Update to keep Smiley happy

Okay, this isn't a proper blog post because it's 10:54pm, I'm playing on the lap top in bed and I'm keen to watch "Coronation Street" on demand since I missed Thursday's episode. Christchurch wasn't nearly as terrifying as I'd anticipated. Remember that spiritual attack thing I mentioned a few blogs back? Let's just say that I'm glad I didn't chicken out and very glad that I went on this trip. It was intense. We worked hard with the kids program in the mornings and physical relief work in the afternoons. We smashed concrete, loaded trailers, weeded gardens, dug a trench, shoveled silt (the WORST job ever!), pitched tents and delivered chemical toilets. I got to know and respect the others on the team in a new and wonderful way. Sooooo happy that I went. It was a good growing experience for me and I hope we managed to do something useful along the way.

Okay...so I did cry on the plane during takeoff...both ways. And I probably broke all of K's fingers in the process.  But it's just not natural I tell ya! Good job God was holding the thing up.

Look out Christchurch, here we come

 Right then...my first ever "Mission Trip" - in my own country. I leave with a fabulous small team first thing tomorrow morning. We're off to run a holiday program to give some stressed out kids (and parents) some time out from the earthquake and aftershocks in the mornings and could be doing anything in the afternoons,  from clearing silt from gardens to playing with chemical toilets. 6 y/o C is coming with me for the flight and being collected by Beloved who's staying at his Dad's house in Ashburton, about an hour's drive away from the Quake City.

Ummm...So God, When I signed up for this I was thinking, "Here I am. Available. I'll do it". It was so easy to be enthusiastic before the flights were booked. Now I'm thinking "What have I let myself in for???"

• I'm scared of flying.
• I'm going to miss my children.
• I'll miss my chickens.
• I'll miss my friends.
• I'm missing the great Kiwi Road Trip with Smiley and Kish to visit Ant up in the far North (why is it they've all decided to head up into the opposite direction to where I'm going?)
• I'll be staying with people I don't know.
• I have serious "issues" with using other people's bathrooms.
• I'm clumsy.
• I can't seem to fit everything into my suitcase.
• I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be doing when I get there.
• I have a sore pinky toe from where C decided to dance on me a few weeks ago (do you suppose she broke it?)
• It hurts to wear shoes.
• The ground is still shaking in Christchurch.
• I have a restricted diet and don't know what I'm going to eat.

I suppose Christchurch isn't exactly deepest, darkest Africa, so if food ever should become an issue, it probably won't come to this:

No offense to Africa intended. Just couldn't find an interesting Bangladesh cartoon to amuse my favourite real-life missionary friend.

And I guess I should remember, God has promised to be with me. So...I'm available. I'm nervous, but I'm available...and God is with me.

A little boulder

 Something's been happening at the K's house across the road from where I live. About a week and a half ago I noticed a lot of activity with loads of visitors turning up and somehow getting sucked up into that tiny brick house and never actually coming out. A few days later the garage door opened and revealed walls luxeriously draped with pink and white fabric. Some sort of celebration is definitely in the air. The Ks intrigue me. Every morning without fail, one of the older members of the household is up at the crack of a sparrow's fart offering prayers to their deity who seems to live in the front garden. And throughout the nights last weekend and, it would seem this weekend, we have been treated to some live entertainment emanating from the garage.

Dramatization. Not actual live entertainment.

Curiously enough, it seems to be only men participating in the festivities. I'm not sure what they've done to the women.

If you're familiar with Indian music you might agree that it fits somewhere between a Chinese opera and a cat strangulation. But hey, each to their own and besides, I've even caught myself humming along once or twice. One of the things I love about living in South Auckland is the diversity of cultures. There's always something interesting going on and heaps to learn about other people. Even so, I think I'd probably feel a little embarrassed to be quite so "out there" when it comes to public prayer without makeup and singing live in front of all my neighbours. It fascinates and challenges me that my neighbours are so faithful in their rituals and worship.

Meanwhile, I was out for a walk with my friend R the other day and we were getting some serious exercise because we are athletes in training for...ummm...whatever it is that middle-aged athletes like us train for. I'm not sure if that was the day we had walked to the dairy and bought iceblocks but it's possible because as serious athletes in training we need regular sustenance. Anyone can tell that we're athletes because R wears proper shoes (Nikes!) and I once had an isotonic drink whilst wearing a fanny pack and have even attended a couple of Zumba classes.

Dramatization of us walking (stolen from Google Images)

The picture above is clearly not actually R and myself out for our power walk. There are no Nike shoes or isotonic drinks in sight . However, we do occasionally need to hold each other up if there happens to be a slight incline in the rough terrain of P'toe or when one of us needs dragging across the road to avoid oncoming traffic. We do look similar though, in that I'm reasonably tall and R...isn't quite so tall. Well that was interesting, wasn't it? And I suppose you might be wondering where I'm going with all this walking and stuff. Hang on, I'll just get my train of thought to pull in...

Ah yes! R and I were out walking when we were approached by a nice, tidy, clean young man on a bicycle. He looked a little like these guys:

It would be really cool if one of these guys were called Norman.

Sadly for the nice, young, clean-shaven boy (let's just call him Norman), R and I were walking too quickly to discuss theology with him and he wasn't fit enough to keep up with us on his bike. Perhaps we shouldn't have taken it off him (get it? It sounds like WE were on HIS bike. Get it now? Huh? Huh? Ohhh, never mind)

So about Norman and my neighbours - they seem to be worlds apart from each other and from me. We believe in very different things and have very different lifestyles. But I wonder if my neighbours (and Norman) have something to teach me.

About being bold.

You want me to WHAT??

If God were to suggest I wake up an hour earlier to go out into my front garden and get on my knees to pray in in my pink stripey dressing gown, I'd probably worry about what the Ks would think of me. If God told me to get on my bike and go pull up alongside complete strangers, I'd probably be very selective about who I approached. So I'm just saying...some folk may have a completely different concept of faith to me but until I'm prepared to ride their bike or sing their music, I'm not in a position to criticize.

My challenge for the day? Maybe it's time for me to be a little bolder.

No, this isn't a "little bolder", it's quite a big boulder. Get it? Huh? :-p

I'm Armed and Dangerous

I'm not terribly efficient at putting on my Ephesians 6 Armour each day. Some mornings it's all I can do to wear matching shoes. Mind you, I always manage to put on my makeup, right through to the essential blue eyeliner (reminiscent of Princess Di). But I suppose that while I'm applying my wrinkle-busting foundation it probably wouldn't hurt to throw on a bit of chainmail every now and then.

This week in Church our Pastor, MK, was talking about the Holy Spirit. I don't get to be in church very often as I hang out with the kids in Sunday School most weeks, which tends to suit someone who refuses to grow up and be mature. So it was a rare treat to be sitting in Church actually listening to a sermon. Well...I was trying to listen. It's hard not to let my mind wander and start asking God why Pastors look about 12 years old these days. Since when did Pastors start getting younger than me? Anyway, I was actually paying attention to MK's talk and found it pretty interesting. He was talking about Pentecost, Baptism of the Holy Spirit, Spiritual Gifts and all that profoundly theological stuff. At the end of the Message he gave a subtle altar call for those wanting to be better equipped for God's work. Normally I lay low for these altar calls but this time I found myself sprinting up to the front of the church before I'd even realized that my bum was off the pew.

I'd been thinking about how it is in Sunday School. Occasionally great things can happen with our youngsters down in that room (check out God hears little voices), yet other times things can just fall into a slightly organized chaos. Last week I'd had to have some pretty stern words with a couple of little lambs and I didn't like it one bit. So I figured, the Holy Spirit is the best back up I can have. So up to the front I went. I don't really remember even getting there but I was determined not to fall down in a heap on the floor like those folk on the telly evangelist shows. God ignored that part. Oh well, I did want to "lay low". Thank goodness for black leggings, that's what I say.

So going up the front and asking to be prepared and equipped for battle was quite a cool experience. But be careful what you ask for. If you're getting ready to do battle fore the Kingdom, you can pretty much guarantee that there's someone wanting to pick a fight. I had a bit of a low day on Monday. I was also getting some vivid dreams and broken sleep. The first two dreams definitely felt like God wanted to tell me something and they had a similar theme. The third night the dream was different but was so vivid and uncomfortable that I told Beloved about it. I knew what it was and wanted to know what he thought of it. He interrupted my description: "You're being spiritually attacked!" COOOOOOL!!! Beloved actually prayed for me there and then.

Meanwhile, I feel just a little bit special to be considered enough of a threat to the enemy. What's so important about little me that would get Hairy Legs concerned enough to give me a couple of rough days and a threatening dream? I'm only a Sunday School teacher for goodness sake. Maybe Hairy Legs doesn't like that "Little Box" song that I get the kids to sing that ends with the devil being put in a little black box before we BUST HIM UP (picture a room full of kids stomping and smashing the devil at the same time).

I enjoy hanging with the kids in Sunday School and have never really understood why more people don't take up the offer to help out. What hadn't occurred to me before is that Hairy Legs is really SCARED when Jesus reaches the hearts of children. I think Hairy Legs likes "playing" with kids. I think he wants to hang around them nice and early so that he can do all he can to mess up their lives before they start to enjoy themselves too much. He doesn't want them to know about God's abundant life and the Joy they can have in knowing Jesus. He'd much prefer to tempt our youngsters into a few of his unsavoury schemes that might cause them a little - or a lot - of harm.

Oooh yeah! I'm dangerous! Tomorrow morning when I apply my lippy, I might just remember to come over all Joan of Arc (with blue eyeliner) and pick up my sword of the Spirit before I head out the door.

I sure hope that inner beauty was shining through on Saturday night

I've discovered Skype! It's so clever and I feel just like Captain Kirk on the Star Trek Enterprise. I thought cordless phones were advanced back in the 80s but Friends, we are living in a Science Fiction movie!

There is one little drawback to my Skype discovery and that is the lack of fellow Skypers. So far I've interacted with my Facebook friend in England, and Beloved in bed (although not at the same time). Beloved has a cute little e-book and until the novelty wore off, as a special treat we'd sit next to each other in bed and Skype from e-book to laptop. Sometimes we'd even do it from different rooms.

Skype got even more exciting for me when my long-lost niece T, in Canada,  arranged a video call on Saturday night. This was to be our first real-time "meeting" and being very excited,  I wanted to make a good first impression. We'd worked out our times and I spent two hours beforehand getting myself ready. I chose to wear electric blue (to go with my eye liner) and spent ages curling, straightening and re-curling my hair. I was ready. I logged on. I waited....

I tried to google the time difference between New Zealand and Canada. I forgot exactly which part of Canada I was supposed to google. I checked an hour later. I sadly wondered if I'd been forgotten, shut down the laptop, put on a scruffy shirt and wandered off to the bathroom to colour my hair. Remember Murphy and his law? Murphy made an arrest. My son M logged onto my laptop and when the video call alert came through he discovered that T and I had miscalculated our rendezvous by a couple of hours. So I skyped with my hair wrapped in bits of tinfoil (yes, a former hairdresser can put foil highlights in her own hair) and without makeup. I was mortified.

Very funny God.

I think I'm going off Skype.

I did my best to explain to T that I honestly was looking much nicer two hours earlier and she was fabulous. She put me at ease. She introduced me to her new boyfriend and between them they didn't seem to care that I looked a mess. T has even agreed to wear a face pack for our next Skype.

1 Samuel 16:7 says something about people looking at what's on the outside while God looks at the heart. I think sometimes God helps some special people look past the outside too. I sure hope that's what T was doing. She seems to like me just as I am and it's reassuring to know that God does too.

So...I have a friend who I believe is totally beautiful. She has fabulous hair (compliments to her new hairdresser gratefully received, thank you), dimples when she smiles and her eyes shine when she's happy. She's very modest and doesn't seem to see it herself but her heart is so full of Jesus that His beauty radiates from her. I tell her she has her Father's eyes.

I hope that my heart can be so full of Jesus that He spills out of my eyes too.

God hears little voices

You know what? God likes kids. Maybe that's one of the reasons why I never want to grow up. That, and being able to lick ice cream out of the bottom of my bowl with my tongue. I was rostered on for Sunday School this morning and sadly my partner Z and I were just slightly lacking in preparation and practice. Kids pick up on that pretty quickly. I managed to blunder through the Welcome, the roll and the singing while Z hyped the kids up with some games. I also made it a priority to review the RULES with the kids about how to behave and not behave during their time with us. Actually, some of the kids have made up their own rules: No idioticity, No Retardedness (I find that one slightly non-PC), No Violence...they've come a long way from the "I answer hands not voices" rule.  Come to think of it, I'd much prefer to think of the rules as "Behaviour Guidelines". It sounds so much more child-friendly, don't you think?

One of the most terrifying "guidelines" is that after one official WARNING, if a child continues to misbehave, he or she "might be" unceremoniously marched up to the church and sat with their parents in front of the entire congregation so that the rest of the kids can enjoy the morning. Oh the embarrassment! If this were to happen twice in a term (and thankfully it never has) then the child might find that they need to bring a parent or caregiver with them to the lesson. This could get awkward for one or two of the kids, since their dad is the Pastor. That could be interesting. If the Pastor had to escort his child to Sunday School, then the entire congregation would need to escort the Pastor so that they can listen to the sermon. I'm not sure how we'd go with finding enough room on the mat for them all and I doubt very much that my 84 year old Mum would be able to get back up off the mat. Come to think of it, we DO need a few more adults in our Sunday School programme...

Today wasn't going too badly considering Z and I were just stumbling our way through the lesson. We had one little terror in there this morning and I'm afraid I was pushed to the point of issuing an actual WARNING. It didn't seem to me that today's lesson was having much of an impact on our kids and in the back of my mind I was blaming the lack of preparation. The irony is that the lesson was about being prepared to do God's work. But wait...all was not lost. I HAD prepared! Before the lesson I'd asked Z to pray with me and we gave the morning over to our Majestical Bestie. When the kids arrived and started bouncing on the mat, I got them to fold their arms and close their eyes, and ask Jesus to come and visit with us. So maybe something special was about to happen after all.

It did.

We wrapped the lesson up far too early and, trying to fill in the gap, I decided to sit the kids down in a circle and talk with them about the devastating earthquake in Christchurch. Suddenly it seemed that gates were opening as kids talked about their family and friends and how thankful they were that they weren't hurt, how scared they were for them, how sad they were for the people who have died. They wanted...needed to talk. I suggested we talk to God about it, which we did. Then of all people, my little friend who had given me so much trouble earlier in the morning, asked if we could please have a two-minute silence for the people who had been affected by this major tragedy. I was gob-smacked. Our entire country is doing just this on Tuesday - one week after the event - but he was adamant that he wanted to do it there and then. All the kids agreed. Part of me was skeptical about expecting 7 - 11 year olds to sit in complete silence for so long but we did it. They did it. During that time they prayed quietly. They thought about their families. They thought about people who had lost homes, jobs and even their lives. They did it, not because their Sunday School teacher asked them to, but because they wanted to quietly tell God what they were feeling.

It was a special moment and a privilege to be part of it. God can teach us a lot through his little ones - even the slightly naughty ones :-)

Warning: This is a slightly soppy post

I've been thinking a bit about God and stuff lately. Maybe even more so than usual - which probably isn't a bad thing. Without sounding too cryptic as I talk about this (I know I'm an open book much of the time but some things are still a little private) I prayed earnestly for "something" to happen quite a few years ago. "Something special" that I wanted...needed.  But over the years, that "special thing" eluded me and I began to think that God might have forgotten. During those years life's ups and downs took hold and I just plodded along.  Then, more recently some stuff got in the way of my living. There was a bit of heartbreak and quite honestly I came extremely close to giving up.

 But God stepped in...and something else was happening. That "special thing" that I needed...it was right there. That "special thing" had arrived. God hadn't forgotten about me.  And someone else had been praying for that "special thing" for a long time too. And I think when the time was just right, God just might have said, "Yes! NOW is the time to put all this together. I'm sorry you had to wait so long my Darling Child, but THIS is the time for it to happen."

So, a very personal and heart-felt prayer has been answered. The funny thing is, that I'm surprised and amazed. In fact I was so surprised that I even began to doubt this wonderful "something". I couldn't define it, I couldn't put it in a box, I couldn't even believe that it was right for me to have it. Yes, God is amazing, but why should that surprise me? What gets the lump in my throat (in a nice way) is that I'm special enough for Him to remember me. I'm so precious to Him that He's given me something that I desperately craved for so long.  And quite honestly, what He's given me is something unusual - a very rare gift. Why IS it so hard to accept that I really am this special to Him? The fact is: God treasures me! I'm only just beginning to experience this first hand. Guess what! God treasures YOU too. Even if, like me, you never really thought you were quite good enough for Him, God treasures you!

Someone recently compared me to a diamond. Is this really what God thinks of me? Mind-blowing stuff, eh?

I think the point of this post is that for the first time in my life, I'm actually experiencing in a very real, tangible way that I am precious to my Heavenly Father. Me!  Out of the billions of people on this planet He's taken the time to remember how I tearfully implored Him to hear me all those years ago. With this wonderful answer to prayer, He's becoming more "real" to me. He's teaching me a whole new way of expressing my love for Him.

And I think He's just a little bit excited for me.