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.
Monday, 6 September 2010
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.
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