Kiwi Birthday Reflections

On the drive home tonight, I heard a song on the radio that, for the first time in a long time, didn't make me cry. There were memories attached to that song that dates back about ten years, and healing had finally come full circle to that part of my story. But it also made me reflect on where I've come over the last ten years, where I am, and where I could have been.

Ten years ago around this time, I had to make some decisions about school that altered my whole life course and took some unexpected turns that led me to the cornfields.
Ten years ago around this time, I started blogging. Granted they were angsty teenage rants, but it was the very beginnings of a journey as an honest, and not-very-politically-correct writer.
Ten years ago around this time, I was falling in love with a boy barely seventeen, but he was the first to help me believe I had anything worth saying that people would want to hear.

Ten years ago around this time, I had a dream. I didn't know this dream was a revelation of what the next ten years of my life would be, but around this time last year, I finally wrote it down here.

There were parts of this dream that I still didn't understand as I was writing it last year, but it's all beginning to make sense now.

Two years ago today, I jumped on another flight, not knowing what I was getting into. Two years later, I'm celebrating what I've come to call my second "Kiwi birthday".
Two years ago today, the people of Westside Christian Fellowship welcomed with open arms another stranger into their midst. Two years later, we reflect on a journey that has seen tremendous joy and grief.

Two years ago today, I honestly didn't think I would make it this far. I had arrived in Auckland having accepted the role of coordinating the children's ministry, but having limited experience working with children myself. The church needed someone to tide things over in their children's ministry for a while, and I had said, "Here I am; send me." And so I came.

I've never been crazy about kids--still am not--but I didn't like them any less than I liked grown-ups. Little people are people too, and in the last two years, they've blown my mind and taught me more than I could possibly ever teach them. They've challenged me and given me permission to be more creative than I've ever been. They snuck into my heart and whispered stories that made me laugh and want to be their advocates at school, in church, and in society in general. They shaped my understanding of a balanced ecclesiology and made me want to fight the grown-ups that don't take them seriously.

Two years later, I cannot be more thankful today for the church that gave me permission to learn and experiment, and be a little bit crazier than crazy. And as the calendar year is drawing to a close, my time with my little people will soon end as well. It's hard to not fall in love with these kids, as rascally as they can be.

But the dream from ten years ago is beckoning. And just as I was responsible for being faithful to my role at Westside, I now have to be responsible for being faithful to the calling of the dream. This probably all sounds a bit frou-frou at the moment, but I promise I will write about the rest of the dream and what this will look like in time to come. Sorry Kiwi mates, but I'm still hoping to hang out in Auckland.

And I hope you will stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.

As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Little treats for the 2nd Kiwi birthday.
Because stopping and remembering is a necessary part of the journey.
(Clockwise from top left: Tim-tams and L&P.
Lamb dinner because lamb's never been this affordable until now.
Tim-tam slammed in milo.
And of course, paua from my first Kiwi birthday thanks to Amber and Jess.)

Arohanui,
Me

Akan Datang Explained...

David asked earlier what the significance of "akan datang" and Luke 5 (the parts of the address of this site) were. I guess in the three years that have passed since this blog came into existence, even I have forgotten the significance.

So I guess it's time to revisit it.

This blog came into existence to document my experience when I did my internship in Berlin, Germany. At the time, the words "akan datang" came to mind because I had no other way of explaining what I was going to do in Berlin.

"Akan datang" is Malay (the language of the natives in Singapore) for "coming soon".

Luke 5, specifically the story where Jesus tells Peter to cast his nets deeper in the water, has been a key portion of scripture for my call to ministry. I don't know where I'm going half the time, except just a little deeper. "Coming soon" is a statement of faith for whatever it might be that is to come...

Years later, the journey hasn't changed that much. Still trying to convince myself there IS stability in living out that statement of faith, and going just that little bit deeper. I don't know that stability will ever happen for me in this life, except for the stability that comes from simply being faithful.

Joe reminded me recently that "simply being faithful" was the crux of our call. I remembered writing about it here. And that's what this blog is about. Documenting the very feeble attempt to simply be faithful. I'll probably get it wrong more than I'll get it right, but that's where grace, far greater than the human mind, comes in.

The rest of the call story can be found in the latest edition of "Called to Minister, Empowered to Serve". Available on Amazon.

Have I mentioned that I belong in a group of very, very quality people? Because I really do. They do a great job keeping me on the path of "simply being faithful," and I cannot be more thankful.

Where We Come From

I've talked for a while about wanting to do a revamp to make better use of my social media presence. Well, I haven't come up with anything brilliant yet, but this has got me thinking about a new series that I've been mulling over separately. It's called "Where We Come From."

In an unexpected twist of events, I ended up with a quiet day at home to do anything I wanted. Because I work from home, I hardly ever want to stay home any more than necessary. But today, I wasn't allowed to do work. It was Easter Monday, and everyone else in New Zealand had the day off. And for once, the house was clean, the dishes were done and put away, and the laundry was on the line.

I could do anything I wanted for once.

Wow.

And so I got on Facebook and Twitter. I jumped back in to an ongoing conversation with the girls on Whatsapp. I scheduled Skype dates. And in the midst of trying to carefully plan my social life this week so that my tank could be refilled but not to a point that I was emotionally drained again, I realised something.

I won't deny that part of the reason why I'm on social media as much as I am is partially because I have a mild addiction to information overload. But there was something more.

In the five seconds or so that it takes to skim through the headlines that filter through the notifications I've set up on Facebook or Twitter over the years, I'm reminded again that I'm connected to something far bigger than me. These are the people who have shared one part of my story, and as I read about where they are today, I'm reminded of the adventures of when we sojourned together.


Someone pointed out the other day that often when I talk, I use "we" more than I. It was something I had noticed a while back and found to be slightly odd since I function mostly as an I on most social levels. But there's always a "we" involved in everything, and I've found it difficult to simply use "I" because it feels like I'm discrediting everything and everyone else that help keep things in order.

And so begins this new series called, "Where We Come From".
These are the stories of the collective voices that I have come to love as whanau (Maori for extended family).
These are the faces that complete my kampong (Malay for village).
These are the ones who have spoken Life to my weary being in seasons when I haven't taken care of myself.
These are the ones who have challenged me to live life outside the box.
These are the ones who have been imago Dei and who have extended grace and love to me.
These are the ones who have helped keep my faith and spirituality grounded.

And we all have our own stories and places where we have been.

I've mulled over this series for the past few months, starting and stopping and throwing everything out and found it to be a ridiculous series to even consider writing.
But I think the time has come to remind myself, mostly, of where I've come from.

And so these are the stories of Where We Come From.

"Rhythmus" Part 2 - Your Kingdom Come, Your Will Be Done

"Rhythmus," he said, with that familiar whimsical look--the one he got whenever a cheeky or brilliant idea was starting to take shape in his head.

I stared at him blankly.

"Rhythmus," he said again. "It's the spiritual rhythm that binds our community here. We don't do the traditional church model, but we still have this rhythm that keeps our group together. It's a rhythm that keeps us eating together, praying together and studying the Word together."

His words were starting to make a bit of sense, but I wondered if the mix of English and German I've had to function with had affected my ability to understand simple English as Kelley, Aaron and I sat at the dining table trying to piece together the website for the XZBerlin community.

Never mind that I had seen it lived out amongst the team members. That kind of taking care of one another, that intentional fellowship and study... I didn't fully understand the rhythm.

Then one day a few weeks back, I got an e-mail from Joe. Joe and I are better friends on Twitter than e-mail, so I was slightly surprised to get an e-mail from him. He mentioned something about Lent, the journey in the wilderness, the desert experiences, and finding sabbath and a spiritual rhythm.

It was an invitation to a group of friends--a community scattered across the US and here in Auckland--to join in a spiritual rhythm where we, and anyone else whom we knew were keen to join, prayed together, morning and evening, for Kingdom come, for ourselves and for each other. These weren't meant to be intense spiritual times as much as rhythm markers for the day. So we all, scattered across three time zones around the globe, prayed together at 7:30am and 6pm each day wherever we were.

The first day, as I started saying the words, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..." I was swept back to that Blue Church in Berlin, where together we chorused the words in German.

Suddenly I became aware that "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done," meant something far bigger than the simple words I was whispering in my bedroom in Auckland. Because friends in Indiana, Michigan, Ohio and Oklahoma were whispering these same words. The same words people in Germany and all around the world had been whispering throughout ages past. The same words that were whispered at the Pasifika festival only a few weeks later.

Suddenly Rhythmus became much bigger than that website discussion around the Philips' dining table in Berlin.
Suddenly Rhythmus included the friends that sent me the delightful care package only a few months ago when I was in desperate need for a sabbath, without realising I had a sabbath trip planned.
Suddenly Rhythmus included a global family whispering the words together, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."

This past week has been one of the more emotionally exhausting ones. There were a couple of very victorious moments, peppered with a couple of very heartbreaking ones, with a side of an answered prayer and one of the most unexpectedly difficult and painful conversations I've had to have in a while.

When it started, I found myself leaning into the prayers of this scattered community, holding on to "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done" like never before.
And then in the middle of it all, I was reminded of promises I made when I first started this chapter in Auckland, and the peace that carried me through because I kept my promises.
And then in the middle of what was about to turn out to be another very difficult day, I heard the words again, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done"--and from a voice I least expected.

Most who read this blog know that I prefer to let my thoughts simmer for a while before I paint them on the screen so they don't come out ill-intentioned, hurtful or in manners I regret later. Part 2 of this Rhythmus series had been simmering for a while, and I had hoped for a beautiful, happy-ever-after type of ra-ra, celebrate the Rhythm hype.

But tonight, it's 11:44pm as I write this--later than my usual bedtime since I started the 7:30ams. And there's no beautiful, happy-ever-after type of ra-ra hype. Instead, there are tears of release, a very raw sense of pain, and a deep peace and hope in holding on to "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."

This Lent, I've journeyed the wilderness through some oasis and some very dusty, thorny roads. I've endured the 6:30am alarms, snoozing a bagillion times so I can finally be awake to pray at 7:30am. I've wondered if I was the right person to have gotten thrown into some of the sandstorms because I never felt strong enough. I've learnt to lean into a community that is scattered like the Israelites in exile, and feeling the whispered prayers as we walked our own wilderness in this bigger rhythmus of "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."

The dust of the wilderness will settle, and we will usher in the coming King with our Hosannas--the King whose Kingdom will reign forever and these seasons of wilderness and exile will be no more. But until then, I will lean into "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done," and the hopeful glimpses of Easter and the empty tomb.


In case you're interested in joining in the spiritual rhythm, here's what it looks like:
At 2 times each day (7:30 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.), everyone involved would commit to the following:
1. Praying the Lord's Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13)
2. Praying the Jesus Creed (Mark 12:29–31)
3. Praying briefly for the people who they know who are involved
4a. In the morning, praying that God would keep them from evil and temptation and thanking God for his provision.
4b. In the evening, confessing any areas where they recall that they sinned and thanking God for his forgiveness.
We are encouraging people to invite others along and don't expect that everyone will even know of all the people who are involved. But the idea is to stay connected to something bigger, so please let me know (by simply leaving your name in the comments below--and location, if you've stumbled upon this space by accident) if you'd like to be a part so I can include you as I pray.

"Rhythmus" Part 1

The first time it happened, we were in Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche. Or what became affectionately known as "The Blue Church". It was my first week in Berlin. Never mind that I had had a year of university level German by then; if not for the undergraduate class where four of our assignments involved studying and creating a liturgical order of worship, I would not have had a clue about what was going on.

That was, until we got to "Das Vater unser Gebet". I still only understood about 5% of what was going on, but I gathered something about Father and praying. And then the chorus of German voices saying the words together. Something stirred in my heart as I simply read the text from the pages along with the other voices. I didn't know word for word what I was saying, but I knew in English I was saying, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..."

It occurred to me for the first time that even before I was challenged to memorise the words of the Lord's Prayer as a primary school kid, people all around the world had been reciting the same words together. I was merely one of the voices joining in this familiar rhythm.

And then it happened again this weekend. The Pasifika festival, a celebration of Pacific Island nations, was on this weekend, and for the first time this year, there was also a unity worship service on Sunday morning. Naturally, I was there.

Never mind that we're in the middle of a draught and it was sweltering hot in the park that morning. I'm usually pretty skeptical about unity services because they can be very well-intentioned but not always well-planned. It was one of the most beautiful services I've been to in a while.

And then it happened, right in the middle of a congregational prayer in Samoan. The voice invited the Church to join in with The Lord's Prayer in our mother tongues. The chorus of voices in all the different Island languages, and I in my lame English (I know, I know... It's been on my bucket list to learn it in at least Mandarin and German, but I haven't gotten there yet), saying together, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..."

Except this time, it was even more meaningful for me. I heard my own voice join in the chorus of Island tongues, with friends in Berlin, and the friends in the States who have been journeying with me through this wilderness season of Lent.

To be continued...

Silence Again

I've been silent again.

After the week of two posts in a row, I had another one I wanted to write, but then something came up. Then something else. Then something else.

Now two weeks later, here we are.

In the middle of a conversation with a friend this week, the three majors on my bucket list came up again. Yes, the three that have been life-goals since 2007:

1) Running a bed and breakfast or backpacker
2) Running a cafe
3) Experiencing homelessness for a week/month

The friend laughed when I mentioned the one about homelessness. He asked if I thought that experience would make me a better person, or if that was the "spiritual thing" I was wanting to do for Lent.

I got really defensive in that moment because it was something with a personal meaning for me and I wasn't appreciating being mocked. What I didn't realise then was that the issue of homelessness hit a little too close to home for him.

In that moment, I was brought back to a conversation that I had with Will a few years ago, about how some over-romanticize the "problems of the world" to make ourselves feel better that we're trying to bring about change.

We eventually moved on to something else in the conversation that happened this week, but it left me feeling slightly guilty. It's easy for me to talk about wanting to experience homelessness because I come from a privileged background. And even if I did eventually get around to that experience, I knew I was going to be able to get out of those situations at the timeline I decided for myself. It wasn't going to be real.

But then I realised my motivations for wanting to experience homelessness had nothing to do with wanting to feel good that I had experienced such depravity. No, the years in Anderson taught me that because I come from a privileged background, I have the responsibility to speak against systems that work against the underprivileged. The short time spent with the women on the streets of Berlin taught me that I'm actually not that much different from them. Their stories could just as easily have been mine, except we were born in a different time, at a different place. And my place of birth was not decided based on my own righteousness.

We don't do advocacy simply out of sympathy or because our hearts are broken for a cause. We do advocacy because Jesus himself called us to "Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment." (Matthew 10:8)

And so I stop again for a few brief moments, repenting for when I have gotten self-righteous about helping with self-serving agenda. In the moments of silence in between, I found myself wrestling with these words that stumbled out of my mouth:

"I won't work in a church forever, but I'll be a pastor no matter where I go. It's the call on my life."

And in those moments of silence, I realised as much as I struggle with the "pastor"/"preacher"/"minister" titles, to deny that is to deny the very responsibility to love my neighbours.

"Preach the gospel at all times. When necessary, use words."

A Lenten Prayer

I’ve always been taught that to be sanctified was to be set apart
“Let a holy life tell the Gospel story”
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

We talk so much about being set apart FOR something
But what are we to be set apart FROM?
How do we know to get there If we don’t know where we’re coming from?

My favourite dead white theologians don’t command my respect because of great deeds.
Sure, they were great thinkers and writers—and you know I love great thought and writing.
But these deep thoughts and writings happened
Because of those encounters where you dealt with their Selves

In a time where “Grace” is cheapened and fear hinders action against injustice…

Most loving and gracious God,
Creator of all things
Your mercy is new every morning
Have mercy on us
Sanctify us by your truth. Your word is truth

Set us apart from our selves
The self that sees the world not as you see it, but as fragmented pieces of our ideals
Set us apart from our egos
The ego that desires edification from producing results and a job well-done
Have mercy on us
Sanctify us by your truth. Your word is truth

Help us to live into the fullness of our humanity
That we may feel the pain of our own wounds
That we may have compassion for the suffering
That we may not wield these as weapons of self-righteousness
But as instruments of your grace and mercy
Have mercy on us
Sanctify us by your truth. Your word is truth

To a world that feels pain just as we feel pain
That is sinful just as we are sinful
That is as righteous as we can possibly be righteous
Have mercy on us
Sanctify us by your truth. Your word is truth

Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer of all Life,
Have mercy on us
Keep us from building walls that divide
Sanctify us by your truth. Your word is truth

Holy God, protect us by the power of your name so that we may be one
As we walk in these days of wilderness
As we experience these ashes--the mark of your suffering
Have mercy on us
Grant that we may have the full measure of your joy
Sanctify us by your truth. Your word is truth

Deal with us as you dealt with the saints of old
And have mercy on us

For yours is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever and ever.
Amen.

Calling Time-Out

Most Western parents would be familiar with the phrase, "time-out". It is used when a child old enough to rationalise with continues misbehaving and is usually followed with the phrase, "go to your room."

While I don't have kids of my own, because of the nature of my job, I often find myself in discussions of behaviour management--more specifically, figuring out what we need to include in our programming to support behaviour management both at home and at school. In one of those conversations, a parent shared that sometimes, it isn't the kid that needs the time-out. It's the adult.

"Sometimes when there's just been so much else going on in my day, all it takes is a little bit of a whiney voice for me to snap. That's when I realise I need to send myself to time out, take a chill pill before coming back to be with my kid."

This week, I sent myself into time-out. Or in a different translation, "sabbath".

I could list the 101 ways I had snapped before I finally went into time-out, but I'd rather not remember those. I cringe every time I think, "Urgh... I did THAT?"

But no, I didn't go to my room. I didn't go out to a countryside and spend 2 days in a quiet cottage meditating. I didn't even go to a monastery as I thought I would like to do.

I went to Wellington instead.

"Wellington? Are you mad? I thought you needed time-out (read: quiet space to think)?"

To be honest, I don't know why Wellington. All this while I had been quietly researching (with some help from Helen) monasteries to go for my time-out, but yet it was still Wellington. Maybe it was the thrill of booking a flight. Maybe it was the thought of airports and being in planes. Maybe it was because Wellington was the cheapest place to fly to, and I already knew a little bit about getting around the city.

What I didn't realise was that back in the heart of the city, my very, very parched soul was about to be quenched again.

"What did you do in Wellington?"

To be honest, I don't know. All I remember was that I sat and stared. A lot. No, really. I stared so much that this guy in the next table, whose conversation about what we call Grid Iron here in Kiwi-country (better known as American Football or the NFL) I was eavesdropping on realised I was staring.

It got awkward.

No, I mean really awkward. Because I stared again, even after that awkward moment. Like I did with the middle-aged man sitting across the lounge at the backpacker moving to the music. It was the first time I actually witnessed "dance like nobody's watching," and it moved me almost to tears.

Or staring at the screen while Bilbo journeyed to his decision-point of not quitting the team--and listening to the quiet sniffles of the man in the row behind as Bilbo made his commitment to help the dwarves reclaim their home--and struggled to keep the tears in myself.

Or staring at the houses on the walk up to Mt Victoria, realising some dreams are still alive even as I continually try to shove them away into neat boxes to pretend they don't exist so I can get on with the busyness of life.

Or staring into the waters surrounding the heart of the city, remembering what a simpler life was like in the days where I loved the water--the days before I grew afraid of drowning.

Or staring at quaint dining places, and colourful personalities, and all the possible stories to collect if time only allowed and social boundaries weren't drawn so neatly and fearfully.

Or staring at the pages of history, and finally understanding how a treaty intended for peace and protection became so misunderstood in the mad rush to appease the human obsession with "the ego" (or in my very loose interpretation of Luther and Bonhoeffer's theology of sanctification: "the self").

Or simply staring at how humanity come together--perfectly strangers--to cheer each other on, to help locate a missing tennis ball, to say hello to a puppy.

But more than staring, for once in a long, long time, I listened to myself.

And I heard.
I heard those dreams again.
I heard the voices of those cheering me on again.
I heard my innermost desire for community that understands my need for wide open spaces, possibilities, and dreams again.

But most importantly, I heard the voice of the most loving Creator saying, "Just sit and stare, and watch me do my work." Anne Lamott calls that showing off. But if all that the Creator is showing off is Love, why not?

John and Jodie once said, "Once you can't simply laugh at the crazy anymore, you know it's time to take a break." Time-out isn't about being in trouble. It's about learning to sit and stare and listen to yourself and think again--and finding sacred spaces to watch the Creator at work play all over again. I wouldn't recommend colourful Wellington to just anyone needing a time-out, but those 48 hours were precious in creating that sacred, sacred space in the midst of all the hustle and bustle to find that inspiration all over again.

Special thanks to the cheerleaders from the sidelines who followed up whenever I checked in on Facebook or Twitter.
Thanks also to the ones who gave me space for minimal interaction in those 48 hours.

Most importantly, thank you to that lovely bunch of you who sent tea, a sabbath read, and comfort sugar. It made all the difference as I finally, finally allowed myself to mourn the transition away from that safe community that understood even before words were spoken or tears were shed. So thank you, Jen, and Joe and Gwynne, and Shannon and Brett, and David and Tara.

Have I reflected during this time-out? You bet.
Have I learnt anything? Definitely. (Staring can get REALLY awkward, for starters)
Have I made decisions about how to behave differently now? For starters, I will write again. Not because I have anything good to say, but because I've missed it. It's my safe place to go to. So I will write. It will not be fancy, but I will write anyway.

I think it's safe to say, time-out mission: accomplished. Ready to head back to real life.

Morning Meditations: Thoughts From the Garden

Chad and Diane have taken his parents to the South Island this week. Which means it's another week that I get to cause as much trouble as I want without them around :)

It also means I have to make sure the household is still looked after while they are gone since we practically live on a farm. Missy, the mutt of a dog, is with her maternal grandparents this time since I'm staying over with Ariel while Rhonda is in Australia over the weekend. But the chickens still need to be fed and watered, eggs taken out from the coop and poop cleaned up. And since the last time they were gone, Diane also put two new fishes in the pond in the front of the house.

Last Sunday, as we were getting ready for church, Chad asked if he could walk me through all the tending that needed to be done in the garden. I thought to myself, does he think I'm that silly that I don't remember what needed to be done since the last time they were gone, which was only less than two months ago? But I went with him anyway, just in case there were things I forgot.

As I mentioned, we practically live on a farm. Chad's parents, Warren and Suzanne run a business where vegetation is their thing. I don't know what the official title is, but it involves scientific research of horticulture, and Warren often gets invited to speak about... stuff. Clearly, I know a whole lot about plants. But what that meant was Chad and his brothers grew up going on walks frequently with their parents and Warren would point things out about plant life.

This also means Chad takes gardening very seriously. I often tease him about spending his days off in the garden much like William Wilberforce in the scene in Amazing Grace where he simply lies on the grass in the quiet until his butler comes calling for him. So when he asked if he could show me what needed to be done in the garden, I knew to take him seriously.

I'll let you in on a secret. I hate tending to the plants and animals. I would happily do it for a couple weeks while they are gone, but I simply don't have the patience for these things. But Diane takes such delight in her animals that out of love and respect for her, I've allowed Missy and Penelope, the littlest of all the chooks (Kiwi lingo for chickens you keep as pets), to grow on me. You've probably noticed Missy in a bunch of my pictures from our adventures.

And then there's the garden. The last time Chad and Diane were gone in November, every morning I would wake up praying it had rained in the night so I didn't have to go out and do the watering. It was the beginning of planting season, so there was hardly anything to harvest, but plenty of watering.

But this time, when Chad was giving out instructions about the garden, there was more to do. He had put in even more stuff in the last two months and we're starting to get the first of the harvest. Chad gets giddy like a child in a candy store at the first fruits. When my parents were here over Christmas and New Year's, Mum noticed how much pride Chad had in his harvest. Diane often has to tell him we don't have to immediately eat what he's harvested, and that we can leave them for a couple of days. When we got home from Tiritiri Matangi last week, Chad said he was going to check on the cucumbers. The conversation went something like that...

Diane: Ok, you're just checking on the cucumbers, right? You're not going to harvest them yet, right?
Chad: Yeah, I'm just going to check on them.

Few minutes later, Chad walks in with a handful of cucumbers in hand.

Diane: I thought you weren't harvesting them? Well, fine. But we're not going to eat them right away.
Chad: Yeah, ok.

Next thing you know, he had cut one up. "Well, I just need to make sure they're ok! It's a different kind we put in this year. I need to have a taste so that I know when's the right size to harvest! Here, try some."

Diane refused. "It would be like I'm giving him permission to keep doing that!"

I felt like a kid stuck between two fighting parents and having to take sides.

But learning about gardening reminded me of The Poet Gardener, the text we used in one of Dr Brewer's pastoral care classes. About how pastoral ministry is like tending a garden. About how the needs of a garden are different in every season. And even in every season, there are different things that need to be done at the beginning, in the middle and at the end.

It also begins with an understanding of what it means to take care of a garden. Like going on walks with someone who's done the work, and having them point out what each plant looks like and need. And then one step at a time, learning the ropes of working in a garden.

It's the same with doing Church and soul-care. It's a process of learning and experimenting and not always getting it right.

Chad often said to Steve and I (back when Steve was still around) that WCF was a safe place for us to experiment and make mistakes. We both have had our theological training--a time of learning about the plants and the needs of the garden--and now it was time to experiment and make mistakes.

I'm thankful that for a first real gig in a church, the lead pastor I've gotten to work beside has that gardener's heart. Chad will be the first to admit sometimes he gets a little too "take care of business" -minded, but I have that same struggle. It helps to know I'm not struggling alone, and sometimes, watching him get business-minded makes me stop to self-reflect and remind myself to continually put relationships first.

And on the days that I run out of patience and just wish it would rain so I didn't have to go do the work of watering the garden, I hope remembering that child-like giddiness of harvest time (allow me also to point out here I don't define "harvest" by evangelical terms of number of converts, but simply as a matter of tasting the fruits, whatever that looks like) will keep me going even as a grumble my way through.

On Social Media

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm a social media snob.

When my parents were here recently, Dad asked what kind of smart-phones Kiwis were using. It made me realise a couple things:

1) I don't talk much about these things with Kiwi friends.
2) Social media hasn't quite caught on here like it has in the US or Singapore.

Take for instance one of my biggest pet-peeves on social media: those who don't understand how to really use it. No, I'm not even talking about those who go off on their soap-box. Even those rants can be considered proper use.

No, there's one particular Twitter account that drives me nuts with the way they tweet.

nzherald National ‏@nzheraldnznewsPolice identify Arkles Bay body: The body of a woman found dead on the beach at Arkles Bay on the Whangaparaoa P... http://bit.ly/WqGmYk 

nzherald National ‏@nzheraldnznewsAuckland barrister denies drink driving charge: An Auckland barrister accused of driving drunk and carelessly ha... http://bit.ly/V5D5C4  

If news is your business, by all means, make it your business. But recognise that Twitter's 140-character limit has conditioned the human (at least this human's) attention-span for that much information. To have to click on every link to read the end of your sentence is just a little bit annoying.

Ok, end rant.

Anyhow, for the last several months now, I've been mulling over how to use social media more effectively. It began with Katherine's question about how I use Facebook, and the realisation that I've become so dependant on those avenues to communicate with the global village--the local whanau, the supporters in other corners of the world, old friends, new friends, and staying in touch with blood relations. Realising that I'm such a social media snob made me realise that part of the reason I stopped communicating this year was because I keep beating myself up over communicating poorly.

As mentioned in a previous post, one of my goals for 2013 is to live simply--which translates to these outlets as well. So in the next couple weeks before kids' church kicks off for the year again, I'll be working on coming up with strategies to better use these tools to say less and communicate more.

Watch this space.

Morning Meditations - "Mountain Goat" #2

I tried not to stare as she wrapped her fingers around the mug. The lines and folds on her hands told of stories beyond what I had found in the history books.

I had recently moved halfway across the world for the second time in my life. The wise sages of the previous dwelling were still but an e-mail away, but I desperately missed having tea with my Church Mothers--women whose greatest accomplishment was their love for the Kingdom beyond their cultural borders.

And then I remembered her that I had read about in the history books. Mum came across her name some nine years ago when my brother and I were looking up baptism names, and told me to find out what it meant. Google only gave me two words:

Mountain Goat

Here I was, hoping for an impressive Biblical name that started with the letter J because that was what my brother and I agreed on. And since Mum was dead against Jezebel (what's wrong with being named after Ahab's evil wife??), the only other option we could come up with at the time was "Mountain Goat."

Not "Father is rejoicing" like Abigail, or "Full of Grace" like Hannah.

Mountain Goat.

But then I read the rest of her story in the history books and the more misogynistic side from back in the day greatly admired that she wasn't simply a woman who sat and looked on while there was work to be done. That her story wasn't featured in every other sermon also helped.

And so it was.

And now, she sat across from me in the chair, her legs crossed at the ankles with the warm cup of milk in her hands.

"Tell me the story again," I urged.

She took a sip from the cup, her eyes betraying she was in a world far beyond the present.

"Even if they remember my story, they don't remember my name," she said quietly. "And rightly so. Who remembers a Jewish name that means "mountain goat," much less the name of a woman whose husband is barely mentioned?"

But it mattered to me. I needed to hear it again.

"Please, ma'am," I asked again. "It's important to me."

She gave me a full look for the first time, her eyes searching. They were a deep brown and looked like deep pools that drew me in.

Then she took another sip from the cup, and took a slow breath. It was like that with her every movement, slow and thoughtful.

"It was a day like today..."

To be continued...

Based on a loose interpretation of Judges 1-5.

Morning Meditations - "Mountain Goat" #1

"Tell me the story again," she said with a quiet urgency.

I took a sip of my warm milk. What did a young woman like her want to have anything to do with this old lady? The history books gave me a few short paragraphs, and I was only to be remembered as the lady who drove the tent-peg into the head of the enemy.

"Even if they remember my story, they don't remember my name," I whispered under my breath. "And rightly so. Who remembers a Jewish name that means "mountain goat," much less the name of a woman whose husband is barely mentioned?"

"Please, ma'am," she begged. "It's important to me."

I looked into her eyes for the first time. They had an urgent sense of purposeful searching, and while I didn't know her story yet, I had a feeling it would be important I told her my story.

I took another sip of my milk and inhaled slowly.

"It was a day like today..."

To be continued...

Based on a loose interpretation of Judges 1-5.

Currently: Second Sunday of Advent

Since I haven't really had the inspiration or desire to write proper blogs, I got this idea from a blog I stalk from time to time. The blogger just had a baby recently and had kept a list of questions she answers to keep folks up to date with the pregnancy.

Well, since my life isn't quite as interesting as having a baby, my questions might be a little duller but hopefully I'll start doing a better job of updating from time to time hey?

Currently...

Reading:

Numbers - Since Seminary, I've lost the desire to read the Bible because it started getting too academic. I'd want to exegete everything I read. But a few months back, we were working through stories from 1-2 Kings with the kids and suddenly I realised I wanted to read the Bible just as a storybook all over again. This is probably the furthest I've made with Bible-reading that's non-academic.

John - Advent reading through the book of John.

Psalms and Bonhoeffer's Prayerbook - Rhonda e-mailed me the reading guide that XZBerlin is following at the moment and I've found myself missing that part of communal reading. So this.

A Year with Thomas Merton: Meditations from his journals - just because.

Listening To:

AUSOT podcasts - recently became a normal part of the spiritual diet.

Christmas music - a mix of Straight No Chaser, Vienna Boys Choir and songs about Mary's journey.

Watching:

The Hobbit - went to the midnight premiere with Janice. Feels a lot closer to home this time than watching the LOTR trilogy partly because I actually live in Middle Earth. Martin Freeman does an amazing job as Bilbo Baggins. But of course, Andy Serkis as Gollum is still my favourite. 

Sherlock - found out Janice owns the first 2 series when we helped her move several weeks ago. Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman are awesome.

Experiments:

(This will feature updates about a couple projects I'm working on. The long term goal of these projects is to figure out what it means contextually to find space for spiritual conversations to happen.)

The Third Place project - Recently realised we're communicating a lot more these days, but not conversing as much. Working on figuring out the whys and implications.

Mission Master Chef - This began as a challenge to find recipes that would cater for folks of all backgrounds - ethnicities, diet constrains, budgets, time etc. Currently on break because of the busyness of Christmas season.

Musings:

If native folks were left alone in the first place, would social welfare even be necessary?

If all have sinned, and all sin is equal, does that mean all are also equally righteous?

There's a difference between condoning certain behaviours and standing in solidarity. We don't condone alcoholism, but we stand with the alcoholics while they go to AA, just as we don't condone kids acting up and being a distraction in kids club, but we stand with them and help them figure out how to manage their own behaviour.

Ministry:

Highlights:

WSKC (Westside Stars Kids Club) kids seem to be getting into the whole Advent calendar thing. And no, I'm not just talking about the countdown calendar, but the liturgy and the story.

SUPAkidz had our last run for the year. It was manic as usual since we're severely under-staffed, but the kids I ran into at Carols on the Green all seemed to love it and want to come back next year.

Lowlights:

Exhausted. It's been tough trying to keep energy levels up on all fronts of the children's ministry at WCF and as much as I've enjoyed both the activities and the kids, I've been simply running on adrenaline since October.

Life in General:

Highlights:

Life has never been as random and spontaneous as it is now. Family coming in 12 days.

Lowlights:

It's difficult being in a place where there are hardly any other 20-somethings close by. While I love the folks I live amongst, most of them are in a different place of life than me and it would be really nice to, for once in my life, act my age.

So there you have it. I'll try to keep this up at least once every other week or so.

On Merton

I haven't written in a while. Not because I haven't had anything to write about. But because everything's been such a whirlwind that nothing has really had time to stew. And writing... At least, my writing, needs stewing.

So in the midst of the hustle and bustle, I'm stopping for what Anne Lamott calls "radical self-care".

Earlier this year, Emily sent me a copy of devotional meditations from Thomas Merton's journals. I read it consistently for a couple weeks, then as usual, chucked it aside. Maybe it's because the busier I get, the more I crave putting in disciplines (I am a J according to Myers-Briggs after all), so I recently picked it up again. And the more I read it, the more I crave simplicity.

I had the idea a couple weeks ago of checking out the monastic life, then realised I would probably miss my people too much to live in a monastery full time. The concern I have with monastic life is that in taking folks in to the inner spiritual life, there is the risk of forgetting there's still an outside world that exists. The greatest commandments are to love God AND our neighbour, and I fear that I'd forget the neighbour outside of the monastic walls.

Anyhow, that is a whole separate discussion that I need to do more research about. But I came to realised today it's time to start thinking about resolutions for 2013. And since I have a record of not being great at keeping resolutions, I had almost decided to stay away from those this year since I didn't need another thing to potentially fail at. But the more I thought about it, the more these two things stuck out as must-dos for 2013.

1) Intentionality
2) Simplify

In this crazy season leading up to Advent, I haven't really had time to think about what it really means to wait for the Christ-child and the anticipation and expectancy involved. But stripping everything else away, the two still remain. I want to be intentional. And I want to keep things simple.

Love God. Love people.
Be intentional.
And keep it simple.