a barbecue and a waterfight

"More or less exactly" is an oxymoron that I find myself using lately. As in, I've been single for more or less exactly a year. I can't be sure of the date because I didn't blog about it at the time, and without the internet to serve as my external memory I'm more lost than a puppy filling out a tax return.

I was seriously thinking about writing a "how I feel about stuff and things" post, but to be honest I don't have anything interesting to say about the subject. I lost my faith, and that was the only dealbreaker. Fin. So instead I want to share some awesome stuff I've been doing!

Two nights ago some friends and I had a beach BBQ. It was honestly the loveliest sunset I've seen in a very long time. Here are some pictures of that:








And then yesterday we had an epic waterfight, of which there are no photos, because I was too busy watergunning fools (and getting cups of water thrown over me because Aston's a dirty cheater.)

This but with guns and laughing

I'm really looking forward to seeing my family in a couple of weeks; we're going on a sort of road trip holiday thing so that'll be cool.

Much love to y'all!

Feelings! Quick, squish 'em!

A lot has happened since my last post. I would have kept you more updated, but apparently this is the 90s and wireless internet isn't a thing yet.

Here are some things that happened!

I went to a new church for the first time in ages, with my ex. The service was very American Southern Baptist, understandably, since that's where the people are the front were from. I feel like I reconnected with God, although that's more to do with admitting my anger than with anything they were saying. Also there were assnapkins. Seriously! Little butt-hankies that they'd drape over people's posteriors when hey knelt down at the front of the church, to conceal any undergarments or bumcleave.

Anyway, that made me chuckle.

Also, I performed at my first ever Open Mic! (Well, second, but we don't talk about that.) I sang and played ukulele. he first two songs were a but shaky, but the third, my relyricking of the Cranberries' song Zombie, went down a treat! Hopefully, soon, a friend's going to lend me a videocamera so that I can get something up on youtube.

There are photos of the performance viewable here, courtesy of the very talented Rob May.

This weekend, I helped Rob out with a couple of photoshoots (standing in places with a reflecty thing! Huzzah!), and actually got a few pics taken of myself - I'm sure they'll be turning up soon, though I may well not tell you. Depends how bashful I'm feeling at the time!

It was my brother's 21st birthday yesterday. Apparently my parents forgot, but the pocketwatch I'd been so excited to give him arrived in the post on the right day, so yay for that.

I'm still around, my lovelies. Haven't gone anyway. Granted, I've been restricting my internet usage to sites accessible from my mobile phone, but comments are still read and appreciated! Much love x x

Godforce

The world is weird and wider than we think, this is undeniable. And I can't make head nor tail of it.

For instance, I've seen the world as crackling white energy that blazes like lightning matter broken down into all that it is: structure (order) and the other stuff, energy, the force, the spirit. I saw that.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking full-on hallucinations, but I have a vivid imagination and it made sense to me because "in Him all things hold together." That's the stuff, the God-bond, that is in everything and everything is in Him. It made the world more magical and I was happy with that.

And that's us, too, sparkling brighter than the roads we walk on, full of more lightning than the seats we sit on and the beds we lie on, and why is that?

Or so I thought, back in the day, before things got a little more 'complicated' (which means boring and grey as everyone knows; it's what adults tell children when what they mean is that they got old and things stopped making sense. "Things are a little more complicated than that"). It's easy to convince yourself that you let your mind run away with you. It's really easy.

But then, well then something unexpected happened. On Monday night. A party, all dressed up as animals, I a cat of course; not the setting for a spiritual revelation but then isn't that always the way? And I remembered a poem, and asked for a notebook, and then... well then...

Do you remember I told you about a poetry Open Mic night? And how there was one guy - one poem - that snapped me to attention and made me wonder if he might live in the same world I've lost? It talks about "throwing the rocks Jesus told me not to," and there's a sensation of rain on pavement and part of it - part of the poem, it talks about seeing everything as bright white crackling energy, electricity, and I had forgotten he said those things.

But there they were, in the notebook, and I asked him about it. Yes, he's seen it, he's seen white-hot electricity in everything. And then he mentioned archetypes and I smiled and he mentioned Jung and I sighed and I nudged him back towards Ben, because those two could talk forever (Ben loves Jung, the collective unconscious and all that jazz) and it wasn't the time for a conversation about Godforce and spirit stuff.

But now I feel a little bit less delusional and a little bit more sure of the thing you can't be sure of - that someone is in charge of this mess; someone is in control. And in us.

The man on the bridge

Christmas is, of course, a time for celebration, family, and the observation of custom. But one way or another, it always seems to be about loss as well. Our minds go back to Christmases past, either with regret or nostalgia. It's the time when we remember those lost to us through death (RIP, Nana) or circumstance (single at Christmas again...). And, for me personally, it's the time I grieve my biggest loss.

Being home with my family and going back to my church always stirs up the subject of my faith again. It did last year; and this year, once again, I'm looking back on my faith and wondering what happened, and what happens next. It's not as simple as being an Atheist now, despite everything, because occasionally very specific messages seem to get through to me.

I mean, it's probably just coincidence. It MUST be superstition. It must be that I want to believe so much that I see links where none exist. I mean how could it POSSIBLY - but - oh, I don't know. Here's what happened; you decide.

When I was in my late teens, and passionate about my faith, I had a story I used to tell myself to explain forgiveness. It's extremely personal, and I don't want to go into details here, but I will explain the setting: a river by a willow tree, where Jesus stands on a stone arch bridge. As I began to lose my sense of connection with God, I'd try to picture this place, but it would be cold and empty, deserted.

I was going through a rough patch a couple of months ago, and I actually started talking to Ben (my housemate) about all this stuff. I was in tears as I told him that the important thing, the thing that really matters, is whether there's a man on the bridge. Or whether I am alone. I told him about this picture's huge importance and significance in my life, and bless him, he didn't make me feel like a crazy person for it.

A couple of days later, Ben and I are wandering around the shops, and I start to feel stressed and freaked out by the crowds. "Can we go get a drink? Chai, or something..." He'd introduced me to chai tea recently, and I found it to be very soothing. There are five or six coffee shops on Albany road alone, but I chose coffee #1. "Upstairs or downstairs?"
"Upstairs," I replied, already heading for the comfy chairs.

There was only one table free up there, and while Ben got our order, I sat in the only place available to me and stared at the wall.

Painted onto the wall was a tree. By a river. Over the river, a stone arch bridge. And on the bridge... a shepherd.

So, what that means, if anything, I don't know. But it's one of the reasons I don't call myself an Atheist. I may have been hurt by the loss of my certainty, I may not know what or who is in charge of this mess, but maybe there's something.

So, I'll be going to church on the morning of Christmas day. Because it's traditional, and because my friends and family will be there, and because maybe if I'm very lucky, another clue will get through.

Life is a mystery, everyone

Not sure what to say, really. That's never a good sign with me. Usually I either have something to say, or simply go without blogging for a few weeks, but these are special circumstances.

I'm feeling pretty down lately, for numerous and complicated reasons. If you're of a praying persuasion, I suppose you could pray for me? although I'm in two minds as to whether that actually works

Nothing is ever simple, is it.

Hope you're all well, I promise to think of something interesting to say once the blues have passed.

a burning thing

Earlier today, my dad was struggling to get the fire lit. He'd finally given up on it when I, never one to back away from a burny challenge, stepped up. "Don't worry, father!" I cried, cape possibly billowing behind me. "I'll take care of this!"

So, I knelt, and I poked, and I crumpled, and I blew, but the flame kept giving up. The twigs just weren't that enthusiastic about it all, and the paper - while enthusiastic - didn't have much in the way of stamina.

After some time (I don't know how long, time flies when you're setting light to things), I began to lose hope. That dying flame reminded me of so much about myself. Fire has long been a metaphor for spirituality, for me in particular (partly due to reading these wonderful books as a child), so to kneel there and watch it try and die over and over again was really quite depressing.

So I did something I don't often do these days: I prayed. Praying was the first thing I did to see in 2010 (the second being a massive balloon fight), as I'd wanted to see the new year in properly; so, being off to a good start, I thought I'd continue the trend. "God," I thought, "you know how hard I've tried to get set alight again - well I'm going to leave it to you now. Please make it burn." I sat and watched as the flame licked the wood, making paper die and twigs glow, but as the glow got softer and colder, I gradually gave up hope. I left. I didn't want to see that last spark go out, not after such a good start to the year.

A couple of hours later, as I wandered through to the kitchen to help dad with dinner, I saw that there was a roaring fire going. "Oh, you got it lit in the end" I said.

"No, you did!" he replied. Apparently after I'd given up and left, the fire had kept burning. It had taken hold.

It's going to be a good year.

Nostalgia: the Bandstand

Well, I've been wanting to write this post for ages, but I really wanted to take my time with it. This post is about something very precious and important to me.

The church I went to growing up was boring. Dull, dull, dull. Don't get me wrong: I love it very much, and it will always feel like my home, but it was just impossible to get excited about singing those dirges from the 19th century. It was geared towards the older people, which made sense as there were loads of them, but for the kids... well, it failed to thrill us.

Which was why the Bandstand was so special.

That's what it was called, the Bandstand. It felt like a separate world. It happened in the summer, late on a Sunday night, and it was like nothing else I've ever experienced...

(I'm speaking, of course, with the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia perched on my nose. That's often how it goes with things that end before you grow up. I'm almost glad it did; doubtless it would never have been the same if I'd gone there as a teenager, sulking and scowling my way through the hymns...)

This is how it would happen: our mother, not wanting us to get tired while we were there, would insist that we take a nap beforehand. Let me tell you, never in my life was it harder to sleep than on a beautiful summer day before the Bandstand. Mum would close the heavy yellowy-gold curtains of our bedroom, and there in the yellow-gold light, we'd try (and often fail) to sleep.

Then we'd go to a little park in a little town on a little island. The birds in the aviary would chirp and sing as we passed, walking towards the river. Bright lights would illuminate the stepping stones, the beautiful plants, and the magical, elusive little fish that flitted through the water.

Most of my siblings fell in that river at one point! when it was my turn, it was a consequence of a selfless act... one of about three I committed before the age of 12. Maybe that's why I remember it. My brother was sailing a little leaf-boat past the stepping stones, reaching out to catch it as it floated past, until (inevitably) he let it go beyond the reach of his little boy arms. So, me being on Big Sister duty, I stretched to catch it... and fell in. The lights made everything so strange and beautiful, and I swear that in that half a second I saw the bright orange fishes swimming around me.

We weren't allowed to stay on the stepping stones, or to climb the trees, or to play in the park for long, though. Because over by the bandstand structure itself, in front of a little raised and covered platform near the trees, a tiny congregation would gather in the fading light as the night grew colder, singing from a little booklet of hymns. A friendly man with a goatee played the keyboard from the platform, playing the songs that we rarely sang outside of this one special occasion. I often wondered how the people who were so stiff and formal in a building on Sunday mornings, could be so at peace in the breathtaking wonder of nature?

Three or four minutes away from those harmonies that rose above the enthusiastic midges, was a playpark - a magical place for us kids. We'd go there every time, pretend the roundabout was taking us to places that only existed in our imaginations. And the swings! When you got them high enough, right at the top of the arc, you could see over the hedge to the edge of the world, where the sun set over neverending ocean, and nothing else. Just sea and sky. For those brief seconds, I could rise above all the world and be so completely free.

Even if there was never a God, that would be enough.

I know these songs will mean nothing to you, but to me, they mean so much. If you want to hear them, and you've got Spotify - I've only managed to remember / track down these three - click this link:
http://open.spotify.com/user/thiefree/playlist/4Yb0ZVGtOQGZNvwaHM4Cmq

This is a really long shot, but there was one song I remember the most. It was the one people would always be so eager to sing, another song that was unique to that time and that place - so much so that it's not online. Not anywhere. I've written what I remember of the lyrics below... if you can tell me anything about it, I'd be so grateful!

It's a new life, oh how He changed me
A new life, He rearranged me,
A new life, richer and fuller,
It's a wonderful, wonderful life!

Gone is the old life and gone are its chains,
Gone are the wrinkles and gone are the stains,
Gone is the darkness and gone is the night,
I have found Jesus, the truth and the life...

I went back once, years ago, and took these pictures. So although it wasn't the same - how could it be? - I at least have these reminders.

Shameless appeal for votes time!

That's right ladies and gentlemen, the time has come when I need to borrow you for two whole clicks. I was recently asked to do an interview for http://bloginterviewer.com, and if my blog is the most popular, I get $50. I would like some shiny pennies so please go here and vote me up using the handy thumbs-up! Or I guess vote me down if you think I suck, only, please don't. That would be awesome. If I made some money I could actually call myself a blogger, and it would cover some of the domain name fees and the like, which would rock pretty damn hard.

In other news, the day after I found my bracelet, I went to see a performance by Adrian Plass (an author I've liked for years) and Saltmine Productions (a travelling theatre company). They were absolutely hilarious, and after talking to Adrian afterwards I've got a whole newfound respect for the man, he said some wonderfully encouraging things to me.

And the day after that... I went passed a church that had a big sign saying "God loves you Anna." That made me happy.

I'm back in Cardiff now, very much enjoying having some space and being back near my boyfriend.

In the meantime, please do vote, it would mean the world to me! Apparently you can vote once a day, so if you're keen...?

Anyway, an interesting link for you. Enjoy the Platitudipus.

And there was much rejoicing!

For months now, I've been nagging my parents to hunt throughout the entire house for a very precious bracelet that I'd left behind. With every passing week I lost hope, becoming more and more convinced that it was lost to the void. You know how when you lose something that was pretty much brand new, and it just stays new and unattainable in your mind forever? My beautiful bracelet was like that. I even had dreams where I found it and it wasn't quite the same as in the real world... a sure sign that I was forgetting it while obsessing over it at the same time.

My dad asked me where he thought I'd seen it last, and time and time again I told him that I had no idea, and that the only place I could remember leaving it was on the leg of an upturned piece of furniture in my old bedroom. (It's kind of turned into the junk room since then so there's no shortage of chairlegs hanging around, waiting to have hairbands and stuff left on them.)

It wasn't because it was expensive jewellery that I wanted to find it, it was because it was a special gift from my boyfriend's parents. They chose the charms specially with me in mind - a silver flip-flop and conch shell - because I was raised on an island, you see? And they gave me a third charm to me this Christmas - a beautiful silver bear. Bears have huge personal significance for me.

The bracelet was intended, partly, to be worn on a cruise this summer. My boyfriend's grandmother is taking the entire family, and apparently, I qualify! I didn't want to wear it until then (ironically because I had a suspicion I would lose it / drop it / have it stolen), but I was talked into it by his mother, who told me 'not to save it for best.'

Anyway, my dad hadn't found it, my mum hadn't found it, none of my siblings had seen it, and I was forced to conclude that it could have slipped off my wrist any time, any place. I prayed. This is a revelation I've been unsure how to introduce to you all, but I'm a Christian. Sort of. Was. Am. Well, I'm confused, essentially, so I was pleading with God saying "If you're really there, you know how important this is to me - please, please help me find it..." then I'd tail off and wonder if I was talking to myself.

Every day since I've been back, I've been having mini-hunts in every corner of this junk-packed house, in the futile hope that it'd turn up. Tonight I searched in my old bedroom again. I'd already looked, of course, but I had to do something.
"Dad's already tidied here loads of times... to be honest, if it was here, he'd have found it." That was my sister, Judith, getting ready for bed.
"I know," I said, "but it just feels better than doing nothing, you know?"

After a lot of organising, and sorting, and putting things into bags and throwing them away and finding books from years ago, I saw it. There, on the leg of an upturned stool, hidden away under an old computer desk, was my bracelet - paler than I remembered it, but just as beautiful.

The next few seconds sounded like this:

"I found it.

I FOUND IT."

Judith: "What?"

"I FOUND IT!

I FOUND IT!!

MUUUUM!!! I FOUND IT!"

I ran downstairs, my sister shouting congratulations after me, and my mum reaching out to hug me, almost as delighted as I was, because she knew how important this was to me, and how bad I'd felt for letting down my boyfriend and his parents. I called him with the good news straight away, of course! And then... we prayed. And I said thank you to the God that I can't quite not believe in however much I hurt sometimes.

Sitting on the sofa afterwards, I thought of a story Jesus told about a woman in a very similar position.

Luke 15 v. 8-10

The Parable of the Lost Coin

"Or what woman who has 10 silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she finds it, she calls her women friends and neighbors together, saying, 'Rejoice with me, because I have found the silver coin I lost!' I tell you, in the same way, there is joy in the presence of God's angels over one sinner who repents."

So, it being a little late to call all my friends and neighbours together, I thought I'd share it with you. Because some things are just important.

What I love most about rivers

Last night was an interesting one. I'm home on the Isle of Wight with my family, and I finally managed to get a visit home to coincide with Catalyst.

Catalyst is a Christian worship event for young people, run by a charity I used to work for. It's always had such an incredible atmosphere, and it's run by wonderful people that I was lucky enough to work with in my gap year. The kids at the event are people I've grown up with, some of whom I'm related to (part of living on quite a small island - you're guaranteed to keep meeting the same people over and over again!), so it was amazing to see them all. I got plenty of hugs and photos!

It's crazy to think that I haven't been a part of Catalyst for two years. Everyone's growing up! The quiet, shy kids who'd just started high school are turning into confident young adults, and I'm kind of sorry I wasn't there to see it happen. There were a lot of new faces and a lot of friends missing... I guess it's true what they say, that you can never really go back.

But despite the hard times in my life lately, I wouldn't want to go back. I'm happy in Cardiff, and very much in love with my wonderful man (wish him luck, by the way, he's climbing mountains for a mate's stag party and I'm suitably worried). There have been a lot of teething troubles in the past few months, but I'm getting stronger and bolder by the day. So today, surrounded by the people and places of my past, I'm looking to the future more than ever.

I'm going to visit my sister, so I might not get online this week (whimper!) but you can always follow my Twitter if you want to check that I'm not dead.

Interesting thing of the day: My Name is Sylar! Quick and funny.

And oh I do love Sylar. Why is it always the psychos that have the most appeal?! Psychos and vampires.

Being better

Egads, people...

I don't really know what to say for myself.

I'm sorry, most of all. I am currently feeling very sorry indeed. I've been a terrible friend, daughter, sister, girlfriend. a terrible person in general. I'm not depressed about it; it's not my way to convince myself that I'm worthless and to feel terrible about it.

How to express it... I would be worthless without the love of others. As it is, you've given me a value, God has given me a value, that I could never hope to earn on my own. So thank you for that.

I'm trying to be better, but then I always try to be better and very little comes of it. Still. One must keep trying.

As I'm often told, you don't have to be better than anyone else, you just have to be better than yesterday.

Repentance

You know what? Repentance hurts. My tears last night were tears of pure grief at the things I've done and the way I've been, and it was like wringing out my heart. I'm a sinner. An unpopular word, perhaps, but that's what I am and I realised that anew last night. I was sobbing the words I'm sorry, over and over, but words didn't do it justice. I was grieving the things I'd done to sully the Holy Spirit. Something so pure and beautiful that should lift me up to better things, and I've trodden it in the dirt time and time again.

Gavin told me he felt I should call my sister Judi, so I did, despite the fact that I assumed she'd be asleep. So I said no. Gav said "I really feel like you should call her." So I did; no answer. "Try again." I did, and she picked up, and she said all the right things... she hadn't been able to sleep so I hadn't woken her. She said the right things, encouraged me, and gave me good advice. I thank God for people in my life like Gavin and Judith who are, thank God, there when I need them.

And today... this appeared in ASBO Jesus:

I thought mine had, but last night my tears made it burn brighter.

Black and Gold

If the fish swam out of the ocean
and grew legs and they started walking
and the apes climbed down from the trees
and grew tall and they started talking

and the stars fell out of the sky
and my tears rolled into the ocean
now I'm looking for a reason why
you even set my world into motion

'cause if you're not really here
then the stars don't even matter
now I'm filled to the top with fear
but it's all just a bunch of matter
'cause if you're not really here
then I don't want to be either
I wanna be next to you
black and gold
black and gold
black and gold

I looked up into the night sky
and see a thousand eyes staring back
and all around these golden beacons
I see nothing but black

I feel a way of something beyond them
I don't see what I can feel
if vision is the only validation
then most of my life isn't real

'cause if you're not really here
then the stars don't even matter
now I'm filled to the top with fear
but it's all just a bunch of matter
'cause if you're not really here
then I don't want to be either
I wanna be next to you
black and gold
black and gold
black and gold

Listen to the song here

This song must have washed over me a thousand times. This kind usually does, to be honest, but today the lyrics finally managed to get through my expectations and smack me between the eyes. This is a much more eloquent version of what I've been saying for the past couple of weeks.

Thanks, Gav, for putting up with all my crying and miscellaneous assholery. You're an angel.

Falling apart

Yes, hello, sorry. I need help. Um. Badly.

As many of you know I've been a Christian my whole life, and it's a huge huge part of who I am. But for the past year or so I've been feeling hugely distant from God. I lived in Plymouth for a year and I didn't really know anyone; I spent a lot of time alone, didn't go to church regularly. I'm so much happier in Cardiff but the root problem hasn't gone away like I hoped it would...

The reason I'm asking for help now is that it's affecting me more and more. I cry every day (literally EVERY DAY), I just can't seem to get things together. I've been rubbish at just getting stuff DONE. There's loads of phone calls to make and emails to send and an essay to write and a flat that needs tidying and people to get back in touch with... and I don't feel able to do any of it. I feel like my support's been cut out from under me. God kept me going through all the hardest times in my life, so to have that gone leaves me with no coping mechanism. I could go all hard and cold and keep the pain out by building a wall around my heart but I don't want to, I really don't want to!

Even today I was on a bike ride and I got off and walked because I felt like I didn't deserve to have it easy. I decided I was pretty much the crappest person alive and that God could never love me, that nobody could ever love me. Then when we reached a main road I considered just not hitting the brakes and seeing if getting hit by a car would help.

Yeah, I told you I was in a pretty bad way...

Don't worry, I'm not suicidal. Never have been. I just wondered if getting bashed up and waking up in hospital would make things better.

I've tried to tell people about how I'm feeling. My boyfriend has been an absolute pillar of strength, but it can't just be on him. I'm planning to go see TyTe as well; and I've emailed a Christian counselling service in the area, and I'll be going home soon...

Thanks for reading this far, if you did, and if you didn't you won't know that I'm calling you a smelly bumhole.

Entropy and rain

Today, it rained. I walked. Computer. Laminater. Velcro. Posters. Guillotine. Database, database, database...

Still it rained. I walked, waited, watched My Fair Lady. I read.

I read this. Read it. You'll like it. Ben probably already knows it backwards.

I don't know enough to stop my boyfriend having panic attacks. Hell, I can't stop MYSELF having panic attacks: the string, fluff, and optimism that I'm made of seems to fall further apart every day. Entropy. Hah.

He can reverse it of course. In theory, He does. By His wounds we are healed. But still, my life is a bit of a shambles.

I need to retake a module to get into UWIC like I hoped. I need to submit an essay. A really long, big, difficult essay - you know I have trouble with them at the best of times. While holding down a 9 to 5 job.

I'm halfway through my overdraft... getting paid tomorrow though, hooray! And I'm seeing a very special friend soon! And I'm going home soon after that.

And it rains.

Turning point

It's a long time since I've written a post like this. I think. Knowing my memory I could have written this word for word a month ago, but it doesn't feel like it.


I've been crying a lot lately. Like, a LOT a lot. You know that emotionally unstable girl who freaks out on her boyfriend over the tiniest thing, and he then has to placate her until she stops wailing? I have become that trainwreck. I NEVER wanted to be that girl. But there I was, walking blindly and silently in a random direction trying to suppress the tears once again while my poor beloved tried to understand what the hell was wrong this time.

Thing is, it's not hormones. I've been blaming it on hormones for about the past six months, which should be enough to clue me in, but it's taken me until now. It's taken me this long to remember that my general happiness is inextricably tied to my relationship with God.

We went to church this morning for the first time in a long while. It felt good. Both of us were very touched by the message, and I think it's time I once again confronted that scary-beautiful word 'repentance'. That was this morning. This afternoon was my most recent crying fit. After that, we found a green place by a river. There was a willow tree. We prayed together on a bench, and I sat on the grass and waited.

Sometimes you just need to wait.

He waited with me, holding my hand and looking directly into my eyes. He remarked afterwards how my eyes had changed, phasing through heartbreak, laughter and surprise in the space of a few moments. The truth is I was rediscovering something. Not all at once, because sometimes it takes time, but I was sat digging in the dirt and I felt like things weren't as awfully sad as they had been.

So, here's to Cardiff and new beginnings. Thank you all.

A dinner party in a car park

Yesterday, walking back from university, I was greeted with the sight of a group of people, dressed up very nicely, having a dinner party in the middle of a car park. They invited me to join them, so I did. They gave me lemonade and apologised that the pizza wasn't there yet. They asked me about myself; who I am, where I'm going. There's something nicely concise about explaining yourself in thirty seconds, as if you're left with a better idea of things than when you started.

They recited a traditional Celtic toast for me to celebrate my coming move to Cardiff.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Plymouth is a place of hills and uneven roads, cracked pavements and slippery slabs.
Wind enlivens me like nothing else, almost convincing me that I could fly if I tried.
I long for the summer, for the warmth and joy of a sunny day.
I have noticed recently more than ever the soft, earthy smell of freshly-rained on ground.
And nothing, nothing in this world, makes me happier, happy to the point of tears, happy to distraction and beyond all reason, than the feeling of being in God's hand.

It was a strange event, them sitting there in their elegant outfits, me in my jumper and jeans. But there's something so right about seizing the moment. May we all learn the courage to do so more often.

An Answer

Whoever said you can never truly go home had a rubbish sense of direction.

I've really enjoyed being home. Sort of. Mostly. I mean, I absolutely adore my island, but so many people have moved on that I've got practically nobody to meet up with. Nothing to do.

On the plus side, I went back to my church and saw that they've started renovating the building behind our church. We used to use it for Sunday School, but it's been so dilapidated for so long that they were talking about demolishing it for a while. So to return to it today to see all the building work going on, all the people busy sanding and planing and pulling down wallpaper, is a wonderful thing.

It wasn't until I went upstairs and saw the YFC guys I did my gap year with working on the rooms that would be their offices - no, it wasn't until I saw a particular floorboard - that I remembered something pretty cool.

About a year ago, I needed to pray urgently, so I let myself into the building for some time alone. I loved that building, and I ended writing a long prayer that it wouldn't be demolished. I prayed that it would be rebuilt, repaired, and made useful. I prayed that it would be something for the community, something to help people. I prayed that it would be busy. And then I hid my prayer under a loose floorboard in one of the abandoned rooms.

So went I went back to find that that floorboard has been fixed down - presumably with my prayer still underneath it - and that the whole building is being brought back to life, I have to say - it felt good. Very good.

PS - see "My Sites", to the left. I've added this thing called a tumblog that's pretty cool.

Q&A

Blogger Frederick Buechner's Lovechild said...

In a recent interview with Joni Mitchell (showing my age again) she said that she preferred painting to poetry and quoted someone who said that all poetry involved was "muddying the waters to give them the appearance of depth"

1) Source the quote for me
2) Discuss!
3) Buy and listen to 'Blue' if you haven't already done so (listen with Gav and share the experience) and tell me that Joni Mitchell isn't a poet!

1. She made it up. I've been unable, after much frantic googling, to find anything even similar to that quotation anywhere on the internets.
2. Sometimes it's true, and poetry is intended to make our trivial, everyday feelings seem more important. Sometimes, however, they're a way of bringing our 'muddier' thoughts and feelings to light; clearing waters that are already muddy; making the deep things accessible. That's the thing about poetry, it can be anything that is felt or thought or experienced.
3. Joni Mitchell isn't a poet. ;) I'm kidding; that's clearly a very indepth piece of writing, I'll look for more of her music!

Ben said...

Are humans naturally competitive or cooperative?

Yes.



I'm so witty. Honestly though, I think we can be both, as our nature isn't fixed. You may help someone out to your own expense, or you may take advantage of them, depending on your character and your choices. Reducing it to 'human nature' inevitably involves explaining away everybody who acts in the other direction.

Homer said...

This is honestly not designed to offend you, but in search of that one Jeremy Paxman star:

A) If you'd been born to a poor family in an Indian village and raised Hindu, what religion do you think you would be now?

B) What are the implications of your answer for your faith?

I'm not offended in the slightest, they're good questions :)
a) I think I'd be a Hindu with a lot of questions. As I am now a Christian with a lot of questions. There are things about my faith that I don't fully understand, but I do fully and completely accept my need to be forgiven. Christ offers that. While the Hindu faith commends forgiveness, the absence of a monotheistic God confuses the issue of who exactly I'm being forgiven by. If I'd been raised as a Hindu, I may well have answers to things that I don't have now, but that question is a very big and important one.

b) The implications, I believe, are that there are things we could learn from other faiths. Christianity does not have the monopoly on truth, and our 'doctrine' is not infallible. That's quite a controversial statement, so I'll clarify it. The church has accepted for hundreds of years things that are not necessarily Biblically based. I can't provide any evidence to say that they are incorrect, but I accept that they may be.

Luko said...

1- Don't you think that faith as an idea pigeonholes people into not to experience things that are forbidden in certain scriptures.
2- Does it worry you that whilst some people do use religion in a nice way a lot of people just use it as an excuse to be extremely crappy to each other (from the KKK to muslim extremists to the crusades)
3- Don't you think that by having an eternal afterlifethere is a strong message that this life doesn't matter. And in retrospect people deciding to be good is like a fetus worryong about being good or bad before going onto a 'new life'
4- The scriptual ideas of good or bad were written in a mysoginistic and gynophobic society several centuries ago don't you think that they should be re-examined?

1. My faith doesn't stop me from experiencing anything. I could still murder, steal, insult etc (and sometimes I do, I'm not perfect (but not murdering though)), but I don't because it's not for the good. It's not to my advantage or anyone elses. Morality by its nature does affect what we choose to experience, but that's natural and good. Belief that doesn't affect our actions is worthless.
2. Yes, absolutely! People who use God as an excuse to do terrible things do an awful lot of damage to God's reputation and to mine. Jesus was all about the love. If you're not acting in love, you're not acting in Christ.
3. Quite the reverse. If life ended when we died, then ultimately all our efforts come to nothing and this life is a worthless attempt to stall the inevitable. If, however, there are eternal consequences to our actions, then what we do and say in this life has value. otherwise, you know, do what you want before the void claims you. Some people live that way and I don't know how they do it. No, I don't know why they do it.
4. Hahaha... I think gynophobic is taking it a bit far, but I accept your point. Should they be re-examined? Yes, absolutely! There's no value whatsoever in preserving laws cryogenically. They should be constantly re-evaluated. Some, such as the ten commandments, will be true for all eternity - others, such as a lot of the cleanliness laws, aren't as relevant in a world with antiseptic wipes.

These are, of course, my opinions. They are not the views of all Christians, and I reserve the right to change my mind tomorrow if I should see fit.

Anyway! I hope these answers have been of some interest to you. Thanks!

Interesting thing of the day: online photoshoppish thing

Jesus puppet

Hahaha hahah.

Hahahahah...

I can't express in words how awesome this Jesus puppet is.



There are some amazing puppets on this website, have a look!