I know it's irritating when people do this, but I'm moving my blog. In fact I'm splitting it in two. All the Christian stuff is going here (including all the Christian stuff to date), and all the random stuff is going here (including all the random stuff to date). As a special introductory treat, the Christian one has the 2nd part to the Delight Yourself in the Lord post, and the daft one has a poem about needing a wee.
I'm splitting the stuff up because I thought it made more sense to have one blog for one thing. If someone reads my stuff because they enjoy thinking through how Christianity works in the real world, they may find it irritating to be interrupted by posts about cheese, Germans or poo. If someone reads my stuff because they enjoy thinking through cheese, Germans or poo, they might find it irritating to be affronted with a post about the Christian response to suffering. If you enjoy both, they will be clearly linked to one another so you can easily follow both. If you are friends with me on Facebook, they will both be fed to my Notes feed (once I figure out how to do that).
This also hopefully marks a fresh start when I will be blogging regularly again - going through my old posts has inspired me by reminding me that I agree with everything I say. If I wasn't me, I'd totally read both my blogs. I invite you to dig through the archives if you need distraction from something you ought to be doing instead.
Oddbabble: Signing off from here and regretting going over to WordPress because it is much less geared towards people who can't do stuff on computers.
Sunday, 28 August 2011
Monday, 25 July 2011
A Plea for Compassion for the Addicted
I was sad to hear the news of Amy Winehouse's death. Sad that a life had been cut short so young. Sad that a raw and rare talent would not develop any further. Mostly sad for her grieving parents facing one of the worst pains a human can endure: outliving their child.
I had assumed that this response would be fairly universal, so in my naivety I was shocked to read comments, some from friends, implying that her death was deserved, self-inflicted, or that somehow because she was a celebrity and an addict, her death wasn't even a tragedy.
I find this lack of compassion very hard to understand. I can only make sense of it by putting it down to ignorance. Ignorance, thankfully, is curable. Here is a very short blog post* to make absolutely no difference to that ignorance because no-one will read it, but one which will make me feel a little better for having written it.
When a person becomes addicted to something, whether that is to a substance like alcohol or drugs, or a behaviour like gambling, sex or self harm, it is in simple terms, a coping strategy. A way of self-medicating against some kind of pain. It is not simply a case of someone choosing not to say no to something naughty but nice when they really ought to, like a greedy child who keeps eating too many sweets.
Let me help you to stand in the shoes of an addicted person. Imagine the thing in your life that brings you the most comfort and peace. The thing, behaviour or person in your life that helps to make things feel OK for a bit. That thing will necessarily be very precious to you. That is your coping strategy. If your strategy is harm free then you are blessed. Not everyone has access to those things though, and some of those things are not powerful enough to do any good for some people.
Now imagine or remember the most painful emotional thing you have ever experienced. Mix that feeling together with your greatest fear. Multiply it by maybe 10 (or more if you've lived a fairly charmed life) and then imagine it's a permanent feeling that won't go away.
What will you do to help make that feeling less horrible for you? I'm guessing you'll reach for that trusted thing, behaviour or person. I'm guessing that won't solve the problem but that it will bring you some comfort. It'll make the pain a little more bearable. It might numb that feeling a bit or help you to forget it for a while.
Now imagine that whenever you used that thing (hugged that person, bent that ear, read, listened, ran, whatever) you experienced some negative pay-off. It wasn't as bad as that awful feeling but it was still significant enough to be concerning or debilitating in a way that made your friends concerned about you.
So your friends tell you that you have to give up your special, comforting thing. You try because you know your friends are right, but the trouble is they don't understand how terrifying it is when that feeling comes back. That horrible pain that won't go away. They don't understand the courage that it takes to face that feeling is more than most people will have to muster in a lifetime, and that that courage has to be taken every time you say no to that comforting thing. Every time, you are having to be brave enough to face your most terrible fears and feelings, and there is no-one that can do it for you.
People spoke of Amy (and others like her) as having a choice to say no to her addiction. Some choices are harder than others. Yes, there is some weakness involved in not saying no, but do you judge the lamb in the jaws of the wolf for being weak? How many wolves have you had to fight?
I don't know what Amy or any other addict was numbing or hiding or self-medicating. Often the addict doesn't know themselves. We can be fairly sure though, that if we have never found ourselves needing to cut, shoot-up, gamble until we have nothing left or drink ourselves unconscious, then we have probably never felt the things that those people are afraid of facing.
To that, our response should be gratitude for our own blessed lives, sheer admiration for anyone who has the courage to say no to the comfort and yes to riding out the pain, and compassion for those who weren't brave or strong enough to make that 'choice', when we have never had to test our own courage that way.
Oddbabble: They tried to make her go to rehab but she wanted to concentrate more on working with children for the time being.
*It is of course not a comprehensive study on the complexities and variations of addiction, but rather an exercise in teaching compassion by seeing things from the inside through creative means.
I had assumed that this response would be fairly universal, so in my naivety I was shocked to read comments, some from friends, implying that her death was deserved, self-inflicted, or that somehow because she was a celebrity and an addict, her death wasn't even a tragedy.
I find this lack of compassion very hard to understand. I can only make sense of it by putting it down to ignorance. Ignorance, thankfully, is curable. Here is a very short blog post* to make absolutely no difference to that ignorance because no-one will read it, but one which will make me feel a little better for having written it.
When a person becomes addicted to something, whether that is to a substance like alcohol or drugs, or a behaviour like gambling, sex or self harm, it is in simple terms, a coping strategy. A way of self-medicating against some kind of pain. It is not simply a case of someone choosing not to say no to something naughty but nice when they really ought to, like a greedy child who keeps eating too many sweets.
Let me help you to stand in the shoes of an addicted person. Imagine the thing in your life that brings you the most comfort and peace. The thing, behaviour or person in your life that helps to make things feel OK for a bit. That thing will necessarily be very precious to you. That is your coping strategy. If your strategy is harm free then you are blessed. Not everyone has access to those things though, and some of those things are not powerful enough to do any good for some people.
Now imagine or remember the most painful emotional thing you have ever experienced. Mix that feeling together with your greatest fear. Multiply it by maybe 10 (or more if you've lived a fairly charmed life) and then imagine it's a permanent feeling that won't go away.
What will you do to help make that feeling less horrible for you? I'm guessing you'll reach for that trusted thing, behaviour or person. I'm guessing that won't solve the problem but that it will bring you some comfort. It'll make the pain a little more bearable. It might numb that feeling a bit or help you to forget it for a while.
Now imagine that whenever you used that thing (hugged that person, bent that ear, read, listened, ran, whatever) you experienced some negative pay-off. It wasn't as bad as that awful feeling but it was still significant enough to be concerning or debilitating in a way that made your friends concerned about you.
So your friends tell you that you have to give up your special, comforting thing. You try because you know your friends are right, but the trouble is they don't understand how terrifying it is when that feeling comes back. That horrible pain that won't go away. They don't understand the courage that it takes to face that feeling is more than most people will have to muster in a lifetime, and that that courage has to be taken every time you say no to that comforting thing. Every time, you are having to be brave enough to face your most terrible fears and feelings, and there is no-one that can do it for you.
People spoke of Amy (and others like her) as having a choice to say no to her addiction. Some choices are harder than others. Yes, there is some weakness involved in not saying no, but do you judge the lamb in the jaws of the wolf for being weak? How many wolves have you had to fight?
I don't know what Amy or any other addict was numbing or hiding or self-medicating. Often the addict doesn't know themselves. We can be fairly sure though, that if we have never found ourselves needing to cut, shoot-up, gamble until we have nothing left or drink ourselves unconscious, then we have probably never felt the things that those people are afraid of facing.
To that, our response should be gratitude for our own blessed lives, sheer admiration for anyone who has the courage to say no to the comfort and yes to riding out the pain, and compassion for those who weren't brave or strong enough to make that 'choice', when we have never had to test our own courage that way.
Oddbabble: They tried to make her go to rehab but she wanted to concentrate more on working with children for the time being.
*It is of course not a comprehensive study on the complexities and variations of addiction, but rather an exercise in teaching compassion by seeing things from the inside through creative means.
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
Delight yourself in the Lord...Part 1
For the first several years as a Christian I used to indulge in a secret fantasy that I rarely admitted to anyone. I used to dream that somehow, I would receive a telegram from heaven saying "No-one's Home". I would dream about how my life would be different if I wasn't a Christian, and wish I wasn't so darned wholeheartedly convinced that it's actually true.
Recently I found my mind slipping once again in the direction of wondering how my life would be if I wasn't a Christian and I realised something that worried me at first. I realised that my life wouldn't look all that different if I got that telegram. It worried me because I thought "This is not a good sign. There ought to be a real, measurable difference between the life and values of a Christian and someone who is not" and began the usual panic that regularly befalls the over-sensitive Christian, wondering if I had ever been born again at all.
However, as I thought it through I realised that it was not because my life hadn't changed since I'd become a Christian (that genuinely would be a reason for alarm bells to ring, as a Christian life without regeneration and transformation is one that needs to be examined). The difference was that I had changed from a position of hating God's laws to loving them and agreeing with them. Psalm 119:97 says "Oh how I love your law! I meditate on it all day long." I realised I had come to a point where that had actually begun to make sense to me. Along with the verse below that stares me in the face every morning when I eat my breakfast:
"Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart" Psalm 37:4
I used to look at the verse and think "I know what the desires of my heart are, and I'm 100% sure God isn't about to give me any of those." What I didn't realise is that God doesn't deny us our desires, but he changes what our desires are in the first place. If I got that telegram, my life wouldn't look much different because I am convinced of the rightness of the way that God says life should be lived, to the extent that it would remain right even if it was earthly, not heavenly wisdom.
What this means in practice is that I am now a far more 'cheerful giver'. It's much easier and more pleasant to give a gift that's deserved, that the recipient has asked for to someone you love than it is to give something you love, to someone you bitterly resent for asking for it. Even and especially if the gift is very, very expensive. Either way the recipient gets the gift, but the latter is far more civilised for all involved.
Of course I am not saying that everything I do is in agreement with God and I am almost indistinguishable from the living Lord Jesus himself. All I am saying is that for far more things than before, when I do, think or say something that is wrong, I agree that it was wrong. I guess you could say it's like growing out of adolescence. As a teenager it drove me mad that my parents told me what I could and couldn't do. I was a comparatively obedient teenager but my obedience was not in line with my desires or personal judgement. As an adult, I'm still tempted to do many of the things the teenaged me was fond of, but I am able to see for myself why those things are not what's best for me. There's no-one making me make those choices anymore, but now I choose to make them (most of the time). The results are almost the same but there are far fewer tantrums and slammed doors.
This in turn made me realise something else - something that totally crushed my pride. You can read about that in Part 2...
Oddbabble: Thinks that serialising her posts will increase her readers exponentially.
Recently I found my mind slipping once again in the direction of wondering how my life would be if I wasn't a Christian and I realised something that worried me at first. I realised that my life wouldn't look all that different if I got that telegram. It worried me because I thought "This is not a good sign. There ought to be a real, measurable difference between the life and values of a Christian and someone who is not" and began the usual panic that regularly befalls the over-sensitive Christian, wondering if I had ever been born again at all.
However, as I thought it through I realised that it was not because my life hadn't changed since I'd become a Christian (that genuinely would be a reason for alarm bells to ring, as a Christian life without regeneration and transformation is one that needs to be examined). The difference was that I had changed from a position of hating God's laws to loving them and agreeing with them. Psalm 119:97 says "Oh how I love your law! I meditate on it all day long." I realised I had come to a point where that had actually begun to make sense to me. Along with the verse below that stares me in the face every morning when I eat my breakfast:
"Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart" Psalm 37:4I used to look at the verse and think "I know what the desires of my heart are, and I'm 100% sure God isn't about to give me any of those." What I didn't realise is that God doesn't deny us our desires, but he changes what our desires are in the first place. If I got that telegram, my life wouldn't look much different because I am convinced of the rightness of the way that God says life should be lived, to the extent that it would remain right even if it was earthly, not heavenly wisdom.
What this means in practice is that I am now a far more 'cheerful giver'. It's much easier and more pleasant to give a gift that's deserved, that the recipient has asked for to someone you love than it is to give something you love, to someone you bitterly resent for asking for it. Even and especially if the gift is very, very expensive. Either way the recipient gets the gift, but the latter is far more civilised for all involved.
Of course I am not saying that everything I do is in agreement with God and I am almost indistinguishable from the living Lord Jesus himself. All I am saying is that for far more things than before, when I do, think or say something that is wrong, I agree that it was wrong. I guess you could say it's like growing out of adolescence. As a teenager it drove me mad that my parents told me what I could and couldn't do. I was a comparatively obedient teenager but my obedience was not in line with my desires or personal judgement. As an adult, I'm still tempted to do many of the things the teenaged me was fond of, but I am able to see for myself why those things are not what's best for me. There's no-one making me make those choices anymore, but now I choose to make them (most of the time). The results are almost the same but there are far fewer tantrums and slammed doors.
This in turn made me realise something else - something that totally crushed my pride. You can read about that in Part 2...
Oddbabble: Thinks that serialising her posts will increase her readers exponentially.
The Emperor's New Clothes Are All a Size Zero
This is an article I wrote for a zine called Fatty. I would like to precede it with the disclaimer that I am not talking about people who are unhealthily overweight, and I am certainly not making a comment about eating disorders which are another thing entirely. This is just about stupid women. Enjoy.
There has been a peculiar spell cast over Western society. Not the good sort like your kind, fat, fairy Godmother might cast. It bears more the mark of your archetypal scrawny witch. It’s a powerful spell that infiltrates women’s minds, men’s trousers, our purses, our time, our conversations and many, many miles of tedious print on the pages of glossy magazines.
I work in primary schools – an environment almost entirely populated by females. In every staff room I walk into I hear the conversational evidence of this spell’s effects. There are unspoken, unbroken rules about what you may eat, your attitude to it and how you may talk about it. There is a strict script in which women must agree that calorific or fatty foods are ‘naughty’ or ‘wicked’. A tacit assumption that any pleasure derived from eating must be paid for with guilt. And an apparently unshakeable rule that all women MUST be thinner than they currently are, regardless of their shape, size or weight, and with absolutely no connection whatsoever with their level of health. I hear conversations governed by these rules replicated over and over in every school I visit. Each word of it drips with socially constructed, oppressive lies that have been repeated so many times in so many ways that it has become accepted as Unquestionable Truth.
The last time I was in a school staff room at lunch time, I was invited to join in with one of these scripts with a woman I hadn’t met before. She was the dance teacher and she was eating a low fat yoghurt. I refused to follow the script at every opportunity. The conversation went as follows:
Dance Teacher: “I’m trying to eat this slowly but it’s so difficult.”
Me: “Why are you trying to eat it slowly?”
DT: “So I don’t eat as much!”
Note her surprise that I didn’t already know one of the Universal Laws of Eating for Women.
Me: OK.
No, I am not going to say “What are you talking about! You don’t need to lose weight, you’re so skinny!” because (a.) this would mean I believed it was a compliment to call someone skinny (b.) I would be stating the eye-bleedingly obvious to completely deaf ears rendering the statement pointless (c.) it is a very core conversational rule and therefore I must break it and (d.) because it would trigger the inevitable cyclical exchange “No, I’m not skinny you are!” followed by “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re the thin one here!” followed by very slight variations of the same until one of us dies.
DT: “I keep trying to eat less but I just keep getting hungry.”
Me: “I guess that’s your body telling you that you’ve burned some energy and it needs replacing.”
DT: “But I haven’t burned any energy!”
I say nothing, thinking that this strikes me as extremely unlikely given that her job title dictates that she has spent the morning dancing and attempting to keep control of 30 or so small children.
DT: “It was awful last week, my husband gave me a whole box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day.”
I know I am expected to agree that this experience is worthy of the word “awful”, but I will not concede. Instead I say the logically more appropriate:
“How lovely of him.”
DT: “It was terrible though, they were these really rich, delicious truffle things. I ate loads of them.”
Again, I am aware that I am required to declare that something “rich” and “delicious” is lamentable and that she is to be pitied above all women. Instead I venture the controversial:
“They sound gorgeous, lucky you.”
She gives up at this point because it’s clear to her that I don’t understand The Rules, not to mention the fact that as we are speaking, I am stuffing my face with normal food at normal speed, without apologising or self flagellating.
As the Emperor in the fairy tale parades around as a naked imbecile, the crowds congratulate his apparel so many times that even they become convinced that there are enviable fabrics and stitches in front of them. As women nod and agree with each other that these are The Rules, they forget that there may be another way of looking at themselves. They are voluntarily living in a prison where the door isn’t even locked.
I'm Sorry I'm a Christian
For those one or two readers who are not friends with me on Facebook, or who missed this first time around:
I'm not clever enough to work out how to add the actual video here, but please follow this link for the rest of this post to make sense.
A friend, responded with this:
"That's powerful stuff. Challenging but quite negative. Does it describe how you feel about Christians you know?"
I'm not clever enough to work out how to add the actual video here, but please follow this link for the rest of this post to make sense.
A friend, responded with this:
"That's powerful stuff. Challenging but quite negative. Does it describe how you feel about Christians you know?"
This was my response:
I posted it because a lot of people I've spoken to see Christians in this way, so I think it's healthy for Christians and non-Christians to hear something like this. This is the reality of the context that we're witnessing into - when I say "I am a Christian" these are the assumptions that people may make about me. Though this is more about the people with the loudest voices or the biggest placards than individual Christians I might know personally, I do think it's important to acknowledge that these are things that sincere and often genuine Christians have done, and I think there’s a place for saying sorry for being part of the same body that has done these things. Not for the sake of being negative, but to have some authenticity about our failures and hypocrisy and to point out, as the poet does, that this was not how Jesus conducted himself. I long for people to associate the word Christian with Jesus’ radical indiscriminate love and compassionately spoken truth but the tragic reality is that many people don’t. I am a part of the reason for this too.Sunday, 21 November 2010
Some Lessons I've Learned Lately about Love
A friend told me this story about himself.
He had just started at Bible college and after the first lecture he went up to his professor and said "This book tells me I'm going to hell because I'm gay. Tell me why."
There are 101 things his professor could have said to him. A professor of theology might have turned to several passages in the Bible, and begun some kind of exegesis. What he said was this:
"This book tells you that God loves you."
That was all that he said. He didn't add anything to that, or explain it, or give a caveat or a reference or anything else. He didn't need to because his sermon was completely self-contained and accurate. My friend was blown away by this and completely transformed - it hit him right between the eyes that he would always have this bottom line: God loved him. No ifs, no buts, no ands. God loves him.
So my friend's professor taught me a wonderful, simple lesson about love.
The Bible college was a residential one and my friend had to share a room, like many other students. He was sharing with a young man who thought he knew a lot about a lot of things. Reader, you may have met one or two young men like him. The room mate shared a lot of opinions about homosexuality that hurt my friend, for example that it he would never let a child of his go to a Sunday school class that my friend was teaching, because my friend was not safe to be in contact with children.
When I hear people say things like this, my reaction is to first get very angry and then to write them off. I define that person as ignorant and hateful and resolve to no longer be in contact with them. But my friend is different to me because he had learned a very simple lesson about love that had changed his life. My friend was angry with him and told me that often it was very hard for him not to punch his room mate in the face. I empathised. But, he said, but he also knew that he was loved. And that made it difficult for him to hate. He was so convinced and changed by this heart knowledge of his status as an unconditionally loved person, that his instinct to love this person was stronger than his instinct to hate him. Not because he thought he ought to love him as 'the right thing to do' but because his knowledge that he was loved compelled him to love this guy, and to keep coming back to this point again and again, even though he was hurt by him again and again.
I was bowled over by this.
It highlighted a couple of important things for me. The first is that although I completely agree with my friend's professor, I think I don't really believe it for myself deep down. I understand that I am loved by God and that there is a full stop at the end of that sentence, and no other sentence is needed. But I always like to add my own but, or my own and. God loves me but he also hates me a bit and expects me to do more than I ever possibly can and when I don't, he hates me a bit. But yes, he loves me. Or God loves me and it's because I don't do this thing. Or God loves me and it's because I am so this and so that. I think the fact that my friend didn't add his own but or and, is the reason why his life was changed by it and he was able to love his enemy. I think my buts and ands are what makes me withdraw from my enemies and write them off.
So the second thing I realised is that my dogged refusal to accept this unconditional love thing has meant that I'm very bad at loving. Because loving means staying and not running away. I am about to join a new church and I've realised that part of the reason I've taken so long to choose one is because I don't want to take the painful risk of committing to love. I have been hurt by a lot of people similar to my friend's room mate and I have seen a lot of friends hurt by his kind and my instinct is to think that Christians are often not very nice so I'll withdraw. But I also know that being part of a church means that I am called to love people - that's sort of the point of it. And some of those people will think they know a lot about a lot of things and will say things and they will hurt me and I want to be someone who stays and loves them. And the reason I want to do that is because it's sinking in that I am loved and then there is a full stop. And that full stop is starting to make me want to be brave and love others with my own full stop. I think that's probably a better attitude to join a church with than the one I've had of late.
Here is a link that has helped me to soak in the full stop: Everyone everywhere needs to know this.
He had just started at Bible college and after the first lecture he went up to his professor and said "This book tells me I'm going to hell because I'm gay. Tell me why."
There are 101 things his professor could have said to him. A professor of theology might have turned to several passages in the Bible, and begun some kind of exegesis. What he said was this:
"This book tells you that God loves you."
That was all that he said. He didn't add anything to that, or explain it, or give a caveat or a reference or anything else. He didn't need to because his sermon was completely self-contained and accurate. My friend was blown away by this and completely transformed - it hit him right between the eyes that he would always have this bottom line: God loved him. No ifs, no buts, no ands. God loves him.
So my friend's professor taught me a wonderful, simple lesson about love.
The Bible college was a residential one and my friend had to share a room, like many other students. He was sharing with a young man who thought he knew a lot about a lot of things. Reader, you may have met one or two young men like him. The room mate shared a lot of opinions about homosexuality that hurt my friend, for example that it he would never let a child of his go to a Sunday school class that my friend was teaching, because my friend was not safe to be in contact with children.
When I hear people say things like this, my reaction is to first get very angry and then to write them off. I define that person as ignorant and hateful and resolve to no longer be in contact with them. But my friend is different to me because he had learned a very simple lesson about love that had changed his life. My friend was angry with him and told me that often it was very hard for him not to punch his room mate in the face. I empathised. But, he said, but he also knew that he was loved. And that made it difficult for him to hate. He was so convinced and changed by this heart knowledge of his status as an unconditionally loved person, that his instinct to love this person was stronger than his instinct to hate him. Not because he thought he ought to love him as 'the right thing to do' but because his knowledge that he was loved compelled him to love this guy, and to keep coming back to this point again and again, even though he was hurt by him again and again.
I was bowled over by this.
It highlighted a couple of important things for me. The first is that although I completely agree with my friend's professor, I think I don't really believe it for myself deep down. I understand that I am loved by God and that there is a full stop at the end of that sentence, and no other sentence is needed. But I always like to add my own but, or my own and. God loves me but he also hates me a bit and expects me to do more than I ever possibly can and when I don't, he hates me a bit. But yes, he loves me. Or God loves me and it's because I don't do this thing. Or God loves me and it's because I am so this and so that. I think the fact that my friend didn't add his own but or and, is the reason why his life was changed by it and he was able to love his enemy. I think my buts and ands are what makes me withdraw from my enemies and write them off.
So the second thing I realised is that my dogged refusal to accept this unconditional love thing has meant that I'm very bad at loving. Because loving means staying and not running away. I am about to join a new church and I've realised that part of the reason I've taken so long to choose one is because I don't want to take the painful risk of committing to love. I have been hurt by a lot of people similar to my friend's room mate and I have seen a lot of friends hurt by his kind and my instinct is to think that Christians are often not very nice so I'll withdraw. But I also know that being part of a church means that I am called to love people - that's sort of the point of it. And some of those people will think they know a lot about a lot of things and will say things and they will hurt me and I want to be someone who stays and loves them. And the reason I want to do that is because it's sinking in that I am loved and then there is a full stop. And that full stop is starting to make me want to be brave and love others with my own full stop. I think that's probably a better attitude to join a church with than the one I've had of late.
Here is a link that has helped me to soak in the full stop: Everyone everywhere needs to know this.
Friday, 5 November 2010
Unjust Desserts
Anticipation can be a delicious thing. Especially in the context of one of my favourite hobbies: eating.I love those moments between savouring the savoury and knowing there'll soon be the sweet full stop of a pudding. There is only one thing that can ruin these wonderful few moments and that is the fury, rage, sorrow and injustice I experience when someone misinterprets the remit 'pudding' to include the revolting non-dessert that is crumble. It's a lot like waking up with a buzz of excitement on the morning of your birthday, only to have your parade rained on by being given a cow for someone in Africa as your main gift. Yes, broadly speaking it is a present. Yes, morally speaking I should be pleased. But there doesn't seem to be any chocolate happening here and that's really my point.
Allow me to explain.
The definition of a pudding is something sweet and delicious. In order to achieve the status of sweet deliciousness, one or more of the following must be present as a primary ingredient: custard, chocolate, cream. Did you see boiled up old fruit there? No. Did you see broken old bits of biscuit? No. All crumbles are therefore wrong, but there is nothing quite so heinous as the inclusion of leaf stalks into a pudding. That's what rhubarb is friends. It's a little known fact that most of a rhubarb plant is actually poisonous. That's God's way of warning us that eating it is wrong.
Somebody give me a custard injection.
Oddbabble: When she's queen the dictionary and the law will reflect these truths.
Swedish Smedish
The first part always lures me into a false sense of joy because I will be eating Very Cheap Meatballs with lovely gravy, chips and some sort of jam on the side. That's all I really want from life generally. So with stomach full, I go to pick up the one wardrobe that I have already chosen from the catalogue in the comfort of my own home.
I just need one thing.
But hang on, there's a cuddly scorpion that's only 39p, so I'd better get 5. And something which makes my cupboards seem bigger. And a set of wine glasses. And a watering can. And, and...
OK, now I really do have everything I need, I just need to get to the bit where the flatpacks are kept. But there is a couple walking in front of me veerryyy slowly with a wide trolly and wider bottoms. I will have to stay behind them at their pace until I get to a junction because the path is very narrow and my only alternative is to clamber over the fitted kitchen. They are very slow. They are very wide.
Eventually I duck past but am soon met by another obstacle. A fueding couple who are blocking my path by holding oversized soft furnishings. "I don't want to make a SCENE David." "I'm not making a scene, I just don't think those will go with the curtains, and I don't think you really see the seriousness of that."
I would love to stay and see how this develops but I want to GET OUT but I am on a seemingly never-ending winding narrow path peopled by wide couples or arguing couples or other people blocking me in equally inconsiderate ways.
And I still haven't seen my wardrobe even though I've been through 3 wardrobe sections (or have I been to the same wardrobe section 3 times?).
I decide to ask a member of staff for help. There are none. I continue to search and eventually approach someone.
Me: Hi, I wonder if you can help me?
Employee (without looking up): Yeah?
Me: I'm looking for the Bonky Wardrobe.
Employee: You'll need to check the catalogue.
Me: Great, where can I find a catalogue?
Employee: On that stand over there.
Me: Ah, I did just check there, there aren't any.
Employee: That one over there then.
Me: Oops, none there either!
Employee: Sorry, can't help then.
Undeterred I continue to wind my way around the endless pathway until I locate the Bonky Suite, and copy down the corresponding code to find the flatpack. I can now get to the flatpack bit, but I have been here for 15 hours so my energy is beginning to flag, plus I have been carrying 35 unneccessary essentials with me for the entire duration.
I locate the flatpack I need and am physically unable to move it at all.
I ask for help and a kind employee takes it to the till. I pay and hand over my loyalty card which is scanned.
Me: This doesn't seem to have made any difference to my bill.
Cashier: No, it just gives you a free cup of tea in the canteen you were in 15 hours ago.
The employee helps me to wheel the flat packs to my car, taking me past the returns area. The facial expressions and body language of the people there make it resemble a waiting room for a doctors' surgery where there is only one doctor who is only in on an unspecified day and you are not allowed to know which one.
The flat pack will not fit in my car.
There is one thing (except the meatballs, and the joy of assembling the furniture once it's home) that redeems this company. That thing is Anna. Try saying these things to her: 'You are pretty.' 'Will you go out with me?' 'Are you married?' I love the way she becomes so anxious - it's OK, I'm not really interested in you, you're a picture! And I love the way she pronounces Ikea! If you can make her say anything else amusing, do let me know.
Oddbabble: Can't tell her Bonky from her Shlonky.
Ladies Who Lunch
Pam -Soozie-Doreen-Jean
Pam: Helloooo, and welcome to LADIES WHO LUNCH!Audience of middle-aged women: Wooooo!!
Pam: We've got a fantastic show for you today. We'll be discussing 'Does my bum look big in this?' 'Should I dump my man?' and a Serious Political Debate!
Audience: Wooooo!!
Pam: OK, so let's start with our first topic. Ladies, do you ever worry about the size of your bum?
Jean: OMG are you joking?
Audience: Wooooo!!
Jean: I mean, if panties could talk!
Other panel members: Hahaha! What is she like?!
Jean: I remember a time when I said to my boyfriend, 'does my bum look big in this?' and he said, wait for it girls, he said 'well you know what you always say to me darling, size does matter!'
Audience (hysterical at the mention of a slight penis innuendo): WOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Pam: Hahahaha. What about you Doreen?
Doreen: I love my bum I've always been happy with my bum. I think all women who don't like their bums are stupid and fat anyway. It's obvious that the answer is to eat fewer pies.
Jean: Doreen, how can you say that?! What about all the wine you drink?
Audience: Wooooo!!
Pam: I do have to admit ladies, we did have a couple of bevvies last night!
Doreen: A couple? Only if you mean the equivalent of newly weds' body weight!
Audience: Woooo!!
Jean: What is she like?!
Pam: OK girls enough about drinking and bums...
Audience: Wooooo!!
Pam:...it's time for our Serious Political Debate!
Doreen: Oh I don't know, I've got such a headache from all the wine last night!
Soozie: She's an alcoholic!!
Audience: Woooo!!
Pam: Now now girls. Our topic today is 'Should the government be making so many cuts?' What do you think girls?
Jean: No way! They're just making cuts all over the place! It's awful! They should be giving us money, not taking it away. How are we meant to pay for things?
Doreen: It's ridiculous. I grew up with nothing as a kid. We all had to drink rain water from the gutter and eat out of bins. But it's not as bad as it is now. It's awful.
Pam (reading from an autocue): But how else will the government tackle the deficit.
Panel: ...
Soozie:....well, I mean, they have to make some cuts I guess...
Doreen: As long as they don't tax alcohol!
Audience: Woooo!
Soozie: Yeah, or penises!
Audience: Wooo!!!
Pam (fanning herself): Well ladies I'm afraid that's all we have time for today! But tune in tomorrow for more topics relevant to ladies today! Bye!!
The next day...
Pam: Helloooo, and welcome to LADIES WHO LUNCH!
Audience of middle-aged women: Wooooo!!
Pam: We've got a fantastic show for you today. We'll be discussing 'Fad diets' 'Is my boyfriend cheating?' and a Serious Political Debate!
Audience: Wooooo!!
Pam: And as it's Soozie's birthday today, we'll also have a random semi-naked man bringing in a cake!
Audience (several of whom have passed out): WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Pam: OK girls, let's start with Fad Diets. Have any of you tried to lose weight?
Soozie: I'm starting my diet tomorrow!
Doreen: That's what she always says!
Audience: *Falls about in apoplectic laughter*
Doreen: I'm on a wine diet!
Jean: What is she like?! She's hungover again!!
Pam: Oh wait, who's this I see coming in with a cake?
Audience: *Screams hysterically at oiled pretty boy who is blatantly homosexual*
Pam: Happy birthday Soozie, just a little suprise for you. It was either that or a sausage!
Audience: Woooooo!!
Jean: Yes, or a little package!
Audience: Wooooooooooooo!!
Doreen! Or a big one!
Everyone falls about lauging until the credits roll.
The next day...
Pam: Helloooo, and welcome to LADIES WHO LUNCH!
Audience of middle-aged women: Wooooo!!
Pam: We've got a fantastic show for you today. We'll be discussing 'How do I get rid of my cellulite?' 'How do I know if he's the one?' and a Serious Political Debate!
Audience: Wooooo!!
You get the idea...
Monday, 6 September 2010
Another Post On Suffering
At the risk of repeating myself (I've gone over similar lines here) allow me to bang a drum I like to reprise every now and again. And allow me to do it again in a couple of posts' time. Thanks.
Unfortunately for any small group or Bible study I may grace with my presence, I am that irritating token person who always points out the unresolvable, willfully invisible elephant in the passage, just when we all thought we were agreeing pleasantly and coming to the same comfortable conclusions as usual.
On one such occasion the study was on Matthew 7 and I pointed out 2 uncomfortable realities, one of which I will now unpack.
I pointed out that when our Father gives out his gifts, he doesn't do so equally. He gives much blessing to some, and little blessing to others. To some he gives much suffering, to others much less.
One person's response was this; "This is true, but when I've spoken to people who have suffered, their experience of Jesus has been all the sweeter."
I gave a silent reply because of my hideous combination of a wildly emotional histrionic drama queen trapped inside the body of a painfully self-conscious, cringingly English woman. One who knew she had already rocked the boat too many times that evening to add an embarrassing, tearful rebuke (plus, well, my period was due, so the whole thing would have been monstrously amplified and very un-Bible-study-ish).
What I wanted to say was this:
How many suffering people have you actually spoken to in real life? Because what you're saying actually sounds like what you imagine suffering people to say while you are trying to square this difficult circle in your head. Yes, there are wonderful Christian examples like Brother Yun, who are able to count their suffering as a blessing but dare I say it, he is an exceptional man - a true hero of the faith. How many ordinary people with everyday ordinary unequal sufferings have you actually had an authentic conversation with?
Let me give you an example. My own sufferings are very, very small compared to a lot of people. Nevertheless as many readers know, my testimony is mostly not exactly jolly. I was asked for it by someone on the board of a well-known evangelical conference, only to have it returned to me with this feedback - "Thanks for your story. Do you think you could add a sentence or two just mentioning how God made up for what you've sacrificed in other ways?".
My answer was that no, I was not going to bolt on a contrived happy ending. My story is my story and actually, God has not 'made up for it'. There isn't an automatic equilibrium in my life - or anyone else's - which means that bad stuff is always weighed up somewhere with good so it all comes out equal and fair in the end.
Life is not fair people!
Life is not equal!
Even, *gasp* for Christians!
It may well be that my friend had spoken to a lot of suffering Christians and that they gave in to the pressure to give a happy ending and added an experience that was not really felt. Going back to the previous example of Habakkuk in my last rant about this (see the link at the start), sometimes, there really are NO FIGS! Sometimes we don't get peaches to make up for the lack of figs! The right Christian response, as in this passage, is to trust God anyway. To trust that there will be figs and peaches overflowing when we die, yes, but that in this life, some get crops of figs, some get none.
Sometimes that lack of figs creates a 'Heavenly Man' type of Christian. Sometimes it creates an OddBabble type of Christian who is far less heroic in response to her far, far, far lesser sufferings, who actually has a pretty impoverished faith in response, which actually a lot of the time is holding on by a thread, and a lot of the time, the One holding on to the thread is not her.
I am not wishing for fewer Heavenly Men, or for less joy in suffering or for less discipline in blessing-counting. God knows these are all things I desperately need to learn from in my life. I know that part of my response here comes from a gross lack of godliness and I'm not boasting in that.
All I wish for is a bit of honesty and authenticity. Sometimes (often, in my experience) the best response to someone's suffering is not to look for the silver lining, or to make one up when there isn't one, but actually just to weep and grieve with them while they are in their cloud and give them the balm of acknowledging that being in a black cloud just feels shit right now.
Unfortunately for any small group or Bible study I may grace with my presence, I am that irritating token person who always points out the unresolvable, willfully invisible elephant in the passage, just when we all thought we were agreeing pleasantly and coming to the same comfortable conclusions as usual.
On one such occasion the study was on Matthew 7 and I pointed out 2 uncomfortable realities, one of which I will now unpack.
I pointed out that when our Father gives out his gifts, he doesn't do so equally. He gives much blessing to some, and little blessing to others. To some he gives much suffering, to others much less.
One person's response was this; "This is true, but when I've spoken to people who have suffered, their experience of Jesus has been all the sweeter."
I gave a silent reply because of my hideous combination of a wildly emotional histrionic drama queen trapped inside the body of a painfully self-conscious, cringingly English woman. One who knew she had already rocked the boat too many times that evening to add an embarrassing, tearful rebuke (plus, well, my period was due, so the whole thing would have been monstrously amplified and very un-Bible-study-ish).
What I wanted to say was this:
How many suffering people have you actually spoken to in real life? Because what you're saying actually sounds like what you imagine suffering people to say while you are trying to square this difficult circle in your head. Yes, there are wonderful Christian examples like Brother Yun, who are able to count their suffering as a blessing but dare I say it, he is an exceptional man - a true hero of the faith. How many ordinary people with everyday ordinary unequal sufferings have you actually had an authentic conversation with?
Let me give you an example. My own sufferings are very, very small compared to a lot of people. Nevertheless as many readers know, my testimony is mostly not exactly jolly. I was asked for it by someone on the board of a well-known evangelical conference, only to have it returned to me with this feedback - "Thanks for your story. Do you think you could add a sentence or two just mentioning how God made up for what you've sacrificed in other ways?".
My answer was that no, I was not going to bolt on a contrived happy ending. My story is my story and actually, God has not 'made up for it'. There isn't an automatic equilibrium in my life - or anyone else's - which means that bad stuff is always weighed up somewhere with good so it all comes out equal and fair in the end.
Life is not fair people!
Life is not equal!
Even, *gasp* for Christians!
It may well be that my friend had spoken to a lot of suffering Christians and that they gave in to the pressure to give a happy ending and added an experience that was not really felt. Going back to the previous example of Habakkuk in my last rant about this (see the link at the start), sometimes, there really are NO FIGS! Sometimes we don't get peaches to make up for the lack of figs! The right Christian response, as in this passage, is to trust God anyway. To trust that there will be figs and peaches overflowing when we die, yes, but that in this life, some get crops of figs, some get none.
Sometimes that lack of figs creates a 'Heavenly Man' type of Christian. Sometimes it creates an OddBabble type of Christian who is far less heroic in response to her far, far, far lesser sufferings, who actually has a pretty impoverished faith in response, which actually a lot of the time is holding on by a thread, and a lot of the time, the One holding on to the thread is not her.
I am not wishing for fewer Heavenly Men, or for less joy in suffering or for less discipline in blessing-counting. God knows these are all things I desperately need to learn from in my life. I know that part of my response here comes from a gross lack of godliness and I'm not boasting in that.
All I wish for is a bit of honesty and authenticity. Sometimes (often, in my experience) the best response to someone's suffering is not to look for the silver lining, or to make one up when there isn't one, but actually just to weep and grieve with them while they are in their cloud and give them the balm of acknowledging that being in a black cloud just feels shit right now.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Scarecut #2
Today I got my hair cut - an acutely anxiety provoking activity which I wrote about once before here.
I don't have too much to add to what I said then, except to say that all my worst nightmares came true on this occasion.
Kayla, ever the professional, smilingly said the following: "I'm just gonna pop a tissue on you there because I seem to have taken the top off a bleeding sore on your head with my comb."
I took in the scene in the mirror before me: Kayla smilingly holding a blooded tissue above my head, my own blushing, horrified face, and the face of the woman next to me which read "OMG, that woman has actually got leprosy?"
Oddbabble. Glamour is her middle name.
I don't have too much to add to what I said then, except to say that all my worst nightmares came true on this occasion.
Kayla, ever the professional, smilingly said the following: "I'm just gonna pop a tissue on you there because I seem to have taken the top off a bleeding sore on your head with my comb."
I took in the scene in the mirror before me: Kayla smilingly holding a blooded tissue above my head, my own blushing, horrified face, and the face of the woman next to me which read "OMG, that woman has actually got leprosy?"
Oddbabble. Glamour is her middle name.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Miscellany
A collection of oddbabblings, anecdotes and misdemeanors from the last few months...
On Becoming a Grown-up
I recently had to attend my first multi-disciplinary meeting in my newish job. This meant that I had to persuade other adults that I am competent and professional, whereas thus far, I have only had to convince 6-11 year old children, who are frankly gullible. I was very disappointed therefore, to find that during my cycle ride in, a piece of debris flew into my eye, meaning that I was compulsively winking throughout the meeting. The middle-aged women around the table must have thought I was either some kind of creepy flirt, or unusually moved (I was also crying, but only out of one eye), or secretly trying to tell all of them something that they couldn't quite decipher. Either way, it wasn't how I had hoped it would go.
Cheap Seats
Someone I know was delighted to have been given tickets to go and see the famous Riverdance show. Unfortunately, the seats were in a very poor position, meaning she could only see the dancers from the waist up. Thus she was able to watch hours of people wobbling everso slightly while looking straight ahead and holding their arms tightly by their sides.
Unprofessional Footwear
Since I am a counsellor, a friend bought me socks with the following statements on them, to help my clients to know that I'm really there for them:
"I'm not listening!"
"I understand, I just don't care"
Autocounsellor
After a particularly long day (in fact, almost a duplicate of the one described in my last post) I was waiting to be picked up from a distant station, looking at some trees with lights that flashed in different patterns - some fast, some slow, some sporadic. I found myself auto-empathising and thinking "I see, so you're flashing quite fast now. Perhaps you're feeling quite frantic? OK, and slower, yes. I sense there's a calmness between us now." I genuinely had these actual thoughts about lights on trees. That's tiredness.
Sweet Nothings
Oddbabble: I love you.
Companion: Wow, I think I have 5 layers on today.
Evidence for my Sanity
Genuine quotes from the 'Stickers Are Evil' group on Facebook:
"Stickers are the most disgusting thing in the world, I want to be sick if I am near them."
"yess! finally stickoraphobians unite! i get teased so much but really, IT'S A REAL THING! i demand some friggin respect..."
"i really hate stickers! they make me vomit and cry, ewwwww!!!!!!! ;("
"no way!!! i thought i was on my own. they make me sick! especially when they are curled up. makes my stomach chern!!!"
"The sight of a sticker peeling off with fuzz from a shirt stuck to it makes me nauseous. And little kids with stickers on their faces. It makes me gag EVERY time. I never can understand how ANYONE allows stickers to touch them."
"Stickers make me vomit too!!! I think they are the nastiest things ever. I have to cut off the stickers from apples, I can’t peel them off. I usually buy apples without stickers so I don’t have to deal with gagging when i see the sticker."
"stickers r fricken disgustingg, especially the thought of getting them in my hair, it makes me cringe just to think about it"
I have to stop now because I'm making myself feel sick, but I think I've made my point. I am right.
Childhood Sweethearts
These are the names of the teddys I had when I was a little girl. They seemed genuinely straightforward and logical to me at the time:
Fat
Pepper
Tray
Petrol Girl
Terrorhawksstayonthischannelthisisanemergency
Kevvy Boobs
Bum Geography
During the snowy season, I fell flat on my bum. The bruise the next day was in the shape of a perfect map of Australia, complete with New Zealand next to it, to scale.
Travel Sickness
Has anyone been to Gatwick Airport recently? While waiting for a delayed plane, I was horrified to be 'entertained' by The Gatwick Factor (like the X Factor, but cleverly renamed, and without any of the elements of enjoyment). They piped it out so loudly that there was literally no escape as we were already airside. I had to endure an elderly lady singing Hey Big Spender, complete with 'sexy' dancing. Old lady, I do not want to know with whom you may or not pop your cork. Frankly, I don't want to think about your cork at all.
Oddbabble: Writes this kind of crap down in her little book.
On Becoming a Grown-up
I recently had to attend my first multi-disciplinary meeting in my newish job. This meant that I had to persuade other adults that I am competent and professional, whereas thus far, I have only had to convince 6-11 year old children, who are frankly gullible. I was very disappointed therefore, to find that during my cycle ride in, a piece of debris flew into my eye, meaning that I was compulsively winking throughout the meeting. The middle-aged women around the table must have thought I was either some kind of creepy flirt, or unusually moved (I was also crying, but only out of one eye), or secretly trying to tell all of them something that they couldn't quite decipher. Either way, it wasn't how I had hoped it would go.
Cheap Seats
Someone I know was delighted to have been given tickets to go and see the famous Riverdance show. Unfortunately, the seats were in a very poor position, meaning she could only see the dancers from the waist up. Thus she was able to watch hours of people wobbling everso slightly while looking straight ahead and holding their arms tightly by their sides.
Unprofessional Footwear
Since I am a counsellor, a friend bought me socks with the following statements on them, to help my clients to know that I'm really there for them:
"I'm not listening!"
"I understand, I just don't care"
Autocounsellor
After a particularly long day (in fact, almost a duplicate of the one described in my last post) I was waiting to be picked up from a distant station, looking at some trees with lights that flashed in different patterns - some fast, some slow, some sporadic. I found myself auto-empathising and thinking "I see, so you're flashing quite fast now. Perhaps you're feeling quite frantic? OK, and slower, yes. I sense there's a calmness between us now." I genuinely had these actual thoughts about lights on trees. That's tiredness.
Sweet Nothings
Oddbabble: I love you.
Companion: Wow, I think I have 5 layers on today.
Evidence for my Sanity
Genuine quotes from the 'Stickers Are Evil' group on Facebook:
"Stickers are the most disgusting thing in the world, I want to be sick if I am near them."
"yess! finally stickoraphobians unite! i get teased so much but really, IT'S A REAL THING! i demand some friggin respect..."
"i really hate stickers! they make me vomit and cry, ewwwww!!!!!!! ;("
"no way!!! i thought i was on my own. they make me sick! especially when they are curled up. makes my stomach chern!!!"
"The sight of a sticker peeling off with fuzz from a shirt stuck to it makes me nauseous. And little kids with stickers on their faces. It makes me gag EVERY time. I never can understand how ANYONE allows stickers to touch them."
"Stickers make me vomit too!!! I think they are the nastiest things ever. I have to cut off the stickers from apples, I can’t peel them off. I usually buy apples without stickers so I don’t have to deal with gagging when i see the sticker."
"stickers r fricken disgustingg, especially the thought of getting them in my hair, it makes me cringe just to think about it"
I have to stop now because I'm making myself feel sick, but I think I've made my point. I am right.
Childhood Sweethearts
These are the names of the teddys I had when I was a little girl. They seemed genuinely straightforward and logical to me at the time:
Fat
Pepper
Tray
Petrol Girl
Terrorhawksstayonthischannelthisisanemergency
Kevvy Boobs
Bum Geography
During the snowy season, I fell flat on my bum. The bruise the next day was in the shape of a perfect map of Australia, complete with New Zealand next to it, to scale.
Travel Sickness
Has anyone been to Gatwick Airport recently? While waiting for a delayed plane, I was horrified to be 'entertained' by The Gatwick Factor (like the X Factor, but cleverly renamed, and without any of the elements of enjoyment). They piped it out so loudly that there was literally no escape as we were already airside. I had to endure an elderly lady singing Hey Big Spender, complete with 'sexy' dancing. Old lady, I do not want to know with whom you may or not pop your cork. Frankly, I don't want to think about your cork at all.
Oddbabble: Writes this kind of crap down in her little book.
Friday, 20 November 2009
A Day in the Life
I was going to write this as a Facebook update, but it was too long, so it's going here:
Today I left the flat at 8:30 am and returned home at 8:30 pm. During that time I took 6 buses, 5 trains, 3 tubes and 1 DLR, and walked many miles pulling a wheely shopper containing 13 books, 4 large puppets, 16 finger puppets, some plasticine, some art materials, loads of sheets of important paper and some miscellaneous objects.
I gave 100% of my concentration and empathy counselling 3 troubled children and 3 troubled adults, and was a client myself in an expensive, tearful session.
Of these 12 hours, I was paid for 3, and spent 72% of that wage doing the above.
I am tired. I am post CYFA camp tired. Brother, sisters, do you hear me? Holler!
Today I left the flat at 8:30 am and returned home at 8:30 pm. During that time I took 6 buses, 5 trains, 3 tubes and 1 DLR, and walked many miles pulling a wheely shopper containing 13 books, 4 large puppets, 16 finger puppets, some plasticine, some art materials, loads of sheets of important paper and some miscellaneous objects.
I gave 100% of my concentration and empathy counselling 3 troubled children and 3 troubled adults, and was a client myself in an expensive, tearful session.
Of these 12 hours, I was paid for 3, and spent 72% of that wage doing the above.
I am tired. I am post CYFA camp tired. Brother, sisters, do you hear me? Holler!
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
The Signs of Ageing
Two things happened this week that made me feel like a 70 year old woman.
The first is that I purchased my very first wheely shopper, pictured below.
Isn't it just sex on wheels though? If you look very closely, you will see that it has a cylindrical side pocket for accomodation of a walking stick!
In my defence, I bought it as a convenient way to lug tons of toys around the primary schools that I work in. I thought the children would find the ladybirds appealing, and hoped it might earn me the nickname "The Ladybird Lady". I'll let you know.
The second geriatric incident was when I lost my bicycle glove. I lamented to my friend on the phone how I am always losing things like that and will have to buy yet another pair.
It wasn't until several HOURS later, that I discovered upon looking at my reflection in a mirror, that it was in fact caught in my hair.
If I'm like this now, I dread to think what I'll be like when I really am a crazy old woman.
The first is that I purchased my very first wheely shopper, pictured below.
Isn't it just sex on wheels though? If you look very closely, you will see that it has a cylindrical side pocket for accomodation of a walking stick!In my defence, I bought it as a convenient way to lug tons of toys around the primary schools that I work in. I thought the children would find the ladybirds appealing, and hoped it might earn me the nickname "The Ladybird Lady". I'll let you know.
The second geriatric incident was when I lost my bicycle glove. I lamented to my friend on the phone how I am always losing things like that and will have to buy yet another pair.
It wasn't until several HOURS later, that I discovered upon looking at my reflection in a mirror, that it was in fact caught in my hair.
If I'm like this now, I dread to think what I'll be like when I really am a crazy old woman.
Monday, 28 September 2009
Let's celebrate Crash.
I recently went to a 'Taster Day' for an institute of higher education which will remain nameless. It was one of those places that only I seem to find myself in.
Firstly, all the walls were painted. When I say painted, I'm not talking two coats of magnolia, I mean that they were actual paintings. So in one room you were in a forest, complete with sky and clouds on the ceilings. In the toilets, each cubicle was wrapped in climbing plants and flowers. I got an incling that this wouldn't be a run of the mill evening.
I took my seat ready for a lecture, and the speaker was a big burly man with a beard. The kind of man who you just dip in your pockets and give your purse and keys to, while reciting your pins and passwords, because it makes the whole inevitable stabbing thing quicker and more painless. I was surpised therefore, when he opened his mouth to sound almost exactly like Michael Jackson, but with about an inch thick layer of camp smeared on top.
"And so, we made some creations from lego, always trains. Always drawings of trains. Where are the trains going? Of course, I realised, they were trains to nowhere. Sometimes they crashed, and you know what? We celebrated Crash. Crash is OK"
Perhaps you re-read that in an attempt to understand it and make some sense of it. You were right the first time - it's just bollocks.
We then moved to an area of the room where there was a bit more space, and were asked to take off our shoes. This was a clear signal to me that we were about to do something physical and public and embarassing and insane.
I was right.
9 adults then unquestioningly skipped about the room pretending variously, to be walking on a hot pavement, cooling ourselves in a puddle, splashing, jumping, looking at things that weren't there in rapt wonder. Yada yada yada.
I'm sure you can imagine, this is exactly the kind of situation where I feel most comfortable and at ease, lacking in all self-consciousness or desire to run away as fast as I can (which, if anyone has seen me run, would not put much space between me and Fat Michael Jackson anytime soon).
Next we had to paint our feelings. Of course. I did some trees.
FMJ "Now, I want you to choose an object, or rather, let the object choose you".
A rubber snake chose me.
I then had to give my object a voice, and tell this story to my neighbour, who silently nodded while remembering what she had read that Freud thinks about snakes, and judging me.
We then had a group interview, which went something like this:
FMJ: Why are you here today?
Candidate no. 1: I'm here because I'm on a journey? And the experience I've had today has just been really amazing because I've really been in my body?
Everyone nods (except me).
Candidate no 2: Yes, it was incredible how released I was in the act of using the paints. My emotions just flowed out of me. I just feel really....centred?
Everyone nods (except me).
Me: I'm here because I'd like to do my job better.
Everyone looks at me. When they realise that's all I'm going to say, we move on.
FMJ: Can you tell me about some of the neuroses you developed in childhood, and how you address them as an adult?
As you may imagine, everyone did. At very great length and in painful and alarming detail. Everyone except me.
The next day I received a letter saying that I had not been accepted for a place, but that they would consider me after a year of humanistic psychotherapy.
Which makes complete sense, because the obvious conclusion to draw from all of this is that I am mentally ill and need help to get a better grip of reality.
Firstly, all the walls were painted. When I say painted, I'm not talking two coats of magnolia, I mean that they were actual paintings. So in one room you were in a forest, complete with sky and clouds on the ceilings. In the toilets, each cubicle was wrapped in climbing plants and flowers. I got an incling that this wouldn't be a run of the mill evening.
I took my seat ready for a lecture, and the speaker was a big burly man with a beard. The kind of man who you just dip in your pockets and give your purse and keys to, while reciting your pins and passwords, because it makes the whole inevitable stabbing thing quicker and more painless. I was surpised therefore, when he opened his mouth to sound almost exactly like Michael Jackson, but with about an inch thick layer of camp smeared on top.
"And so, we made some creations from lego, always trains. Always drawings of trains. Where are the trains going? Of course, I realised, they were trains to nowhere. Sometimes they crashed, and you know what? We celebrated Crash. Crash is OK"
Perhaps you re-read that in an attempt to understand it and make some sense of it. You were right the first time - it's just bollocks.
We then moved to an area of the room where there was a bit more space, and were asked to take off our shoes. This was a clear signal to me that we were about to do something physical and public and embarassing and insane.
I was right.
9 adults then unquestioningly skipped about the room pretending variously, to be walking on a hot pavement, cooling ourselves in a puddle, splashing, jumping, looking at things that weren't there in rapt wonder. Yada yada yada.
I'm sure you can imagine, this is exactly the kind of situation where I feel most comfortable and at ease, lacking in all self-consciousness or desire to run away as fast as I can (which, if anyone has seen me run, would not put much space between me and Fat Michael Jackson anytime soon).
Next we had to paint our feelings. Of course. I did some trees.
FMJ "Now, I want you to choose an object, or rather, let the object choose you".
A rubber snake chose me.
I then had to give my object a voice, and tell this story to my neighbour, who silently nodded while remembering what she had read that Freud thinks about snakes, and judging me.
We then had a group interview, which went something like this:
FMJ: Why are you here today?
Candidate no. 1: I'm here because I'm on a journey? And the experience I've had today has just been really amazing because I've really been in my body?
Everyone nods (except me).
Candidate no 2: Yes, it was incredible how released I was in the act of using the paints. My emotions just flowed out of me. I just feel really....centred?
Everyone nods (except me).
Me: I'm here because I'd like to do my job better.
Everyone looks at me. When they realise that's all I'm going to say, we move on.
FMJ: Can you tell me about some of the neuroses you developed in childhood, and how you address them as an adult?
As you may imagine, everyone did. At very great length and in painful and alarming detail. Everyone except me.
The next day I received a letter saying that I had not been accepted for a place, but that they would consider me after a year of humanistic psychotherapy.
Which makes complete sense, because the obvious conclusion to draw from all of this is that I am mentally ill and need help to get a better grip of reality.
Saturday, 4 July 2009
Some Stupid Things I've Done Recently
Stupid Thing #1 - Revealing Too Much Too Soon
I was at a training day recently, and had lunch with a stranger who had been my partner in one of the morning exercises. My first mistake was this:
Lunch Companion: That's my bike there.
Me/Total Freak Wierdo: Oh right. What's it's name?
LC: ....it doesn't have a name.
I should have stopped here but..:
M/TFW: Mine's called Lola.
LC:....OK.
I had managed to recover a little after this, talking about normal things and not revealing any further my habit of personifying inanimate objects, but then two little beetles crawled onto my arm - we were eating our lunch outside:
M/TFW: Oh look! They're crawling up my arm!
LC: Yes, they like you don't they. (Note how her tone has begun to change to one usually reserved for children or the unstable).
M/TFW: They do, and I like them too.
LC: I'm a nature lover too. I was watching an ant crawl up my arm the other day...
M/TFW: Oh! oh! Oh! I LOVE ants! I have ants as pets. They're the most amazing creatures ever. Look, I've got an ant badge on my bag. I love watching them go about their business. The other day I was watching one and she was having a chat with another one...
I won't go on. I could hear myself and wanted to stop, but somehow I couldn't. She excused herself shortly after this. Note to self: at least try to pretend that you are a socially acceptable person during the first hour of meeting someone.
Stupid Thing #2 - Exaggerated Startle Reflex
I walked out onto my balcony and yelped when I saw that someone else was on my 1 metre by one metre outside space. It was my own reflection in the window.
Stupid Thing #3 - Paying Someone £92 for 3 Second's Work
I called in an electrician. Next time I'll flip the switch myself.
Stupid Thing #4 - Wearing a Skirt on a Bicycle
It was hot. Not hot enough however, to have the hem of my skirt tickling my nostrils, and revealing to Central London my black girl boxers covered in bees with Bee Mine written around the top (I know. Sexy.).
Stupid Thing #5 - Delayed Homeward Journey
I got on the bus on the wrong side of the road and got a hot sweaty lift to a place further away from my destination than I had begun.
Stupid Thing #6 - Over Enthusiastic Hugging
My friend came over and I ran out to hug her, swearing loudly in her ear as the door slammed behind me leaving my keys and my mobile on the other side.
How I've managed to hold down a job and not get arrested for anything so far is beyond me.
I was at a training day recently, and had lunch with a stranger who had been my partner in one of the morning exercises. My first mistake was this:
Lunch Companion: That's my bike there.
Me/Total Freak Wierdo: Oh right. What's it's name?
LC: ....it doesn't have a name.
I should have stopped here but..:
M/TFW: Mine's called Lola.
LC:....OK.
I had managed to recover a little after this, talking about normal things and not revealing any further my habit of personifying inanimate objects, but then two little beetles crawled onto my arm - we were eating our lunch outside:
M/TFW: Oh look! They're crawling up my arm!
LC: Yes, they like you don't they. (Note how her tone has begun to change to one usually reserved for children or the unstable).
M/TFW: They do, and I like them too.
LC: I'm a nature lover too. I was watching an ant crawl up my arm the other day...
M/TFW: Oh! oh! Oh! I LOVE ants! I have ants as pets. They're the most amazing creatures ever. Look, I've got an ant badge on my bag. I love watching them go about their business. The other day I was watching one and she was having a chat with another one...
I won't go on. I could hear myself and wanted to stop, but somehow I couldn't. She excused herself shortly after this. Note to self: at least try to pretend that you are a socially acceptable person during the first hour of meeting someone.
Stupid Thing #2 - Exaggerated Startle Reflex
I walked out onto my balcony and yelped when I saw that someone else was on my 1 metre by one metre outside space. It was my own reflection in the window.
Stupid Thing #3 - Paying Someone £92 for 3 Second's Work
I called in an electrician. Next time I'll flip the switch myself.
Stupid Thing #4 - Wearing a Skirt on a Bicycle
It was hot. Not hot enough however, to have the hem of my skirt tickling my nostrils, and revealing to Central London my black girl boxers covered in bees with Bee Mine written around the top (I know. Sexy.).
Stupid Thing #5 - Delayed Homeward Journey
I got on the bus on the wrong side of the road and got a hot sweaty lift to a place further away from my destination than I had begun.
Stupid Thing #6 - Over Enthusiastic Hugging
My friend came over and I ran out to hug her, swearing loudly in her ear as the door slammed behind me leaving my keys and my mobile on the other side.
How I've managed to hold down a job and not get arrested for anything so far is beyond me.
Monday, 29 June 2009
Amen, Elaine
"Deeply satisfying human intimacy, whether in marraige or outside, is in the end not dependent on copulation but on a faithful sharing of our hearts and lives with those whom we love, and a longing for their well being and peace. For it is then that God can be God and love be a gift."
Elaine Storkey in The Search For Intimacy
Elaine Storkey in The Search For Intimacy
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Jesus: Gay Icon?
I was reading an article in the paper entitled 'What Makes A Gay Icon?' with the tag line "Talent? Non-conformity? A touch of angst? And do they even have to be gay...?"
Lord Alli (whoever he is) chose Diana, Princess of Wales as his gay icon, for the following reasons: "Princess Diana continues to live on as an icon in many different ways: fashion icon, charity icon, feminist icon, British icon. Her place as a gay icon however, was cemented by a single moment during a visit to a Chain of Hope centre in April 1987. Taking the hand of an Aids sufferer, she shattered the widely held belief that physical contact alone could lead to the contraction of Aids, and offered hope and comfort to those in the gay community infected with HIV."
Does this remind you of anyone?
"A man with leprosy came and knelt before [Jesus] and said, "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean." Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. "I am willing," he said.
Matthew 8:2-3
It strikes me that just as Jesus was prepared to touch the 'untouchables' then, he would be doing the same if he came today. He'd be openly touching and loving AIDS sufferers, which according to Lord Alli, would make him a gay icon.
I don't think Jesus would spend much energy removing that label from himself, because he was well used to being associated with those whose names were used as swear words. "You Samaritan" was perhaps the equivalent of "you queer!" or "that is so gay". I feel sure that if Jesus were around on earth today, he would be hanging around with homosexual people, not caring what it made people assume about him, and pissing off a lot of today's 'religious' people, just as he pissed off the pharisees back then.
"While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew's house, many tax collectors and "sinners" came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and 'sinners'?"
Matthew 9:10-11
One reason why I'm writing on this topic today, is in solidarity with the Bridging the Gap blog (that I've mentioned before here). Today they are doing a thing called synchroblog, which I don't really understand technically, but I've figured out enough to know that they want lots of people to link relevant posts to their blog today to get people reading and talking about it.
I think what they are doing at Bridging the Gap is really important for the church. They are Christians reaching out to gay people by genuinely listening and loving instead of condemning and ostracising. They hold a conservative view of what the Bible says about homosexual practice but they are committed to open, genuine and grace filled dialogue with those Christians who have reached a different theological conclusion.
The homosexuality debate is one that is tearing the church in two at the moment, and Bridging the Gap provide one voice that is attempting to bring back unity, without compromising their own convictions. This is a difficult and messy task which often leaves them in a kind of limbo land where they are criticised from every side by those who can only cope with reductionist, black & white views.
I passionately applaud their work and feel that their attitude could be transposed to so many other issues in the church today too. Do consider joining me in engaging with their dialogue which is often challenging and humbling. They've helped me re-think some of my own attitudes in a way that I think has been very healthy, both for me and for those I interact with.
Check them out here.
Lord Alli (whoever he is) chose Diana, Princess of Wales as his gay icon, for the following reasons: "Princess Diana continues to live on as an icon in many different ways: fashion icon, charity icon, feminist icon, British icon. Her place as a gay icon however, was cemented by a single moment during a visit to a Chain of Hope centre in April 1987. Taking the hand of an Aids sufferer, she shattered the widely held belief that physical contact alone could lead to the contraction of Aids, and offered hope and comfort to those in the gay community infected with HIV."
Does this remind you of anyone?
"A man with leprosy came and knelt before [Jesus] and said, "Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean." Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. "I am willing," he said.
Matthew 8:2-3
It strikes me that just as Jesus was prepared to touch the 'untouchables' then, he would be doing the same if he came today. He'd be openly touching and loving AIDS sufferers, which according to Lord Alli, would make him a gay icon.
I don't think Jesus would spend much energy removing that label from himself, because he was well used to being associated with those whose names were used as swear words. "You Samaritan" was perhaps the equivalent of "you queer!" or "that is so gay". I feel sure that if Jesus were around on earth today, he would be hanging around with homosexual people, not caring what it made people assume about him, and pissing off a lot of today's 'religious' people, just as he pissed off the pharisees back then.
"While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew's house, many tax collectors and "sinners" came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and 'sinners'?"
Matthew 9:10-11
One reason why I'm writing on this topic today, is in solidarity with the Bridging the Gap blog (that I've mentioned before here). Today they are doing a thing called synchroblog, which I don't really understand technically, but I've figured out enough to know that they want lots of people to link relevant posts to their blog today to get people reading and talking about it.
I think what they are doing at Bridging the Gap is really important for the church. They are Christians reaching out to gay people by genuinely listening and loving instead of condemning and ostracising. They hold a conservative view of what the Bible says about homosexual practice but they are committed to open, genuine and grace filled dialogue with those Christians who have reached a different theological conclusion.
The homosexuality debate is one that is tearing the church in two at the moment, and Bridging the Gap provide one voice that is attempting to bring back unity, without compromising their own convictions. This is a difficult and messy task which often leaves them in a kind of limbo land where they are criticised from every side by those who can only cope with reductionist, black & white views.
I passionately applaud their work and feel that their attitude could be transposed to so many other issues in the church today too. Do consider joining me in engaging with their dialogue which is often challenging and humbling. They've helped me re-think some of my own attitudes in a way that I think has been very healthy, both for me and for those I interact with.
Check them out here.
Thursday, 11 June 2009
Sunday, 29 March 2009
The Shack
Recently I posted the following apparently innocuous statement as my facebook status: "OddBabble wants to talk about The Shack." The following documents the surprising response:
Susanna Adlem at 18:20 on 27 March
I didn't love it, still reading it though.
Kevin Hargaden at 20:03 on 27 March
I'm in London in a few weeks. Fancy a chat then?
Louiz Kirkebjerg Nielsen at 20:43 on 27 March
I love it love it. Talk to me about it when you have time. x Louiz
Tanya Marlow at 21:49 on 27 March
i half loved it
Rachel Anne Burns at 00:46 on 28 March
haven't read it, though initially wanted to. This and other reviews pretty much some it up for me and I'm happy to leave it alone, wondering why so many Christians pursue a desire to read what is heresy when the bible gives a much more complete picture of who God is and of the nature of and answer to suffering.http://theologynetwork.org/christian-beliefs/the-holy-spirit-and-christian-living/starting-out/the-shack--good-news-or-bad-story.htm
Rosalie Lewis Garwood at 02:02 on 28 March
It's a shame that you haven't read this yourself, Rachel. Why would you form an opinion on something you don't know anything about. What about those who mock the Bible and say it isn't God's Word? Do you go along with that too? I have two copies of this book oh my desk and am in the process of reading it. Here is another website you can check out. Maybe it will give you a more balanced view of it.http://godmessedmeup.blogspot.com/2008/01/shack-book-review.html
Rachel Anne Burns at 08:55 on 28 March
I've read the review, but I found nothing in it that would cause me to change my opinion. Should I read pornography in order to form a balanced opinion on it if it's something I know nothing about?
Kevin Hargaden at 09:47 on 28 March
So the Shack is like porn? This is a new kind of argument right here. Your ideas intrigue me Rachel. Can I subscribe to your newsletter?
Badger Burns at 22:24 on 29 March
lol Kev, there was a link pasted of a fair review but did you visit it?The point merely is why put your head under a steam roller just to see what happens
Badger Burns at 22:34 on 29 March
and taking my own medicine now :pI have just read the site suggested by Rosalie. The title of the blogspot kinda put me off kilter immediately. My growing frustration about the book is that whenever any criticism is levelled at it the counter argument that is offered is that it is a work of fiction.My huge criticism of the author and /or publishers is that they are saying that the book is being used massively by God.I dont understand why God would endorse a book saying that Jesus does not want people to become Christians and that we limit God to the pages of the Bible.A book that He Himself chose to 'limit' himself by in describing himself.
My response to all of this is as follows:
I am someone who holds the Bible in the very highest regard: I consider it to be the words breathed of the God who made the universe. I consider it to be infallible. I consider it to be the only and true epistemological, ontological, philosophical, theological, stuffofeverydaylifeological authority.
Yet I see no contradiction between holding this view and believing that as His created creatures create and interact, God provides echoes, glimpses, shadows, pictures, parables and whispers that point to Himself and His character. In this way I can glimpse God in lots of places which are not the Bible.
For example, I was reading about how ants (the most amazing creatures on earth) exist as a superorganism. They interact like one huge insect whose different limbs perform different roles, each for the benefit, growth and nurturing of that wider body. What a helpful analogy for the way Christ longs for the church to function, I thought to myself.
Or there is the Ani DiFranco song which has the line: "What kind of paradise am I looking for? I've got everything I want, but still I want more." Wow, that really reminds me of how much I strive and drive myself in all kinds of ways, but never find myself satisfied by it. She's got it right that I'm looking for a paradise, except that it really exists in heaven, I thought to myself.
Or there is the Victor Hugo novel Les Miserables, and the musical of the same name, in which Jean Valjean, having stolen the silverware of the benevolent bishop who had offered him shelter when no-one else would, finds himself rescued by that same bishop when JV is caught, by claiming to the cops that the silverware was a gift, offering his two silver candlesticks as well, chastising him to the police for leaving in such a rush that he forgot these most valuable pieces. What a clear and creative picture of God's grace in not giving us the punishment we deserve, and heaping blessings on us instead, I thought to myself.
Or there's the work of fiction, The Shack, which is a made up story, but which explicitly seeks to think creatively about God and offers a view of Him, a shadow, a human thought, about something against the backdrop of the final authority of the Bible.
Sure, there are things that William P. Young (is this just actually Will Young having a laugh at us all?) says that I don't agree with and that I don't think are particularly biblical. So, I ignore those things and read on, remembering that The Shack is not the Bible - the Bible is. I'm happy to disagree with one or two lines of a work of fiction.
I should perhaps come clean here and admit that I have a soppy subjective reason for liking The Shack. There's a scene in it where the protagonist spills out his rage towards God about the suffering he has experienced, screaming passionate, bitter and tear-drenched words to a God who responds, not with wrath or retaliation, but by inviting him in to eat a specially cooked dinner.
There may have been a clue [a few posts ago] that I had one or two issues with God that I was pretty hung up about myself. This little passage in this novel reminded me that God knows those angry thoughts already, that good relationships mean communication, not sulking, and that God is gracious, kind, patient, generous, merciful, gentle and compassionate.
This led to a dramatic and renewed intimacy with God that any friend has when they finally admit what's on their mind, make up, & get back to the business of enjoying the relationship. If it's not God who brought that reconciliation about with His daughter, I don't know who did. God can use flawed books that get things wrong, just as he uses flawed people, like me, who get things wrong.
I could easily have spotted any of those things in the Bible, but that same holy book tells me that Jesus calls his followers [sheep]. That's to help us remember that we're often stupid, slow, myopic and in need of a shepherd. Sometimes this sheep needs a bit of outside help to point me back to the Word that is true and reliable. Sometimes God uses flawed, imperfect means to point us back to His perfect Self.
It strikes me as a shame, a real shame, if we close our eyes to the many and wonderful ways that God shows himself through all kinds of creative endeavours, simply because the person creating it sometimes (always, in some way) gets bits of it wrong. We are throwing the God-glimpse baby out with the wider cultural bath water.
Yes, I do get the fact that Young seems to be setting the book up as some kind of new Christian manifesto, and that this means we might handle it differently to a secular song or book about ants. But I still don't feel it's necessary to go to the extreme of saying that by reading it I am expressing a desire to water down the Bible as my ultimate authority. If we are thinking Christians, surely we can read, listen, view anything through the lens of Scripture, discard the parts that contradict it, and rejoice in the creaturely things that help point us back to our, and their, Creator.
I doubt this post will have changed anyone's minds on this, but the joy of a blog is that I get to rant uninterrupted for a while and bask in the warmth of my own opinion before the comments begin to pile up...
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