I'll confess that when it comes to my brothers and sisters who go to a mega-church, I often am less than gracious with them. So when the City Harvest saga broke out, I'll admit that I quickly jumped to conclusions that, of course, they would be guilty.
But that's not the point. The point is that regardless of whether or not they are guilty, there's a part of the Family that is hurting. Regardless of whether they provided the spiritual leadership they should have, there's a part of the Family that is asking questions. Regardless of why they did or didn't do what they were accused of, there's a part of the Family trying to make sense of what has happened.
I'm learning again what it means to stop older-brothering the prodigal. It's so easy for me to jump on the self-righteous bandwagon. And so, in light of the City Harvest saga, I'm reminded again that, mega-church or not, we all belong in the body of Christ. And when one member of the family is hurting, it's only fair that I try to push aside my self-righteous judgement and hurt with them.
It's part of the experience of becoming human together.
27 June 2012
26 June 2012
Celebrating 11 Years of Laughter
Every time I'm back here, I feel like I can be a kid all over again.
Friends from way back, talking about stories from way back.
It's like we're all still sixteen and seventeen and things haven't changed.
We still find the same things ridiculously funny.
We still kaopei (literally translated: curse father) about the same types of things.
Bunz, as usual eats a lot.
Juan, as usual is always late.
Ivy, as usual is trying to keep up with everyone else.
But there's always the subtle reminders that these are no longer our green pinafore days.
Lisi is getting married.
Bunz and Ivy are talking about raising families together since they're going to be neighbours.
Everyone is nagging at Juan about the same old business.
And it always ends with the usual, "So when's the next time you're coming back?"
Life isn't as simple as the green pinafore days anymore.
The world isn't only about our kangkong eating habits anymore.
Or hyperventilating over maths formulae anymore.
Life has become about paying bills, switching jobs, planning weddings, travelling, heartbreaks and the other things that seem to indicate we're supposed to be grown-ups.
But put the six or eight of us together in one room and it's like nothing has changed.
Bunny may have switched jobs a few times.
I may have moved around the world a few times.
But that we still laugh every year at the fact that we're anything but moribus modestus makes me thankful for these girls.
Thank you for reminding me to take time to laugh.
I have the best friends in the world.
Friends from way back, talking about stories from way back.
It's like we're all still sixteen and seventeen and things haven't changed.
We still find the same things ridiculously funny.
We still kaopei (literally translated: curse father) about the same types of things.
Bunz, as usual eats a lot.
Juan, as usual is always late.
Ivy, as usual is trying to keep up with everyone else.
But there's always the subtle reminders that these are no longer our green pinafore days.
Lisi is getting married.
Bunz and Ivy are talking about raising families together since they're going to be neighbours.
Everyone is nagging at Juan about the same old business.
And it always ends with the usual, "So when's the next time you're coming back?"
Life isn't as simple as the green pinafore days anymore.
The world isn't only about our kangkong eating habits anymore.
Or hyperventilating over maths formulae anymore.
Life has become about paying bills, switching jobs, planning weddings, travelling, heartbreaks and the other things that seem to indicate we're supposed to be grown-ups.
But put the six or eight of us together in one room and it's like nothing has changed.
Bunny may have switched jobs a few times.
I may have moved around the world a few times.
But that we still laugh every year at the fact that we're anything but moribus modestus makes me thankful for these girls.
Thank you for reminding me to take time to laugh.
 |
| Celebrating 11 years of laughter |
I have the best friends in the world.
20 June 2012
The Wax House
She stood watching, with tears streaming down her face. Too many years had passed since the last time she played an active role in the hustle and bustle of activities in that old house.
She visited the old house every year since she left. It had become like a ritual for paying homage to the role the old house played in her life. Some of her old friends had left; others that stuck around noticed the different energy with the new faces that came. Most seemed excited about the different energy, and she hoped it was for the best.
Then one day she noticed the paint starting to peel away. The flowers looked thirsty, and she wondered if she was the only one who noticed. She could water the flowers, but she didn't have enough time to start the paint job. She left and again, she hoped it was for the best.
The next year, the garden was parched, and the paint had become even more splotchy. She wondered again if she was the only one who noticed. Again she watered the garden, and as she did, she began to see an image of what the old house would look like if nothing changed. She shuddered and wondered if their little old house was about to become like the story of the lighthouse that she heard not too long ago. She told a friend of that wax house she saw in that image. It looked like someone had made it into a candle with wax slabbed around rusty iron poles and set the whole thing on fire. Beyond that, she wasn't sure what to do. That old house had been her stomping ground as a child, but there were others running the place now.
Not too long ago, she made another visit. The energy again felt different, and again she hoped for the best. There were new flowers in the garden, and they asked if she would help water the garden. But how could she when she had just given immense amounts of energy starting a different garden from scratch? And besides, it still bothered her that nothing had been done to change the soil or to create a better environment for the flowers to thrive better.
Still she did what she could while she fought to ignore the voice that said, "Change doesn't come with a new garden, or a fresh coat of paint. Remember? Real change never comes from the top down or the bottom up. It comes from the inside out." She found her own way to make a difference, ways they may never recognise as anything of significance, ways they will probably see as rebellious. Not that she really cared anymore what they thought. She had spent too many hours grieving the loss of too many flowers to care.
But still she wept. She wept for the old house that didn't feel like the house she grew up in anymore. She wept for the years gone by and the flowers that faded away. She wept for how the old house was starting to look more and more like the image she saw way back when. She wept for the flowers that told her to leave them alone. She wept for how she had just spent so much of her life in that land elsewhere putting pieces back into place for other old houses that have been down that same road. She wept for her own fears of being sucked back into those dark places when she grieved the other old houses.
And then he came and took her by the hand.
"My child, it's time for you to leave now. You came for rest but you found you had to hide your face. Your heart cannot be broken for so many places and this is not a house for you to grieve over anymore. Let it go. Let the flowers go. I am still in charge. Remember that lesson from way back when? Feed my sheep. But they still are MY sheep."
She visited the old house every year since she left. It had become like a ritual for paying homage to the role the old house played in her life. Some of her old friends had left; others that stuck around noticed the different energy with the new faces that came. Most seemed excited about the different energy, and she hoped it was for the best.
Then one day she noticed the paint starting to peel away. The flowers looked thirsty, and she wondered if she was the only one who noticed. She could water the flowers, but she didn't have enough time to start the paint job. She left and again, she hoped it was for the best.
The next year, the garden was parched, and the paint had become even more splotchy. She wondered again if she was the only one who noticed. Again she watered the garden, and as she did, she began to see an image of what the old house would look like if nothing changed. She shuddered and wondered if their little old house was about to become like the story of the lighthouse that she heard not too long ago. She told a friend of that wax house she saw in that image. It looked like someone had made it into a candle with wax slabbed around rusty iron poles and set the whole thing on fire. Beyond that, she wasn't sure what to do. That old house had been her stomping ground as a child, but there were others running the place now.
Not too long ago, she made another visit. The energy again felt different, and again she hoped for the best. There were new flowers in the garden, and they asked if she would help water the garden. But how could she when she had just given immense amounts of energy starting a different garden from scratch? And besides, it still bothered her that nothing had been done to change the soil or to create a better environment for the flowers to thrive better.
Still she did what she could while she fought to ignore the voice that said, "Change doesn't come with a new garden, or a fresh coat of paint. Remember? Real change never comes from the top down or the bottom up. It comes from the inside out." She found her own way to make a difference, ways they may never recognise as anything of significance, ways they will probably see as rebellious. Not that she really cared anymore what they thought. She had spent too many hours grieving the loss of too many flowers to care.
But still she wept. She wept for the old house that didn't feel like the house she grew up in anymore. She wept for the years gone by and the flowers that faded away. She wept for how the old house was starting to look more and more like the image she saw way back when. She wept for the flowers that told her to leave them alone. She wept for how she had just spent so much of her life in that land elsewhere putting pieces back into place for other old houses that have been down that same road. She wept for her own fears of being sucked back into those dark places when she grieved the other old houses.
And then he came and took her by the hand.
"My child, it's time for you to leave now. You came for rest but you found you had to hide your face. Your heart cannot be broken for so many places and this is not a house for you to grieve over anymore. Let it go. Let the flowers go. I am still in charge. Remember that lesson from way back when? Feed my sheep. But they still are MY sheep."
Faith and the Human Experience
I was talking to an old friend, Ben, recently. Apparently his existential crisis has hit an all-new level that would be his personal best so far. This was, of course, curious to me because the Singaporean society seemed like the least likely breeding ground for the ideologies of post-christendom. We may have a first-world economy, but our theology is still very third-world. Which is perfectly fine, until we stumble upon a little "trouble-maker," like my friend Ben.
Strange timing also, that I stumbled upon a chapter of my life from ten years ago when life was simple and "Jesus" was the answer I would give because that's what I thought people wanted to hear. I go through phases where I long for the days when the good old christian girl in me could just as easily have been the star of the Chris Rice song, Me and Becky. I still grieve that those days are long-gone because I didn't have to bear the responsibilities I carry now.
But the reality is, those days are gone. Ten years is along time, and to pretend that all the junk that happened in the last ten years didn't exist would not only be marginalizing my story and my grief, but also the creativity of the Redeemer that weaved all these pieces together. And I cannot go on pretending the hurt in the world doesn't exist, or that Grace did not surprise my conventional definitions of the Creator's imagination when it weaved its way in to redeem all these broken pieces.
And then I stumbled upon the idea of "faith and the human experience" -- something I have no doubt I would have already figured out if I had only paid more attention to Dr. Overstreet's Faith and Human Development class in undergrad.
Human experience is wondering how falling sick from alternating between the steaming hot dish-room that was my first job in college and the unbearable (remember, this is the girl from the tropical island-city) Anderson winters four days a week was an appropriate response from god to my attempt to answer my call to ministry.
Faith is the realisation that the ministry of washing dishes is essential for table fellowship (a big part of the Church of God tradition I claim as heritage).
Human experience is trying to make the best of a $35/week income by humbly accepting your parents' help with rent while surviving on $2/day (Taco Bell's $1.89 bean burrito can make for a filling lunch AND dinner if you're willing to ride your bike out) when savings ran out.
Faith is the realisation Someone's always looking out.
Human experience is facing the temptation every year to give up all this "call to ministry" nonsense for a better material life in the home-country where the economy is still one of the most stable in the world.
Faith is the realisation a dream happened nearly ten years ago about things to come, and that Someone already knew way back when.
Human experience is coming face-to-face with human trafficking, and the sobering realisation that it could just as easily have been me.
Faith is the realisation that because Someone cries for each oppressed minority voice, and Someone has cared about me, I should care about what Someone cares about as well.
Human experience is the daily battle with existentialism and the constantly evolving world.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ is.
Human experience is what social scientist Maslow would probably hashtag as #firstworldproblems -- controversial religious/spiritual debates.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ already defied all of the above with the simple, "I am".
Greg, my professor of theology at AUSOT once explained it something like that: To simply live in the human experience is an obvious negligence of the Christian faith. But to simply use faith to explain away suffering, whether physical, emotional, mental or spiritual, and the human experience is to belittle Jesus' own human experience. If the human experience can be simply explained away by faith, then it would not have been necessary for Jesus to exist as both completely human and completely divine at the same time. And if that were true, then the Christology of Church tradition will have to be completely reconstructed.
As with most things human, it's often difficult for two extremes to co-exist in tangent. We swing between conservative and liberal, traditional and contemporary. Neither extremes are completely right or wrong, but once we realise there's a bit more in the world than the box we were raised in, it's easy to be completely disgusted by the old box, and want to have nothing to do with it. But even after Jesus redefined what "mother" and "brothers" meant, he still made sure Mary was taken care of as he hung on the cross.
And yes, I know. We're not Jesus. Everyday I'm reminded of how unlike Jesus I am. And so we continue to struggle in our humanity between the extremes. But as Henri Nouwen pointed out, there are the unhealed wounders, and the wounded healers. I can only wish that in our struggling between the extremes that we always find room for a little bit of grey areas, and a lot of room for grace.
These are initial thoughts that I've been itching to write down in a more cohesive space than on the notepad on my phone since I've been away from a computer. There's been a whole lot more that I want to write about, but as usual, I get distracted way too easily, so we'll see if this gets revisited.
As always, I'm open to conversations. My only request is that you extend me at least as much grace as you feel you're receiving from me.
Also, extend grace to my poor grammar. I've had one too many days of one too many languages.
Strange timing also, that I stumbled upon a chapter of my life from ten years ago when life was simple and "Jesus" was the answer I would give because that's what I thought people wanted to hear. I go through phases where I long for the days when the good old christian girl in me could just as easily have been the star of the Chris Rice song, Me and Becky. I still grieve that those days are long-gone because I didn't have to bear the responsibilities I carry now.
But the reality is, those days are gone. Ten years is along time, and to pretend that all the junk that happened in the last ten years didn't exist would not only be marginalizing my story and my grief, but also the creativity of the Redeemer that weaved all these pieces together. And I cannot go on pretending the hurt in the world doesn't exist, or that Grace did not surprise my conventional definitions of the Creator's imagination when it weaved its way in to redeem all these broken pieces.
And then I stumbled upon the idea of "faith and the human experience" -- something I have no doubt I would have already figured out if I had only paid more attention to Dr. Overstreet's Faith and Human Development class in undergrad.
Human experience is wondering how falling sick from alternating between the steaming hot dish-room that was my first job in college and the unbearable (remember, this is the girl from the tropical island-city) Anderson winters four days a week was an appropriate response from god to my attempt to answer my call to ministry.
Faith is the realisation that the ministry of washing dishes is essential for table fellowship (a big part of the Church of God tradition I claim as heritage).
Human experience is trying to make the best of a $35/week income by humbly accepting your parents' help with rent while surviving on $2/day (Taco Bell's $1.89 bean burrito can make for a filling lunch AND dinner if you're willing to ride your bike out) when savings ran out.
Faith is the realisation Someone's always looking out.
Human experience is facing the temptation every year to give up all this "call to ministry" nonsense for a better material life in the home-country where the economy is still one of the most stable in the world.
Faith is the realisation a dream happened nearly ten years ago about things to come, and that Someone already knew way back when.
Human experience is coming face-to-face with human trafficking, and the sobering realisation that it could just as easily have been me.
Faith is the realisation that because Someone cries for each oppressed minority voice, and Someone has cared about me, I should care about what Someone cares about as well.
Human experience is the daily battle with existentialism and the constantly evolving world.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ is.
Human experience is what social scientist Maslow would probably hashtag as #firstworldproblems -- controversial religious/spiritual debates.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ already defied all of the above with the simple, "I am".
Greg, my professor of theology at AUSOT once explained it something like that: To simply live in the human experience is an obvious negligence of the Christian faith. But to simply use faith to explain away suffering, whether physical, emotional, mental or spiritual, and the human experience is to belittle Jesus' own human experience. If the human experience can be simply explained away by faith, then it would not have been necessary for Jesus to exist as both completely human and completely divine at the same time. And if that were true, then the Christology of Church tradition will have to be completely reconstructed.
As with most things human, it's often difficult for two extremes to co-exist in tangent. We swing between conservative and liberal, traditional and contemporary. Neither extremes are completely right or wrong, but once we realise there's a bit more in the world than the box we were raised in, it's easy to be completely disgusted by the old box, and want to have nothing to do with it. But even after Jesus redefined what "mother" and "brothers" meant, he still made sure Mary was taken care of as he hung on the cross.
And yes, I know. We're not Jesus. Everyday I'm reminded of how unlike Jesus I am. And so we continue to struggle in our humanity between the extremes. But as Henri Nouwen pointed out, there are the unhealed wounders, and the wounded healers. I can only wish that in our struggling between the extremes that we always find room for a little bit of grey areas, and a lot of room for grace.
These are initial thoughts that I've been itching to write down in a more cohesive space than on the notepad on my phone since I've been away from a computer. There's been a whole lot more that I want to write about, but as usual, I get distracted way too easily, so we'll see if this gets revisited.
As always, I'm open to conversations. My only request is that you extend me at least as much grace as you feel you're receiving from me.
Also, extend grace to my poor grammar. I've had one too many days of one too many languages.
11 June 2012
Eat.Pray.Love. Days 1-3
Taking a three-week break from the real world for an Eat.Pray.Love. sabbath. These are the chronicles.
Day 1:
Eat - chwee kueh, cai tao kueh, you tiao, ee mian, kaya toast, rojak, oyster omelette
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, parents' home group
Love - grandma, parents
Everyone wants to be heard, but no one's really listening.
Culture vs. Christ
Day 2:
Eat - chicken rice, wedding banquet
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, Young Theologians, "So you're a pastor..."
Love - Teresa, Jason, Dao Jian
Frivolity vs. Purpose
Judgment vs. Solidarity
I've stopped hoping to be understood, but it doesn't mean the sting is any less when reminded I'm not measuring up to cultural expectations.
Day 3:
Eat - Peng kueh, ti zang, chicken rice, sushi buffet
Pray - Who is Jesus? Reconciling existential crises to ministry life
Love - Carissa, Ke & Xuan, April+Ben & kids, grandma
Just because "they" may have greater access to resources doesn't make their problems any less real or painful.
Day 1:
Eat - chwee kueh, cai tao kueh, you tiao, ee mian, kaya toast, rojak, oyster omelette
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, parents' home group
Love - grandma, parents
Everyone wants to be heard, but no one's really listening.
Culture vs. Christ
Day 2:
Eat - chicken rice, wedding banquet
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, Young Theologians, "So you're a pastor..."
Love - Teresa, Jason, Dao Jian
Frivolity vs. Purpose
Judgment vs. Solidarity
I've stopped hoping to be understood, but it doesn't mean the sting is any less when reminded I'm not measuring up to cultural expectations.
Day 3:
Eat - Peng kueh, ti zang, chicken rice, sushi buffet
Pray - Who is Jesus? Reconciling existential crises to ministry life
Love - Carissa, Ke & Xuan, April+Ben & kids, grandma
Just because "they" may have greater access to resources doesn't make their problems any less real or painful.
05 June 2012
Service Project
This post is really about a week late...
Two weekends ago, we took the kids out for a service project.
If you remember, we had thought about getting the kids to do a service project with Hospice West Auckland over the Easter weekend, but it didn't work out. We then found out that the Hospice needed baked goods so of course, the logical thing to do was to get kids together to do some baking. The younger kids, years 0-3 in school (aged 5-8) were going to help do grocery shopping while the other kids, years 4-6 in school (aged 9-11) would do the baking at Auntie Enid's.
To be frank, I had reached the point of exhaustion and grumpiness where I simply wanted to get the service project out of the way. We had told the kids we would try to do something aside from Sunday gatherings at least once every term, so this was going to be the one thing we did this term. So I really didn't have too many expectations of how it would go. As long as it wasn't a completely disaster, we didn't get kicked out of the grocery store and Auntie Enid's kitchens weren't completely trashed, I would have considered the project a success.
And of course, the kids surprised me.
Not only were there no stares from strangers at Countdown, or food fights in the kitchens, the kids all did a great job working in teams. The baking got done in a lot less time than I expected, and no one got grumpy or cranky.
On the drive back from Auntie Enid's, we launched into the, "what did you learn from this?" conversation. Again, my only expectation was that as long as they didn't drift off down some rabbit hole as we were talking, I would be content.
And again, they surprised me.
They each had a spiel about loving and serving one another, which was what we were doing with the baking. Knowing my own tendency to take the social service rather than the gospel train in these conversations because it was easier, I tried to steer it back toward Jesus. To my surprise, Stella remembered what we talked about early in the year about the body of Christ and how we each had a part to play. Woodrow talked about team work, and Jesse talked about Jesus feeding the five-thousand.
These kids... You just gotta love them.
Two weekends ago, we took the kids out for a service project.
 |
| Listening to the lady at Hospice explain what they do and how we are helping them. |
 |
| Auntie Enid with Stella and Hannah |
 |
| Imparting the all-important life-skill to Woody: How to beat an egg |
 |
| Rebecca and Jesse working hard |
Not only were there no stares from strangers at Countdown, or food fights in the kitchens, the kids all did a great job working in teams. The baking got done in a lot less time than I expected, and no one got grumpy or cranky.
On the drive back from Auntie Enid's, we launched into the, "what did you learn from this?" conversation. Again, my only expectation was that as long as they didn't drift off down some rabbit hole as we were talking, I would be content.
 |
| Auntie Enid served up hot chocolate milk for a well-deserved break |
They each had a spiel about loving and serving one another, which was what we were doing with the baking. Knowing my own tendency to take the social service rather than the gospel train in these conversations because it was easier, I tried to steer it back toward Jesus. To my surprise, Stella remembered what we talked about early in the year about the body of Christ and how we each had a part to play. Woodrow talked about team work, and Jesse talked about Jesus feeding the five-thousand.
 |
| Awesome chefs! From left: Jesse, Woody, Rebecca, Auntie Enid, Stella, Cassidy, Hannah |
On Moving...
In the last ten months, I have broken my personal record by having moved four times--twice internationally, twice within Auckland. So since I'm starting to consider myself quite an expert, I thought I'd share a few moving tips/lessons learnt.
Moving Tip #1: Always have friends
When I was moving from Anderson to Singapore, Ginny and JM got together with Brittney and Chase (who themselves were getting ready to move) and organised a yard sale. Two weekends in a row, we sat and got baked in the sun and drenched in the rain while playing Words With Friends while waiting for people to give us a few coins to help us get rid of our stuff. Elizabeth and John would come and hang out and the boys would take off to get us China House for our lunch break. Even with that, most of my nerdy seminary books still had to find themselves a home in Ed and Heidi's garage.
When I moved from Singapore to Auckland, my luggage allowance was reduced. We packed up part of my stuff into a box ready to be shipped once we got clearance from my visa process. Then we found out Auntie Enid was going to be back in Singapore so Mum had her help carry some of my stuff back in before finally sending the rest of the stuff in the box.
When I moved from Kathrin and Stefan's to Sara's, I inherited a bunch of stuff from the Beisleys so that I could finally set up my home/office space. Shane and Marilyn were also moving that weekend, so a crew got together to help us all move. Kathrin and Stefan did a desk swop with me when we realised the stuff wasn't all going to fit in the new place. Jonny showed up with equipment to help put the bunk-bed together, and Chris, Josh and Katherine figured out how to put the pieces together while Steve glued the headboards that were falling apart together.
When I moved in to the Snuggery (Chad and Diane's sleepout where Steve used to live) yesterday, Kathrin and Stefan showed up to pull apart the bunk-bed and the desk. Thanks to Stefan's genius brains of figuring out not just how to make things work but in the most efficient way, Kathrin's ability to organise things, Chad and Diane's big van and big heart to let me move in with such short notice, the move was relatively painless.
They say it takes a village to raise a kid. I'm glad I'm the kid with a great village.
Moving Tip #2: Nothing is really yours
I should probably add to that, "but take care of it anyway"
The first time Stefan and Kathrin did the desk swop with me, I remembered being blown away that they didn't even have a second thought about, "but this is ours," or "this is for loan". There was just this sentiment of nothing really permanently belongs to anyone anyway, but we just trust that we'll take care of each other. Or the realisation only upon starting to pack that most of my food storage containers have made themselves at home at the Pethers' for a while. It was this feeling of, it all stays in the family anyway, just a matter of which building it goes to.
Moving Tip #3: Big, bulky stuff don't move well
I remember when I first moved to Anderson that many years ago, Mum went and got frames so I could take pictures with me when I moved. But those were days before checking in baggage on international flights became so darn expensive. Oh, and those were also the dark ages before Facebook and social media really took off. Photo frames don't move well because of their bulk. And neither do diplomas. I'll admit there are days when I'm slightly envious of friends who have established and less mobile office spaces where they can hang up their framed accolades on the wall while mine stay in their black folders. It's not so much the desire to show off my accolades as much as wanting the stability where I don't have to have this constant mindset of, "Well, how am I going to pack that into two suitcases the next time I move?"
Moving Tip #4: The process is usually more than just physical
When Chad and Diane showed up yesterday, one of the first things Diane said was, "how are you feeling?" (I know I haven't blogged about that side of things in a while, but I'll get to it later.) Until that moment, I had been feeling the frustration building up. But in the process of making lists, organising how to make the move as painless as possible and how to get it all done in time for me to have head space to think about the last Bible Clubs for this term and pack before Thursday, the frustration just sat like an ugly monster beside my ear whispering nasty things like, "you can't do this."
Sara's house had been a great place for the last four months. I think we were both bummed that it didn't work out for me to stay longer. I will miss the backyard, and Saturday mornings of cleaning house while watching the little league games, and of course, the glorious view of the Waitakeres in the distance.
Moving Tip #1: Always have friends
When I was moving from Anderson to Singapore, Ginny and JM got together with Brittney and Chase (who themselves were getting ready to move) and organised a yard sale. Two weekends in a row, we sat and got baked in the sun and drenched in the rain while playing Words With Friends while waiting for people to give us a few coins to help us get rid of our stuff. Elizabeth and John would come and hang out and the boys would take off to get us China House for our lunch break. Even with that, most of my nerdy seminary books still had to find themselves a home in Ed and Heidi's garage.
When I moved from Singapore to Auckland, my luggage allowance was reduced. We packed up part of my stuff into a box ready to be shipped once we got clearance from my visa process. Then we found out Auntie Enid was going to be back in Singapore so Mum had her help carry some of my stuff back in before finally sending the rest of the stuff in the box.
When I moved from Kathrin and Stefan's to Sara's, I inherited a bunch of stuff from the Beisleys so that I could finally set up my home/office space. Shane and Marilyn were also moving that weekend, so a crew got together to help us all move. Kathrin and Stefan did a desk swop with me when we realised the stuff wasn't all going to fit in the new place. Jonny showed up with equipment to help put the bunk-bed together, and Chris, Josh and Katherine figured out how to put the pieces together while Steve glued the headboards that were falling apart together.
When I moved in to the Snuggery (Chad and Diane's sleepout where Steve used to live) yesterday, Kathrin and Stefan showed up to pull apart the bunk-bed and the desk. Thanks to Stefan's genius brains of figuring out not just how to make things work but in the most efficient way, Kathrin's ability to organise things, Chad and Diane's big van and big heart to let me move in with such short notice, the move was relatively painless.
They say it takes a village to raise a kid. I'm glad I'm the kid with a great village.
Moving Tip #2: Nothing is really yours
I should probably add to that, "but take care of it anyway"
The first time Stefan and Kathrin did the desk swop with me, I remembered being blown away that they didn't even have a second thought about, "but this is ours," or "this is for loan". There was just this sentiment of nothing really permanently belongs to anyone anyway, but we just trust that we'll take care of each other. Or the realisation only upon starting to pack that most of my food storage containers have made themselves at home at the Pethers' for a while. It was this feeling of, it all stays in the family anyway, just a matter of which building it goes to.
Moving Tip #3: Big, bulky stuff don't move well
I remember when I first moved to Anderson that many years ago, Mum went and got frames so I could take pictures with me when I moved. But those were days before checking in baggage on international flights became so darn expensive. Oh, and those were also the dark ages before Facebook and social media really took off. Photo frames don't move well because of their bulk. And neither do diplomas. I'll admit there are days when I'm slightly envious of friends who have established and less mobile office spaces where they can hang up their framed accolades on the wall while mine stay in their black folders. It's not so much the desire to show off my accolades as much as wanting the stability where I don't have to have this constant mindset of, "Well, how am I going to pack that into two suitcases the next time I move?"
Moving Tip #4: The process is usually more than just physical
When Chad and Diane showed up yesterday, one of the first things Diane said was, "how are you feeling?" (I know I haven't blogged about that side of things in a while, but I'll get to it later.) Until that moment, I had been feeling the frustration building up. But in the process of making lists, organising how to make the move as painless as possible and how to get it all done in time for me to have head space to think about the last Bible Clubs for this term and pack before Thursday, the frustration just sat like an ugly monster beside my ear whispering nasty things like, "you can't do this."
Sara's house had been a great place for the last four months. I think we were both bummed that it didn't work out for me to stay longer. I will miss the backyard, and Saturday mornings of cleaning house while watching the little league games, and of course, the glorious view of the Waitakeres in the distance.
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