “overdue”. 

So I was thinking that maybe doctors should change the way they talk about when a baby could be born.  They should tell you that it’s fine if the baby is born at 37 weeks, they’re developed enough to thrive.  But calling this “full term” invites expectation and disappointment for too long. 

I don’t think I’m going to change the way medical staff talk to pregnant women just because of my disappointments!  I write this in the hope that I can help other pregnant women handle their expectations, and that I can remember to be sensitive to those who may in future go over their due date in pregnancy.  The baby will come when the baby is ready and that’s probably for the best. 

My neighbour makes me paranoid

Let me start by clarifying that not everyone who lives in my block of units is from college.  Some of the units are privately owned and rented.  The units either side of us fall into this second category: not-college people.

We've had difficult people living on our left the whole time we've been living here.  You may remember me writing about our noisy neighbour in first year.  He moved out towards the end of our first year and since then we've had a noise-sensitive neighbour who has gotten progressively more hostile and paranoid.

Mostly he just glares at us, and will never respond when we say hello.  But we've also heard from other neighbours that he thinks J and another college student are hacking into his computer and stealing things.  We think he probably has paranoid schizophrenia, and I find myself sadly thinking: how do you love someone who is determined to hate you?

But God did just this, didn't he?  The whole world was determined to hate him yet he was determined to love us.  While we were still his enemies he sent his son as a gift to us (Rom 5:8).  If God did this for me, how can I not also love my neighbour who hates me?  Jesus even tells us to do good to those who hate you (Luke 6:27).  But how do I do good to this neighbour who wants nothing to do with us and believes lies about us (and will probably take anything we do the wrong way)? 

One way that I try to love him is by walking quietly on our stairs.  Our stairs are against the wall we share with this neighbour and they can be quite noisy (if his stair-walking is anything to go by.  Seriously, it sounds like someone else is in the house with you!).  I know he is noise-sensitive so I try to keep our noise levels low.  How much of this is being loving and how much is fear of him reacting, I'm not sure.

On to why I'm paranoid.  Because I know that our neighbour hates us I'm afraid that he's stealing our mail.  I'm sure this is a silly fear, but we've had two undelivered parcels this year and I'm anxiously awaiting a parcel that Australia Post tells me will arrive today.  What if it comes while we're out?  What if our neighbour takes it from our front door step, or signs for the parcel himself, saying he'll pass it on but really just keeping it from us? (Sometimes the posties don't care who signs for it, which is admittedly helpful if a college friend is the one who signs for you).

But I now realise that I'm doing just what he's doing.  I'm being paranoid that he's out to get me.  I'm believing untruths about him (or at least worrying that they're true) when there's no evidence for it.  So loving my neighbour in this situation is not worrying or thinking the worst of him. 

I'm not sure how else to love and do good to our neighbour.  Anyone have any ideas? 

When life is hard

Generally I like my life.  Sure, more storage space in my house would be nice, but I can’t really complain about my life. 

But when life is hard (read: I have any sort of deadline coming up) I sometimes wish that I didn’t exist.  Or, more like I wish that I was a bird or a tree and didn’t have to do things like exams.  I just want to escape. 

Last night I had a panic/depressed/pessimistic moment about my upcoming exams and the study that I’ve done.  I don’t feel I know my material like I should, there’s not enough time to learn it properly, and I feel like I don’t know enough to do my exams. 

But when the thought of being a bird came into my head last night it fizzled out.  I realised that the escape–my–life–and–its–problems feeling wasn’t there.  It’s not just my life that I’m in charge of at the moment.  I’m supporting another little life inside of me.  I couldn’t wish to not exist because a little life relies on me to exist. 

Of course, I know that it is God who sustains our baby but my involvement in this has changed my outlook on when life is hard.  I am humbled.  I am maturing.  I’m not so focused on myself.  Life is more than just these upcoming exams. 

I’m glad that this exam period is my last.  I’m sick of study–stress.  But I have to get through four exams before it’s over.  Please pray for me as I study, and for my memory during exams.  I don’t know if I have baby–brain (yet?), but it’s a convenient excuse if I don’t do well in my exams.  But I don’t want to have to use it.  I want to finish college well and be satisfied with my exam efforts. 

I am reminded by a friend who also posted about exam study today that while exam results are correlated with my effort, life results are not.  It’s incredibly freeing that none of my effort counts when it comes to God.  I don’t have to worry about if I’ve worked hard enough, or performed well enough.  I don’t have to wish for an escape when I feel like I’m failing.  Jesus has done all that is necessary for my salvation and my everlasting with God.  Hallelujah!

I am a music snob

I am a music snob.  I really am, I am ashamed to say.  I don’t mean styles of music.  You can like your punk/funk/heavy metal as much as you like and I’m not fussed.  Each to their own and I’m (mostly) happy to say that it’s just a matter of preference (but screaming, is that really music?).  When I say I’m a music snob, it’s in a far worse way than disliking a particular style.  I mean church music.

In the last while I have been to a few different churches or places where church music is played (e.g. college).  Each church has different resources (in terms of musicians available and qualities of sound systems and things like that).  And I have realised that I am a snob about church music.

I realised this recently when we were in a church singing a song that I knew well and the song leader and congregation sang a note wrong.  They sang two lines exactly the same without the subtle difference of one note.  It was only one note, but it annoyed me. 

Now, I quickly realised that this probably affected only me.  My snobbery caused me to lose joy in what I was singing, to focus more on the music (the tune, the instruments, the tempo) instead of the words that I was (meant to be) singing in worship to God.  It distracted me from what I should be focusing on while singing in church.

I know that this is probably my problem and not something I can blame on someone else.  I could say that the musicians should “work harder” and get the song “right” so that the music is good and doesn't distract anyone.  But I’ve been in far too many small churches to know that this just isn’t possible.  Your drummer is young and enthusiastic and plays too fast and loud, or your guitarist taught themself and can only play certain types of music, or your singers are shy and never know when to come in.  But there’s no one else who can do it, so you use what you have. 

Sure, my problem may be fixed by a talented music team who play well together and produce polished church music.  I will be able to entrust myself to their music and focus on the words and what I am singing to God.  There will be nothing in the music that jars me out of my focus on God.  But what if I’ve learnt the song incorrectly in the first place?  What I think is right and won’t jar, is actually not right, and even if the musicians play the song perfectly (or we sing along to a recording, arguably as perfect as you can get), my problem will still happen.

So much of the way we do music at church is communal.  We learn together and we teach each other.  We may get used to the way that our church music team plays a particular song, and this becomes our favourite and comfortable way to sing it, even if it is “wrong” in certain aspects according to the original composer(s) and performer(s).  

My music snobbery is just something that I need to get over.  I can’t control the music at any church and getting upset about it just puts a barrier in my way to worshiping God through what I’m singing.  I want to cultivate an attitude of thankfulness for the way that God has blessed the church with the people who are there, and I want to focus on the words, more than the music.  Any time I hear that jarring of music not–quite–right–to–my–ears, I hope it reminds me to refocus on the words, to mean what I am singing, and ultimately, focus not on myself, but on my God. 

A Crowd and a Flashback

I hate crowds.  They make me anxious and grouchy.

Yesterday J and I went into the city to see an amazing light display.  But I’d forgotten that it wasn’t Sunday–night–before–a–work–day, but Sunday–night–before–a–public–holiday.  So there were people everywhere doing the same thing we were.  It was madness.  There were so many people in the city for this event that we weren’t allowed to get off the train at the closest stop but had to get off earlier and walk.  They even closed down a major road in the city for the pedestrians to use.

At one point I was bumped (and this is when I get grouchy), and it reminded me of a similar reaction I’d had before.  I was reminded because I’ve been thinking of doing a flashback series on reflections I’ve written in the past.  I recently went back to a journal that I used to keep and I read an entry about this exact thing.

So here it is, written by my 17 year old self (and edited for length by my current self):

Someone was mucking around in the clustered, confined spaces of the Year Twelve corridor and they caused a small domino effect; only bumping, no one fell over.  I heard my friend behind me offer an apology to someone but I didn’t say anything.  I was in a bad mood and it wasn’t my fault if I had bumped into someone because a few people were acting stupidly.  They were the ones who should apologise.

But does that really justify my thoughts and response? Most people have bad moods sometimes but I don’t think that means we’re entitled to act grumpy and rude.  So how should we express to others that we are upset without becoming completely self-centred or upsetting others in the process?

When I’m grumpy I often want other people to know it, I do become self-absorbed.  But what would be the right way to act when I’m grumpy?  Perhaps being grumpy at all is completely un-godly.  To not act in a grumpy way practically defeats the purpose of being grumpy.  Perhaps by consciously deciding not to act on your grumpy feelings helps you to stop feeling grumpy. Indulging in a bad mood may just serve to make us feel worse, even if we think we’ll feel better by expressing it.  Instead, we should cultivate the fruits of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, humility, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).

There it is.  What do you think of my 17-year-old wisdom?  I think that’s something I needed to hear yesterday when I got grumpy from being bumped in a crowd. 

And just for fun, here are some pictures of my favourite building in the light show.

When things are broken

It makes me really sad when things get broken or damaged.  Today I dropped my phone on a brick and the edge of the phone got dented.  Now I'm really sad because it's less than perfect.  I know that this is a trivial problem and I could console myself with the fact that at least the screen is still intact and everything is working fine.  But I'm still sad about the damage. 

I've written about this before.  Not in a blogpost, but in an old journal.  In year 12 I accidentally cracked the spine of a new book and was really sad about it.  It was ridiculous to be that sad about a book, and I knew that.  I reflected then about what it says about me that I felt like a book with a cracked spine was now 'ruined'.  The new book was less lovely because of its flaw.  I didn't really come up with an answer back then, I just hoped that I would get over it.  And of course I did get over it. 

So I was thinking today.  Who doesn't get upset when something is broken or damaged?  Of course it depends on the original value of the object, not just monetary value but sentimental, and use value as well.  When things get broken we know this is bad, that something has gone wrong.  We have this innate knowledge that this shouldn't happen.  But it does happen.  We live in a broken world so of course things break and are damaged.   

But I think there is also something wrong with the fact that I love something like my phone so much.  I'm not always aware of how much I love things until they are damaged or destroyed.  There is idolatry in my heart, which too easily loves created things rather than the creator of all things.  

So I'm looking forward to a time when things won't get broken.  When I won't love things as much as I do because they won't come near to comparing to the joy I have in God and the wonder of worshiping him forever.

Suspend your morals while I tell you a story

Last night I watched a romantic comedy with a friend and I couldn’t help remembering something J said to me once (or maybe it was someone else, or I read it somewhere.  Anyway, I just remember the conversation I had with J about it).  I’ll tell you what it was in a moment, first I want to write about the movie. 

In the movie we watched there was this guy and girl, best friends, who clearly felt more for each other than friendship, but were always missing each other and were never able to be together until the end (…spoiler?  I haven’t even named the movie, but it’s a romantic film so of course they get together in the end).  All through the movie I groaned whenever one of them was close to telling the other how they felt only to find that the other was in a relationship with someone else. 

As I reflect, this movie wasn’t as bad (subjective term) as some romantic films.  Neither of the main characters cheated on their clearly-wrong-for-them-partner to be with their best friend (a.k.a. love of their life).  But both of them ended up with dissolved marriages before the end.  But that’s okay, right?  They can finally be together now. 

And I know there are other films where you as the viewer are waiting and hoping for a marriage to break up so that the ‘real’ lovers can freely be together.  Of course, the film makers always spin it to make it okay in our minds.  The marriage wasn’t happy, the spouse was having an affair, the spouse was…etc. (because it’s often the spouse’s fault).   

Here’s what J said:  Why is it that in movies we still root for the characters who have fallen in love, waiting and hoping for them to get together, when it is at the expense of a spouse or partner?  We want them to be together even if it means breaking up an existing relationship that one (or both of them) has.  Why are we okay with broken marriages in movies for the sake of ‘true love’?  Somehow we suspend our morals, not just our disbelief, when we get hooked into such a story. 

While I suspended my belief in the importance of marriage during this movie there were a number of other things in the film that did grate against my morals, and I noticed them.  Drunkenness (when does good ever come of it?), lying (this one especially grates when you just want the character to tell the truth about their feelings!), and sex outside of marriage (this one doesn’t always grate, particularly if it’s with the ‘right’ person, the love interest).  So I didn’t suspend all my morals.  But it’s not as though the film was asking me to endorse those things in the same way. 

More could be said on this topic from the perspective of the action or crime-drama genre.  Sometimes we suspend our belief that every life is valuable and murder is wrong when we watch these genres.  We may even suspend our views on justice if it means the bad guy gets caught. 

So what should I do?  Give up romantic comedies and just watch G-rated films (or no films at all)?  Maybe.  I don’t want my culture (or the pop-culture seen in films) to shape my morals.  But I don’t want to disengage completely from my culture either. 

I guess part of this issue can be dealt with by moderating the amount of input these things have in our lives.  As a Christian I get my beliefs and morals from what God says is right and wrong because I believe that he created the whole world and everything in it, including us, and so he not only knows, but made, the best way to live.  So the input of the Bible, God’s words, in my life should be far greater than any input I get from my culture.  In fact, the Bible should shape the way that I view my culture, and everything else. 

I’m sorry that movies can cause me to suspend my morals for the sake of the story.  But after it is over I remember reality, I turn again to look at God and ask him to shape me, knowing that I am a work in progress.  And maybe in the next film, whatever genre it is, I’ll see more of it through God’s eyes. 

When I didn’t want to pray

Last week at college we had week of prayer to pray for the mission teams that we would all participate in the following week.  This meant that we prayed more than usual in our morning chapel times and chaplaincy groups, usually in small groups rather than being lead from the front.  

At some point in the week I suddenly felt exhausted from praying.  I didn't want to pray anymore, I was tired of praying and it had tired me out.  

I was shy of admitting this here.  After all, I'm a Bible college student, I've chosen to study my faith full time, shouldn't I love praying?  Shouldn't I be good at it by now?  I shouldn't be feeling like I don't want to do it.  

But in case there is even just one other person out there who feels the same way as me sometimes, I thought I should share this.  And I want to be honest here not just about the good things, but the struggles too.  

I know I can come up with a number of reasons to explain away why I was tired of praying.  I'm an introvert and praying in groups for 20-30 minutes each day with people I don't necessarily know well, if at all, is emotionally taxing.  I'm also shy about talking in groups so often praying out loud is a push out of my comfort zone.  Then there's the fact that you have to reword and add-lib on the fly because simply reading out the prayer point doesn't quite feel like I'm praying sincerely (even though that's a totally legitimate way to pray, particularly with the detailed points).  

But honestly, I don't want to let myself get away with excuses for my attitude to prayer.  Prayer has often been hard for me, in groups and alone.  I know that I'm not alone in this.  Pray is hard, that's the truth.  It's hard to keep at it, to keep trying, because it feels so weird.  There's nothing else that we do like it.  And often we wonder what's wrong when we pray because we don't feel any different, as if feelings are the gauge of God hearing us.  

But my thought that day last week shocked me.  Because while I don't expect that I will always love praying, and I certainly don't expect to be good at it without a lot of hard work, I shouldn't let that stop me from persisting.  And I shouldn't want to opt out from doing it.  Prayer is our lifeline to God.  It is our expression of our utter dependence on him for everything, and a product of our relationship with him.  How can we have a relationship with God if we never speak to him (prayer) and if we never listen to him (reading the Bible)?  

It was my sinfulness that said I was tired of prayer.  And I know I'm not disgusted enough with my sin, but the shock at my sin was good.  I was glad it shocked me because it showed me that God is changing me, little by little, working in my heart to make it like his and to despise my sin and love his righteousness. 

We visited a mosque today as part of our mission, to learn more about Islam and what Muslim's believe.  I've often been impressed with the amount of praying that pious Muslims do (at least five times a day according to the rules of their faith).  But I shouldn't need rules about when to pray to get me to pray.  Paul says to pray continuously! (1 Thess 5:17).  I know that God has made it possible for me to approach him in prayer without any need for special words or special actions.  Jesus has interceded for me before the Father and made me clean.  Praise be to God.  I need to remember this and keep trusting in God for everything, knowing how much of a privilege it is to come to him in prayer.

O what peace we often forfeit,
O what needless pain we bear.
All because we do not carry
everything to God in prayer.

(“What a Friend we have in Jesus”, lyrics Joseph Scriven)

Sharing is caring. Or is it?

This week after Bible study we started sharing about our families and how we met our husbands and things like that.  It was fun to hear a bit about other people’s stories.  Sometimes I felt like exclaiming, “Oh, me too!  That happened to me!”  But I didn’t.  I’ll tell you why in a moment. 

We get excited when we have experienced what someone else has experienced.  In part I think it’s because it validates our own experiences.  But I sense that it’s more than that.  I know that I get excited about a shared experience because it’s a way of connecting with the other person.  It says I understand what that was like, I understand you, and hopefully then, you understand me too.  Because we all have this fundamental desire to be known. 

And this reminds me that birds of a feather really do flock together.  It’s much rarer that opposites attract.  Even with friends who seem like opposites you’ll probably find that there’s a number of major similarities between them that attracted them to each other in the first place.

I wanted to exclaim that I shared that experience.  But I didn’t say anything.  Because I’ve been trying to listen.  That might sound odd from someone who you know stands pretty often on the listener side of the line in group situations.  What I mean is that I’ve been trying to listen to the other person without speaking to make the conversation about me. 

I went looking for a picture for this post and found these two guinea pigs who illustrate my point quite nicely.  While they are sharing the leaf, it certainly looks like one is trying to take it away from the other. 

Instead of pointing out a shared experience and bringing attention in the conversation to me, I want to stay focused on the other person as I listen to them speak.  I want to care by giving them my attention and not thinking about myself. 

“Humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less.”  - C. S. Lewis

Of course there are times when it’s great to share that you understand someone’s experience, especially if they ask!  Often it can be greatly comforting in a hard situation to know that you’re not alone or someone else has been through it before.  But perhaps especially in these times I think we need to be careful about showing the other person that we are listening to them, to their particular situation and feelings.  We can’t assume that they feel the same way as we did just because we’ve experienced the same situation. 

But maybe I’m wrong.  Maybe exclaiming “me too!” is caring and I’m just being overly sensitive thinking that I’m being attention-seeking when I say that.  I don’t think that I have all the answers and I’d love to hear from you if you have some further thoughts.  What do you think?

That’s Christmas to me

A few days ago J and I watched The Polar Express.  I remember really enjoying it the first time I watched it several years ago.  I thought it was a sweet film with a nice message.

This time I found myself frustrated. 

The message of the film is essentially that if you just believe you can keep the magic of the spirit of Christmas alive for yourself.  But believe in what?  That Santa is real?  All the adults who watch this film know the truth there.  And what exactly is the spirit of Christmas? 

The truth is that Christmas is not about keeping the dream of Santa alive.  It’s not about ‘the spirit of Christmas’.  It’s not even about giving and family time, though we do enjoy doing this at Christmas time. 

Christmas is about celebrating the greatest gift this world has ever received.  We share the love by giving each other gifts, but it’s not even really about this.  God has given us the amazing gift of his son, Jesus Christ, God incarnate among us, Emmanuel.  Jesus humbled himself from his place as creator and ruler of everything to become a helpless, dependent baby. 

But it’s not the fact that Jesus, God himself, was born into this world that makes him the world’s greatest gift.  It’s what he did with his life that is significant.  He gave it up on behalf of sinners so that we would be forgiven.  It is because of what happened at Easter that makes Christmas important. 

On Sunday we heard a friend preach for the first time (which was exciting to be at) and he reminded us to remember the most important thing at Christmas time.  I felt particularly rebuked when he asked “would you feel like the day was less stressful if you took Jesus out of Christmas day?”  It certainly would make getting to things on time and having time to open presents with family easier if we didn’t go to church on Christmas morning.

I realised that Jesus isn’t often my focus at Christmas time.  Jesus gets about an hour of my day on Christmas day while I’m at church, and the rest of the day is about family and presents and food. 

As I was catching up with a good friend today we talked about this and both committed to putting Christ back into the centre of Christmas.  Here is one practical way we thought of for doing this: every present I open, every good bite of food I eat I want to remember that the gift of Jesus is even greater and thank God for him.  Hopefully this will help me to be more mindful of why we really celebrate Christmas. 

I’m interested to hear how others keep Christ at the centre of Christmas.  What do you do?

Do you stop?

He was standing on the side of the highway, next to his car, waving a hand in the air.  I was driving and asked J if I should pull over.  We had almost driven past him.

I pulled over.  The man had sheepishly run out of petrol, 20 kilometres from the next town.  We didn’t have any petrol in a can as he first asked, but we agreed to take him into town to buy some.  He told his wife who was waiting in the car what was happening and then came with us. 

It turned out he was going the same direction as us, for the same reason.  Visiting family for Christmas.  He told us all about his son, his grandchildren, where they were at school, what they were interested in.  And it turned out he was a Christian too.  We’d heard of the church he went to, and even visited the church his son and grandchildren went to in our home city. 

To be honest, we had both been nervous about stopping for someone in the middle of nowhere.  For me, the fact that he was a older man allayed some of my fears.  It was a relief to find out that we weren’t just helping a stranger, but a brother in Christ.  I always feel safer and more comfortable around Christians.  But we didn’t know this when we stopped. 

On our drive we’ve been listening to an audio recording of the Gospel of Luke, read by us and some of our fellow students.  One of the parables that Jesus tells is of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37).  This story is Jesus’ response to the question “who is my neighbour?”  Jesus turns the question around.

Which of these three do you think became a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”  The expert in religious law said, “The one who showed mercy to him.” So Jesus said to him, “Go and do the same.” (Luke 10:36 –37)

I was reminded that anyone in need is our neighbour.  And by helping we were being good neighbours.  I don’t regret stopping for this stranger and driving 40 kilometres more than we had to.  They were both so appreciative and couldn’t stop saying so.  Perhaps I won’t be so nervous about stopping for someone next time. 

Where should I sit?

At church on Sunday I made my way to the second row and sat alone behind the empty front row.  This is not a post asking for sympathy or reassurance.  It's not about asking people to sit at the front. It's just a reflection that I'm still thinking through.

Why don't we sit together at church?  Or more accurately, why am I sitting alone?

At our church it seems that people tend to sit in families (though the word couples would be more accurate).  Mind you, I don't see a lot of the rest of the church from the second row, so maybe there is some inter-family mingling.  I either sit alone, if J is playing the piano that week, or just with J. Sometimes someone might sit in the same row as us, but on the end, with a gap between us.

I know that part of the reason that we sit alone is because we're at the front.  Even in a congregation with a very low percentage of young people the concentration of people is towards the back rows.  That's part of the reason I sit at the front, to try to encourage others to fill the seats from the front too (after two years, I don't think it's working). 

Perhaps I could go and sit with someone else, but it has been very rare for someone other than J to sit with me so now I've become a bit shy about joining someone else in their row.

I remember a similar seating structure at our old church back home: people sat in family units.  And I understand the practicality of this: sometimes a whole family takes us a whole pew, and it's helpful for the parents to be able to block their young children into their row.  But it was different at the evening service of the church where J and I met.  This service was made up mostly of youth and young adults, and some of their parents.  No one sat alone.  The church was very social and you would always sit with your friends.  People didn’t sit in family units, but they still stuck with people they knew and were comfortable with. 

If we as a church are a family under our Father God then we should feel comfortable and able to sit with people at church who aren't part of our biological family.  We shouldn't need to leave gaps between people. 

And if the Christian faith is more than a personal and private experience then our time of corporate worship should not be spent alone as if it were. 

I think this means I should give up the second row and sit with others.

Stop and chat

“I didn’t want to live here.”

We had our community end of year party last night and this phrase came up a couple of times during the open mic time.  It was true for me too.  I didn’t want to live here mostly because the name of the community sounded funny (I won’t mention it here for internet security reasons).  I knew nothing about any of the college residential communities before we started college but this one was at the bottom of my list purely for the weird name. 

But now, like others reflected last night, I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else while we’re studying at college (and even post-college too!).  I don’t know of anywhere else where you can have a meaningful conversation with your neighbours as you hang out your washing on the same line, as you walk to the car, as your children play together in the playground, as you study in the rooms specifically designated for study, as you stand in your front doorway, as you take out the rubbish, as you check your letter box, as you drive to college together, as you borrow things from each other and return them later. 

Last night one of the leaving students encouraged us to make the most of these opportunities for conversations.  After all, if you can’t talk to your Christian neighbours in this safe and loving community then you certainly won’t be able to talk to your neighbours when you move away from living in Christian community. 

I haven’t been good at using these opportunities.  But last night I was encouraged to change.  Often I would pass people hanging up their washing as I walked to the studies and I would say hello but not much more.  It’s easy to tell myself that I was just busy with assignments or blame it on my introversion.  But sometimes I would wonder and worry if it seemed like I was being rude. 

One of the wives who I’ve become friends with over the two years we’ve both lived here told me that when she first met me she found me intimidating because I didn’t talk much.  I didn’t talk much because I was shy and didn’t know what to say!  She showed me that my silence can be misconstrued and I certainly don’t want that. 

So neighbours, friends, I humbly apologise for the times when my conversations with you (or lack there of) have been cut short, awkward, rude, unloving or distracted.  I truly didn’t mean to come across that way and I really do want to get to know you better.  I’m sorry for my introversion, shyness and awkwardness. 

Because of last night I’ve decided on next year’s community–living motto for myself (which I will start on right away and not wait for next year).  Stop and Chat. 

I will hang my washing outside more often, as much as I can, and I won’t opt to hang it inside just to avoid a conversation at the washing lines.  As I walk to or from the studies I’ll stop to chat with the parents and children  in the little playground.  When I hear children playing outside I’ll go out to spend time with them and their parents. 

All this I will do because relationships are more important than what is gained from being reclusive.  Supporting each other is more important than studying.  People are more important than personal planning. 

I may need help, reminders and support.  But I don’t want to waste this time we have living in this wonderful community.  Thank you Christian neighbours for being so loving, welcoming and such great examples to me.  I hope I can be the same. 

Confessions

Twice in two days I have heard two people, two men, confess to having pride.  And when it happened the second time it struck me that it was very brave for both of them to say so. 

Our culture doesn’t do this kind of confession.  Our culture doesn’t like showing personal flaws.  And definitely not by men. 

It’s because they are Christians.  Recognition of personal sinfulness is part of being a Christian, confession of this (sometimes to others, but always to God) is also part of being  a Christian.  But it still takes guts to admit it. 

The example of these two men has encouraged me to be real about my own sins.  I too am proud, though it may be in different ways than those friends.  And I need to recognise this and other things in my heart for what they are.  And I need to confess these sins to God, and perhaps to others too. 

I’m so thankful that I’m part of the Christian family that confesses sins and receives forgiveness from God.  That supports and encourages each other in personal struggles.  That doesn’t condemn but points to the cross of Jesus. 

If this hasn’t been your experience of the Christian family I am sorry.  Please don’t give up on us, or on God.  We are all sinners and we won’t always get love right.  I’m sorry for the times that I haven’t been this Christian family.  But I pray that God would keep making his children more and more like Jesus, including me. 

Reluctant stacking

Today I stacked chairs and I was annoyed.  But something else struck me at almost the same moment as I allowed myself to think these annoyed thoughts. 

We got to college a little early this morning.  The streets are quieter in school holidays so the drive from home to college doesn’t take as long as it normally does.  I heard the Friday chapel band practicing in our largest lecture theatre already and realised there must have been no 8am first year class today.  J told me there was none rostered this term. 

It’s the first years’ job to set up the lecture theatre for chapel.  We did it last year.  But when I went upstairs ten minutes before chapel was supposed to start the room had only just started to transform.  There were only about 6 people moving the tables and chairs, and it was definitely not enough people to get it done on time. 

I started to slide tables over each other, to stack chairs, and get a bit annoyed at first year.  It looked like there were only two first years helping out.  Why hadn’t they organised for some of them to be there to help out?  We organised this ourselves last year when we had no 8am lecture.  This isn’t the job for other years to do.  I shouldn’t have to be here, but there weren’t enough people as it was, so I had to help. 

I told these annoyed thoughts off almost immediately.  Why should I think that I’m done setting up for chapel just because I’m not in first year any more?  I shouldn’t resent service of others.  Doing this job is loving my fellow students and serving them.  But I love rules and allocated tasks so it’s hard for met to let others ignore them.  But in my annoyance I had traded the joy of serving others for anger at doing “someone else’s job”. 

I shouldn’t think myself above this job.  Christians are called to a life of service, and this was just one small way of serving others.  So I kept going, now with a better attitude.  Or at least without the anger. 

Ten minutes after I started I looked around and I realised how many people had come into the room to help out.  So many.  Many more than we needed to get it done.  And I realised it didn’t matter what year they were in.  I was filled with love for my fellow students.  People who are willing to help out even if it wasn’t their job.  And now I’m ashamed of my grudging service doing a not-my-job. 

Today was a reminder for me of my sinful selfishness.  My shameful self–centred nature.  And it was a reminder to serve, even when it means doing something that’s not my job.  In a way that’s the greater service, isn’t it? 

And how can I not serve when I have already been served by Jesus, who gave more than I could ever give to save my life?  I worship a Servant Lord who calls me to serve also.  I’m still learning to serve, but I trust that God is changing my heart in a way that I couldn’t.  A servant heart after my Servant Lord Jesus.