Jul 28, 2011 | Scotland, Stories
Six years ago today I boarded a plane in Atlanta with my big brother. Since we’d booked our tickets separately, we weren’t seated together — he was in the row in front of me in a bulkhead seat. I decided to ask the interesting character of a lady beside me if she would be willing to switch seats with my brother so that we could sit together. With the extra leg room and a little bit more space, it seemed like a no-brainer.
She turned to me, and with such poise and calm I wouldn’t have been more surprised if her teeth had fallen out in my lap, she answered:
“Absolutely not.”
Besides the surprising answer, the manner in which she responded left me so aghast I just quietly turned to stare at the back of the seat in front of me. I sat still and quiet long enough that I think remorse got the better of her, and she eventually turned to me again and said,
“Well you can at least read the paper or something.”
Ten or fifteen extremely uncomfortable minutes later, the guy sitting in front of her (beside my brother) realised his TV was broken and ended up being bumped up to business class. I then had the pleasure of moving up a row, just in time to avoid the interesting lady’s evening routine, which included changing to sleeping attire in the restroom and carefully putting her waist-length hair in a humongous bun directly on top of her head.
That flight was bound for London, and a day later my brother and I were on a train to Edinburgh, where another surprise awaited us. After a warm morning and a good breakfast in London, we moseyed on over to King’s Cross train station, and I was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and flip-flops.
We arrived in Edinburgh that afternoon, some friends of mine doing us a great favour by bringing the majority of the luggage up with them by car that evening. My landlord, David, a wonderful gent who’d soon become a great friend, met us at the train station.
{A view from the School of Divinity in Edinburgh}
As we waited and looked for David at the train station, I realised all my warm clothes were in those suitcases coming up from London, and though it was the 29th of July, I was convinced that the rain falling outside was freezing and would be turning to snow at any minute.
After settling in to the temporary digs in Gorgie where I’d be staying for my first month in Auld Reekie, we turned up the heating and went out to the pub across the street to enjoy some impressively poor renditions of Oasis’s Wonderwall while waiting for the flat to warm up.
We returned to a freezing cold flat, and figured out that the gas had run out. I knew nothing about topping up the gas. I knew nothing about the five pounds of emergency credit available if I’d pushed the right button. I just knew it was cold, I hadn’t bought bedding yet, and it was going to be a long night.
While I pulled on half the clothes in my suitcase, my friend Julie was sleeping in the other room, and decided to boil the kettle and then cuddle it on the couch to try to keep warm through the evening.
{Warning: Don’t try that at home.}
The next morning was the beginning of life in Edinburgh: trips to the big Tesco for the necessities, getting denied a bank account, getting caught in the rain without an umbrella, getting denied a phone contract, getting caught in the rain without an umbrella again, and catching the bus headed in the wrong direction.
It was also the beginning of discovering what I’ll forever hold in my heart as the most beautiful city in Europe, finding a little shop that served Chocolate Soup, exploring the fantastic finds waiting to be had in charity shops, and studying for a Master’s Degree (and half a PhD) at a university so exquisitely located, I never once left the Divinity School without savouring the incredible view — Edinburgh Castle to my left, Princes Street below, the Firth of Forth, broody in the distance, sun streaming onto the yellow rapeseed meadows of Fife on the other side.
Those days marked the beginnings of these six years of life, thousands of miles away from the place that never stopped feeling like home, though I tried hard to set up shop wherever I was. And though this season has been full of good surprises, and bad ones, it seems I could’ve taken note of what was to come in the foreshadows of those first few days.
Though that simple moment of surprise on the plane made me think the chances of enjoying my brother’s company on the nine-hour flight was no longer a possibility, beside the closed door was an open window, just a little further along. And though the heat-less night in Gorgie was a tough start, the memories my brother and I share from Robertson’s Pub and Julie hugging the kettle make the inconvenience worthwhile.
Indeed these six years have gone rather differently in many ways from how I expected when I boarded that first flight, but I’ve continuously seen glory in the triumphs and the failings, especially in the times where things happened differently from how I hoped or expected.
Among the many lessons tucked into my heart for the journey home, another I’m holding onto is the realization that it’s easy to get discouraged when things aren’t going according to plan, but we can hold onto faith that even disappointments and trials can work out for good, when we love our Creator and are willing to wait on Him.
So hold on to hope, whatever you’re facing today. No matter where you are on the journey of life, tomorrow is pregnant with possibility, and it’s an adventure that’s just beginning.
xCC
Jul 27, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word
There are moments in life when, if you’re paying attention, you’ll see Biblical truths actively happening right before your eyes. I love taking the opportunity to stop and take notice. The Truth found in the Scriptures is woven into the very fabric of our universe, but, as the saying goes, only he who sees, takes off his shoes.
Yesterday, the Hubs and I decided to do a quick workout and have a special treat afterwards. We popped into a little Italian restaurant near the gym, and it was in my mind that Italian and coffee would probably be a good combination.
We ordered two cappuccinos and a slice of cake to share, and sat in the sort of indoor-outdoor area the restaurant had inside the mall. With cosy little tables, cream-coloured tablecloths, low light and Christmas lights overhead, they’d created a sweet little space, very inviting if you’re a passer-by, perhaps especially a female one.
Our coffees arrived, and the taste was reminiscent of the powder-based coffee drinks you get from those big press-button machines at gas stations, only weaker. I dumped in a few sugar packets and was willing to drink it anyway, but the Hubs just couldn’t, spoke to the waitress about it, and then again in answer to another waiter who stopped by to ask how things were.
{cappuccino not pictured above}
The waiter took HH’s “cappuccino” away and wasn’t planning on making a second attempt. So, we ate our mediocre slice of cake whilst wondering how old it was, and then spent a few minutes trying to make eye contact in order to settle the bill.
You might be catching on to the fact that this special treat was a bit of a disappointment.
We eventually went up to the till to pay, and discovered that we were still supposed to pay for the bad coffee that had been taken away and not replaced. Out of principal we began to discuss the issue, and the waitress explained that in order to remove something from the bill, she needed her boss’s fingerprint on the finger scan thing attached to the cash register’s computer, and he wasn’t there. We also noticed that they’d charged us more for each cappuccino than the price listed on the menu.
The aforementioned waiter came over to discuss the issues regarding the bill, and insisted that we would have to pay the new price, which his boss had just entered into the computer that morning, even though it was not reflected on the menu. The waitress disagreed but sort of seemed disempowered in the situation. As the discussion continued it became apparent that their boss {whom HH is acquainted with from his college days in Bloemfontein} treats his staff so badly that they cannot employ the old adage the customer is always right for fear of losing their jobs.
We were willing to pay the new price for the cappuccino I drank, and willing to pay for the lackluster cake, but paying for the second one, which had been taken away and not replaced, seemed to be asking a little much.
Eventually it worked out that we paid for the cake and one coffee, but the manner in which all of the issues were handled left much to be desired.
Any hopes I’d had of returning there for a charming little slice of pizza with the Hubs were completely dashed, and as we hurried back to Mr. Potato Head in order to arrive at home in time for the Tank’s next feed, these words came alive in my mind:
The generous soul will be made rich, and he who waters will also be watered himself. {Proverbs 11:25}
The owner of this establishment’s unwillingness to be generous (making weak and sorry coffee, hiking prices without notifying customers appropriately, serving old cake and training staff to be penny-pinching — or rand-pinching — instead of generous) will hinder his prosperity and perhaps eventually close his restaurant.
We would’ve been willing to overlook a sorry cup of coffee and return for a meal if the mistake had been rectified, but the situation if you’ll pardon the pun, left such a bad taste in our mouths, that we won’t return to the restaurant again.
Mind you, we’re not going to go on a campaign to speak badly of the establishment (notice I’m being careful not to mention the name!) but the truth is, good news travels fast and bad news travels faster.
In our own lives, desiring to do (and not just hear) this Scripture, we recently made the decision to aim to be generous whenever possible. Within a month of that decision, we’ve seen miraculous provision come our way.
(Can you say RIDICULOUSLY AWESOME tax refund? Thanks Uncle Sam! And, INCREDIBLE AND AMAZING friends and ministry partners? WE LOVE YOU!)
Every day we have the opportunity to look at what the Bible says and choose whether or not to apply it to our lives. And as I continue be an observer of the life happening all around me, I understand more and more truth from these words:
My son, do not forget my law,
But let your heart keep my commands;
For length of days and long life
And peace they will add to you.
Let not mercy and truth forsake you;
Bind them around your neck,
Write them on the tablet of your heart,
And so find favor and high esteem
In the sight of God and man. {Prov. 3:1-4}
Have you seen the fruit of doing the word in your life?
xCC
Jul 25, 2011 | The Good Word
Is Beyonce’s sassy little ditty from a couple years ago with the fun dance moves wiggling around in your head now thanks to the title of this post? I hope not. Because if you’re like me, that song will stay in your head for no less than six weeks and pop up at the most inconvenient times to say hello and make you hum and want to do that funny thing with your hands up over your head like the girls in the video.
Oh that’s just me? Okay good.
Years ago, when the Hubs was just a friend from church in Edinburgh, we had some long discussions about singleness, and the church, and how things are a little messy right now, or maybe a lot messy, in that situation. The weirdness aboundeth.
He had what we affectionately referred to as a Dating and Courtship Seminar, a bit of a diatribe he’d slip into whenever the topic came up for discussion. If you’ve been to church like, twice, you might notice the awkwardness. Something’s broken, and I’m not sure anybody knows exactly how to fix it.
But I read a really great article with some well-evidenced and well-put thoughts about some of the ways we seem to have gone astray from a Biblical understanding of singleness {a friend shared it on Facebook a few days ago}. And I sure did think it was worth mentioning and linking to, and encouraging the ladies, the lads, and the pastors and ministers and pastor’s wives and campus ministers and basically everybody else to read it.
I also probably owe some friends who are single and/or were single when I was an apology.
Here’s the wisdom.
Cuz if ya liked it then you shouldaputta ring on it…
xCC
Jul 23, 2011 | Stories, The Good Word
I have trouble loving the now. When now seems more temporary than usual, it’s hard for me to embrace it. Knowing that we now have less than two months, here and like this, does something strange in my heart.
There’s a constant voice, in the back of my mind somewhere, whispering the reminder that next time. Next time the Bear will no longer be two. Next time the baby won’t be so baby. And the reminder hinders my ability to just sit still in the now, and enjoy what is, even though it won’t be like this again. Because falling in love with a season so temporary — it feels like I’m the character on the TV show House, who married a man with a terminal illness.
I find myself keeping my heart at arm’s length instead.
I no longer hoard junk that takes up space in a closet or an attic, but I am a hoarder of moments, wishing I could somehow collect them all and store them in a recess of my mind.
When I was a kid, I used to collect tennis balls for my brother. We had a ball shooter, and he’d practice with it for hours. I’d collect balls as he smashed them strategically over the net, {occasionally in my direction} and put them back in the shooter so that he could keep going. But inevitably, I’d fall behind, and his shots would come too quickly. I’d get overwhelmed that they were coming so fast, and I’d give up trying and wait for him to stop and help me.
These days, in this place, precious moments feel like they are coming at me that quickly. The baby is standing in Goo-Goo’s lap, drooling and smiling, reaching for his nose. The Bear is outside, rolling a toy car around the table on the patio, and Goo-Goo with another car in tow, follows Him. Gammy tickles a four-month-old tummy, he laughs and both their faces are alight. The living room is chilly but filled with light in the early Bloemfontein mornings, and three of us have breakfast at the table while the little one looks on from his stroller.
So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. {Psalm 90:12}
It is the eve of four months becoming five for the new addition in our family. These days he pauses nursing just to look up at me. He looks up, his whole face changes with a big smile, and then he laughs at me as a tiny stream of bright white milk rolls down his cheek. I love it, and yet it makes my heart so sore.
I struggle at the thought that these moments can’t all be captured. I can’t pick up the tennis balls fast enough. He won’t remember me holding his finger and us giggling together in a bedroom in Bloem. I might not remember either.
But maybe somewhere down the line, ten years from now, he will be a more secure and peaceful individual because when he was a baby his mother held him and loved him and laughed with him and treasured his smiles, and his father cuddled him and rocked him and played with him until he squealed with baby delight. And his grandparents held and snuggled and walked and loved him, too.
Which would mean the moment isn’t gone or forgotten, it’s stored inside somehow. Captured in a way that megapixels can’t. Stored in a place that doesn’t have a hard drive.
And even the parts of life that are too brief to recount or even remember — a smile from a stranger, the first coo of your firstborn — those parts you might not always be able to hold onto, there’s still so much value in them. In the now, which is all we really have, after all.
I realise I can’t decide not to show up just because now isn’t forever, and can’t be held onto forever. Why drive to the beach and decide not to get out of the car just because you forgot your camera?
It seems my greatest challenge is learning to live right here, right now. If you number your days, I suppose you’ll begin to realise the best one to focus on living is this one.
xCC
Jul 21, 2011 | In the Name of Love, The Good Word
Between trying to settle one little one into a new children’s church and taking the other one to the Mothers’ Room, I only had a brief stint in the main service this Sunday, at the church we attend when we’re in Bloemfontein. In one of the moments where my ears managed to catch a snippet of the sermon, the guest speaker was discussing the difference between concern and compassion. The miracle of the fishes and loaves that fed 5,000 was used as an illustration of the point.
Since I didn’t have the opportunity to catch much more than just an awareness that this was the topic, I spent some time in thought to myself, considering what happened when Jesus and the disciples fed 5,000 men, and additional women and children in some deserted place that day.
Monday morning, I had the opportunity to live out the understanding I’d reached after considering the Scripture more thoroughly.
As the story goes in Matthew 14, Jesus withdrew to some deserted place after hearing the news that John the Baptist had been beheaded. But when the multitudes heard the news, they followed Him — perhaps wondering how he would react to what had happened, perhaps seeking some comfort because they believed John to be a prophet.
Despite His heartwrenching circumstances, He saw that great multitude, and had compassion for them, and He healed the sick among them.
When it was evening, the disciples were concerned for the people — it was getting late and they were far away from anywhere. They worried they’d be hungry and have nothing to eat, so they thought they should be sent away to the villages nearby to buy food.
But Jesus said, “They don’t need to go anywhere. You feed them.” {Matt. 14:16, my paraphrase}
And after that, you perhaps know the story. We’ve only got five loaves and two fish. They gave them to Jesus. Everyone sat down. He took the food and blessed it, gave it to the disciples, the disciples gave it to the multitudes, everyone ate till they were miraculously stuffed, and there was a whole bunch left over. A basket for every disciple, in fact.
The contrast between the disciples’ perspective on the situation and Jesus’ brings into light a great deal about the difference between mentally assenting to something and truly believing it.
Let me try to explain.
A person might mentally agree with the fact that a building is on fire, but if they truly believe it, they’ll get out of the building and warn everybody they see along the way.
A person who mentally agrees with what the Bible says might argue the case for Christ or some theological point while referencing the appropriate Scriptures. A person who truly believes that the Bible is God’s Word will allow what the Bible says to determine how they live their lives.
A person who mentally agrees that the preservation of our environment is a matter of concern might side with Al Gore in a discussion of the issues and worry about what the world will be like for our children’s children. A person who really believes it is an issue will reduce their carbon footprint, stop using plastic grocery bags, and recycle.
And like the disciples, a person who is concerned for the multitudes might worry about what will happen if the people don’t leave soon enough to go and fetch food. A person who has compassion for those same multitudes will take action — willing to do their part to see the situation resolved.
Whether we’re talking about the hole in the ozone or the global issue of poverty, the dichotomy seems the same:
Concerned people take note, compassionate people take action.
Concerned people have suggestions to solve the problem, compassionate people make moves to solve the problem.
Concerned people worry about the issue, compassionate people give, and act to change the issue.
Concerned people see obstacles, compassionate people see opportunities.
The disciples saw five loaves and two fish. Jesus saw the chance to do a miracle.
Monday morning I got an email that the home full of orphans we visited last year, where I was inspired and challenged and humbled and blessed, burned to the ground.
I immediately realized I had a choice to be concerned, or to show compassion. I could call and say I was sorry to hear the bad news. I could make suggestions about how to solve the problem. Or, I could take action to try to change the situation.
I share this not to point at my actions and say, “Look at me! I rock!” Rather, I want to say we modern-folk have lived far too long with this dichotomy of belief.
If we believe poverty is an issue, we have to act.
If we believe the environment is a matter of concern, we have to change our behaviour accordingly.
If we believe the Bible is true, we have to do what it says.
Part of me would like to simply conclude all this by challenging you to give something to help Mirriam House — $20 for the 20 people who’ve been left homeless, or for the 20-month-old who lost his life. But I’m afraid you’ll give, and then go away and not understand the real message I want to share.
We have to live what we believe. No, we can’t solve every problem on our own. But we have five loaves and two fish to give to just about every situation. Do those five loaves and two fish add up to seven dollars for a lost orphanage? Are they five loaves and two fish of taking the time to separate out your trash and recycle what can be recycled? Are they five loaves and two fish of actually adopting a child who needs a home?
Only you will stand before your Maker at the end of your days to give an account for what you did with your five loaves and two fish in this world. But I stand fully convinced that together, our five loaves and two fish can do a world of good.
xCC
P.S. I’ve been greatly encouraged by the generous support that has come in for Mirriam House so far. Thank you so much for your compassion, friends. Your actions are changing things!!
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