Haters gonna hate

I am 26 years old, and finally realised something this week.

It's time to grow up.

I imagine a lot of us go through life worrying about what other people think of us. We worry about other's approval, our status, people's perceptions of our success. We think of ourselves as independent, rebellious, self-sufficient, but suddenly someone says something someday which can make us question the whole of our self-worth - even if for a second. People's praise can make our day and people's criticism can break it.

I don't think this is just me.

It feels nice to be liked. That's the truth. And who doesn't want that? Who doesn't want to be respected, praised and looked up to? For most people, other people's estimation of us matters. I think this is fairly normal. It's an inevitable side-effect of human nature being fundamentally relational. We are made to be in relationship with one another.

But this week it all struck me.

You see - we humans are fickle creatures. We are imperfect. We back bite, sling mud, and hurt each other. We crucify one another.

I thought of Mother Teresa's words. Her children's home in Calcutta reputedly had this written on one of its walls.

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. 

If you are successful, you will win some faithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway. 

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway. 

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. 

The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway. 

Give the best you have and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway. 

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

I like to summarise this wisdom as follows:

Haters gonna hate.

 
It may not come as a huge surprise to many of you, but I tend to overthink things. When I receive any form of criticism I tend to take it to heart and think about all the ways in which the criticism is true and all the ways in which I fall short. Exhausting, I know.

But yesterday I was thinking about this taken to its logical extreme. I realised that even if I were absolutely perfect and the kindest, most gentle, most true and capable person in the world, I would still be hated by some.

Because I thought of Jesus. I thought of this amazing and flawless man who was also God, and I thought of how he was crucified and torn apart.

Even for Jesus - haters gonna hate.

So I leave you with this thought today. Some people will always hate you. For some people you will always be wrong. It may or may not be to do with you. But the truth remains: some people won't ever like you. To live consciously or subconsciously at the whim of other's approval is a waste of time.

Do the best with what you have. That is enough.

Monday blog hop: Graham Criddle

Today I am honoured to host my father in law Graham Criddle's answers for the Monday blog hop. Check out his blog When Kingdoms Meet for more.

As part of the “Monday blog hop” engagement Mel, the lovely wife of our youngest son, asked me to write a post for her blog. On it she writes powerfully about what is going on in her life – the highs and the lows – giving a deep insight into what she is experiencing and her journey with God. Always challenging, sometimes hard to read, real, honest and open.

I was asked to comment about four things regarding what I write:

What am I working on?

Why do I write what I write?

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

How does my writing process work?

What am I working on?

I write for lots of different reasons – notes for sermons, church documents, my blog and academic papers. The academic papers are for assignments associated with my MTh in Applied Theology with the most recent being “the church, the world and the kingdom of God” while the next will be looking at the area of Christian Leadership.

These are all very different with different intended “audiences” with academic papers probably just being seen by one or two people who will be looking for a disciplined approach to reasoning and argument while notes for sermons help me to prepare to communicate God’s message to people in a church service who are looking to meet with God and grow in their relationship with Him.

Whatever I am writing it is an opportunity to explore new ideas, to grow in my understanding of God and what He is calling me to be, to think about my relationship with Him and to try and work out how living as a Christian in my particular context works.

Why do I write what I write?

My blog is focused on exploring the idea of two different “kingdoms” – the kingdom where God rules and the power structures of the world in which we live – and how these intersect and challenge each other.

Many people think about God, if they think of Him at all, as some powerful being in heaven who has no involvement in what is going on in this world. Others look at the things going on around us, and the injustice and suffering which is so prevalent, and blame God for not intervening. Jesus, in the prayer He taught His first followers recognised that God did reign in heaven but that His will was not being fully seen on earth – but that this was something to look forward to, to pray for and to work towards:

“your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” (Matthew 6:10)

On the other hand, it is easy to look at what is going on in society and to accept things as they are without really reflecting on them and questioning whether they are “right” – in the sense of whether they are in line with God’s will or opposed to it. Some examples:

Are our politicians engaging properly with the challenges and issues which we face and, in particular, how are they providing for those who are marginalised and suffering in our society?

Should we simply accept “the market” as an impersonal force which can’t be challenged or should we ask questions as to whether some of the things done in its name are appropriate?

Is the incredible power and influence exercised by the media a good thing and do we too readily accept the messages and biases which it presents?

Is being a “consumer society” a good thing or do we accept it too easily and not explore some of its implications?

As a Christian I believe that I am a citizen of God’s kingdom while also being a citizen of my country. This dual-citizenship gives me dual responsibilities as I am called to live as a representative of God in the country in which I live. One of the things which this entails is speaking out against things I see which are not in line with God’s ideals which include love, justice, grace and mercy. I don’t believe I have the right to do this in a strident or arrogant way – I don’t speak from “a place of power” - but believe it is appropriate to “speak to power” when I see things which are wrong. As such I seek to be a voice in the debate around what our country should be.

But my main focus is on reflecting on a Christian response to what is going on and to think about how Christians should engage. And my primary target for these musings is me as I try and work out how I can most effectively live out this “dual-citizenship” role. And if other Christians read what I write and find it useful that is great.

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

I don’t really know the answer to this one. I do look at a range of different blogs but haven’t found one which approaches things in exactly the same way I do. This is probably a reflection on the relatively narrow focus of my blog which, while self-imposed, I sometimes find a bit constraining!

How does my writing process work?

I tend to treat the screen (I do all my writing on computer) as a blank canvas and write in a fairly sequential way. I often end up producing blocks of text which then need to be manipulated and worked together to produce something which flows more coherently. If I were more disciplined in producing an outline and “storyboard” before I started it would probably be much easier to write and result in a better product but I’m not convinced that is going to happen!

When writing a blog entry it is normally in response to something which is going on, something I have seen or heard, something which is reported in the news which triggers a thought and it goes from there. Normally, it isn’t a long process, probably a couple of hours from start to finish. One time when I was on holiday I saw something to which I wanted to respond but wasn’t able to until I got home a week later. That gave me time to think and reflect and get some ideas together while I was away, which probably resulted in a more thought-through article, but I did find it frustrating at the time!

Next week I am hoping to host a blog from my good friend, Vic Van Den Bergh. Vic is a vicar in Tamworth with involvement in many different areas of life with a real heart for God, for God’s people and those who need to experience God’s love. He has been blogging for seven years and  his blog is at http://victhevicar.blogspot.co.uk/  

Thank you so much Graham! Your wisdom, integrity and commitment to engaging with our society in a way that is faithful to God's teaching inspires me. Check out Graham's blog next week to follow the Monday blog hop trail.

Monday blog hop

Last week, I was nominated by my lovely hubby Dave to be part of something called the Monday blog hop. The idea is that you answer the following questions about your writing:

What am I working on?
Why do I write what I write?
How does my work differ from others in its genre?
How does my writing process work?

Your response to these questions is hosted on another person's blog, and you get to nominate another one or two people to answer the same questions. You then post their responses the following Monday on your blog.

You can find out more about why and how I write on Dave's brilliant blog Limping into Truth.

Next week I'll be hosting my wonderful father-in-law Graham's post for the Monday blog hop. His blog When Kingdoms Meet is a great place to reflect theologically on current affairs and issues. I am excited to hear more about his writing process next week!

You died

Lately my internal monologue has been dreadful. Unforgiving. "You can't do this," it says. "You're bad at everything. You're useless. Maybe you should give up. It would be better for everyone." And on and on it goes.

It has made being a leader difficult. Contending with a hectic work environment, other staff members' differences, and the needs of extremely vulnerable people, with a torrent of criticism of your own manifest inadequacy, is at best stressful and at worst punishing.

I was reading Colossians the other day and this really struck me.

"Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your heart on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory." - Colossians 3.1-4 (emphasis mine)

The other night we had dinner with two dear friends of ours. In frustration at our very human nature, my friend mentioned this. She said, "But of course we do this. We are dead. Dead! We are dead in our sinful nature. We need God to be alive again."

We are dead.

"You died," Paul writes. "and your life is now hidden with Christ in God."

There is a lot of power and poetry in Paul's writing. Elsewhere he elaborates, "Your sinful nature was put off when you were circumcised by Christ, having been buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through your faith in the working of God, who raised him from the dead." (Colossians 2.11-12)

Dead. Buried. Raised again.

Most of the time, I don't live and go about my everyday life with the knowledge that I am dead. That what happened when I came to faith in Christ was that I died, my old self was buried, and I was raised back to life through Christ.

That I died, and am now alive only through, because of, and in Christ.

Everything about me - my mistakes, my flaws, my internal monologue, my pain and illness and regrets - all these things died and were buried. All my strengths, my successes, my sources of pride and love and passion, are what they are because they have been resurrected by God.

I cannot be alive outside of him.

I think living totally dependent on God's power must be pain and misery before it is unbridled freedom and joy. For to truly die a full death in this way is to feel and know and live in what you were, and then to feel the agony of death and surrender of things that were part of you. The death comes before the resurrection.

It must be amazing to know and fully live the power of Christ's victory. To know that God can give you all strength when you are weak, that you are an empty vessel waiting and ready to be filled by all the inconceivable power that God wants for you. To know that you are nothing without him, but that that is the point. That he wants you to be nothing on your own so he can fill you up.

That nothing can be accomplished living as your dead self.

I pray that I would be able to fully understand this on this side of heaven.

The dark room and the man from Bethesda

"Come out of the dark room"

Recently at church we have been having times dedicated to praying for healing. I went up to ask for prayer from my pastor and his wife on Sunday, for my health and also, on a deeper level, from my fears.

My pastor said he felt God was saying to me, "Come out of the dark room."

He said to me that he sensed that I was more at home than I have ever been before, but that I need to let go of things and fears which I have lived with for a long time. Fear of failure. Fear that my life hasn't turned out the way others hoped it would. Fear that I will struggle with depression for the rest of my life.

"Come out of the dark room," my pastor felt God was saying.

I have been thinking about this a lot. Talking with Dave about this, I have realised some things.

"Do you want to be made well?"

In John 5, Jesus encounters the man at Bethesda. This man has been an invalid, living amongst the blind, the lame and the paralysed, for 38 years. Before he heals him, Jesus asks, "Do you want to be made well?"

At first glance, this seems a no-brainer. Of course he wants to be made well. It's obvious!

But I have been thinking about this. This man has been an invalid for 38 years. 38 years. An unimaginably long time. He has spent his life as an invalid. This is what he knows. His income would have come from begging. His friends would have been others who lived around the Bethesda pool, rejects despised and shunned by society, fellow comrades struggling with him through the difficulties of being ill and looked down on in the worst possible way. 

This was his life. He would have seen himself as an invalid. This was his identity.

So when Jesus asks this question, he is cutting through 38 years and getting to the core of this man's heart. 

"Do you want to be made well?" 

Are you ready to give everything up? Everything you know, everything you are?

For me?

Comfortable darkness

I don't know if many other people feel or know this, but sometimes it can be comfortable to be in the dark room.  

When I say comfortable, I don't mean that it's enjoyable. I mean that there is a great deal of comfort from familiarity. If despair and exhaustion and depression are all you know, sometimes it is easier to live within their shadow than to move into the light. If it is part of your identity and who you are, it may never occur to you to let it go. 

Dave told me about a bear that was held in captivity for many years, confined to a cage where all it could do was pace in a small square. When this bear was eventually and thankfully released back into the wild, it didn't know what to do with itself. For a long time it continued to pace in the exact same dimensions that it did in its cage. 

After a lifetime of captivity, the chains that kept the bear subject had become part of its identity. It had to be challenged to break free of them.

The bear had to be taught how to live freely outside the cage.

Breaking the chains

When my pastor said "Come out of the dark room", and my husband reminded me of John 5 and this bear, I realised a few things about myself. Depression is a major part of my identity. The symptoms are the bane of my existence and my greatest fear. I hope and pray and worry about the struggles. It is by far the dominant force in my mind. But the truth is that it is a deep, deep part of me. 

Many people forget that chains can bind you to other people. Depression has given me the capacity and understanding that has allowed me to love others more fully and more deeply. To understand, come alongside, and fight for others who are in pain and alone. I would not trade these lessons for anything. 

During the service, I asked myself something. On a deeper level, a real, complex, soul level, did I want to be made well? Did I really want to be free from depression? Was I ready?

If I were completely healed from depression, would I be confused and at a loss? Would I feel that my mission was compromised? Would I have doubts about who I am? 

My pastor had prayed that the chains of my fear and my depression and my past would be broken. The truth is that I have not prayed that prayer for many, many years. I had assumed that my depression would always be embedded deep inside me and I would never be free from it. That it served a purpose from God. 

I had given up. I had given it a hold over me.

The man from Bethesda

The man from Bethesda is my soul brother. In him I see me and in me I see him.  

I have struggled with depression since my earliest teens, which means that I have lived with it for over half of my life. It is really difficult for me to understand life without it, in the fullest, most complete sense. It is a part of my identity that I have not fully laid down to God. 

Jesus asks me, "Do you want to be made well?"

Are you ready to give this up?

God tells me, "Come out of the dark room."

Step into the light of what I want for you.

Let go of the warmth, comfort and familiarity of the dark room. The dark room of how you think of yourself and your life. The memories of your past and what you think you deserve and are capable of. Your ideas of what you are here for and what you are capable of. 

Follow me.

On emptiness

"And this is the simple truth - that to live is to feel oneself lost. He who accepts it has already begun to find himself, to be on firm ground. Instinctively, as do the shipwrecked, he will look around for something to which to cling, and that tragic, ruthless glance, absolutely sincere, because it is a question of his salvation, will cause him to bring order into the chaos of his life. These are the only genuine ideas; the ideas of the shipwrecked. All the rest is rhetoric, posturing, farce." (Soren Kierkegaard) 

For the past few days, I have been overwhelmed by a feeling of emptiness. It has been intangible, impossible to put into words. It has been like a shadow hanging over me. Strange that nothingness can have such a domineering presence. It is hard to blog about it now.

Nothing in particular has happened. I have not been ill, or depressed, or in pain. Life is going at a steady pace, rolling by with the every day. There have been no particular tragedies or drama. Things have been ordinary.

Kierkegaard famously said, "The biggest danger, that of losing oneself, can pass off in the world as quietly as if it were nothing." I have been thinking about Kierkegaard. The poet of emptiness.

It is possible to live life unanchored. Drifting. To go along with the current without stopping to think. It is possible to lack connection to anything. To people, to nature, to God. To be empty inside, without thinking of how to fill yourself up. To be incomplete, and to feel it.

Now and then I find myself in this place.

A dear friend of mine came to visit yesterday. In talking to her I realised that for longer than I can remember, I have lacked that sense of connection that allowed me to say: I feel nothing. I feel empty. I feel far from people and far from God. I feel unanchored inside. I feel bored. I said these things to her yesterday. In doing this I realised things I had been insulated from in the vaccum.

The truth is, I lose connection now and then. It is a lonely place to be. It is a place that keeps you alone.

I live a middle-class life. I have a husband, a job, a dog. I love them all. I live in a house that I am happy in. We pursue stability and we have found it. We have friends and a social life. I have hobbies and I engage in them.

I have been looking around and inside myself these past few days. I have been thinking: This is it.

Is this it?

I know what the emptiness inside my soul points to. This isn't it. This can't be it.

"To live is to feel oneself lost," Kierkegaard said. To feel lost is to seek after the One in whom we are found. Without this awareness, we are nothing. We float along the tides of life, seeking the things we think we lack. We look for a house, a car, a job, a salary. We look for comfortable friendships and comfortable relationships. We lose ourselves because we lose what it means to be in debt and in ransom. To be saved by our Maker. To be married to Christ.

As St Augustine put it, "You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you."

I know these things are true. But what to do with the knowledge? This is the human condition. We know what to do and yet cannot do it. We realise we are wrong yet cannot save ourselves.

In the vacuum it is hard to reach after Him. It is hard to feel anything or do anything at all.

All I can do is pray for God to help me. And I know He will.

Grief pt. 2

Last night, Dave and I enjoyed a long awaited movie night. We watched 'I Am Legend', a film which I had been wanting to see with Dave for ages and which I had watched for the first time when I was a teenager. My memory of the movie was fuzzy, outside of brief themes and outlines, and the feeling that it was sad and dramatic and amazing.  

There is a scene in 'I Am Legend' when Sam, the lone protagonist's only living companion, a wonderfully loyal German Shepherd, is attacked by the infected while fighting them off her master. Holding her to him in her last moments, the protagonist sees that she, badly wounded and weak, has become infected and is 'turning'. When the transformation becomes complete, a stoic but heartbroken Will Smith is forced to choke Sam to death with an embrace. Sam dies, and without his only friend, he is more alone than ever.

In hindsight, before last night, I did remember that there was a really sad scene in which the protagonist's dog dies. I remembered but I didnt think I might not be able to handle it. But I couldn't, really. I sobbed and sobbed and images and memories of Ralph alive and Ralph in a body bag on that horrible night flooded through me. And for the first time in months, I felt the agony of losing Ralph afresh.  

I wonder when grief ends. A few days ago, my friend found a photo her daughter had taken of Ralph in 2012 and posted it on Facebook. Dave was sad that day. He missed Ralph a lot. I did too, but I felt alright. I didn't feel the stabbing pain. I was able to smile and hold Mika and I remember wondering whether this meant that I was over it all. That even though I thought of Ralph often, wondering what he would do in a certain situation, how he would get on with Mika, I no longer felt the ache of loss. That I wasn't grieving anymore. I wondered if it meant that I was okay now with his death, which left me feeling mildly guilty about moving on too, if I am completely honest.

When does grief end? Last night, I looked at Mika and I held her, and I missed Ralph, his smell and his coat and his wilful, no nonsense nature. I felt the tragedy of it all and how much we had poured our lives into his. I just missed him, and wished I had never taken him out that day.  

I love Mika so much. She is so different from Ralph in every way. I couldn't have asked for a sweeter, more loyal companion. And most of the time, life is full of Mika adventures and the hole Ralph left in my heart is veiled and dull. But maybe some grief never ends. Ralph's death was horrible, unfair, random, tragic, and we loved him. It is right that we should still feel it all sometimes.

Maybe grief will always be this complex, this mysterious. Changing and masking itself in new forms, hiding till it gets forgotten, then reappearing with a vengeance.

And maybe it will be a while before I can watch scenes where dogs die.

An open letter to dog owners of the world

Dear dog owners of the world,

As a fellow dog owner and lover, I expect a semblance of shared experience to exist between us. A feeling of mutual understanding, an unspoken knowledge of the ups and downs, the funnies and not-so-funnies, of having a dog in your life. The rolled eyes and laughter of understanding when a dog jumps up and gets too excited, for example. The knowing nod and smile when a dog strains against your lead to get to a dog on the other side of the field, dragging you along in a clumsy half-run.

I have never disliked going to the vet with my dog. Never have I felt inconvenienced or ashamed. I have enjoyed the experience of getting professional help, meeting friendly receptionists and staff, seeing people smiling at my dog and bonding in silent ways or over pleasant small talk with other dog lovers. Until today.

Fellow dog owners, no one likes to be judged. Especially when you feel like you haven't been given a chance. Maybe you and your canine friend have always been perfect, poised and contained. Maybe you have never needed to train your dog or rein them in, and you have always sat there, graceful, composed and statuesque, with no problems and creases to iron out between you. Maybe. But I doubt it. I doubt very much that you are unlike every other committed dog owner I know, who loves the idiosyncrasies about their dog, adores their strengths and acknowledges their weaknesses, and has to bow to the powers of time and patience and perseverance to get the whole dog-human relationship right. Unless there is a superior canine ownership club that I have not yet heard exists.

This is Mika, dog loving friends.

You may have noticed that Mika is a Staffie. In fact, at the vet today, this seemed like the only thing you could notice. You looked past her excited frenzy from going to the vet, full of smells and other dogs and animals, and the faint trace of treats and food. You looked past her gentle and calm demeanour when she was sitting between my legs, her natural state when settled, looking up at me with those adoring eyes, ready for a rest and a stroke but unable to contain her excitement at this new adventure. You looked past her eagerness to scramble off the lead and towards other dogs to have a smell and say a friendly hello. All you saw was her stout, muscular Staffie body, her occasional protective growl when dogs walked past me, which I tried every time to root out, holding her firmly and safely. All you saw was her strain to get off the lead, and the hyped up headlines full of drummed up hysteria screaming out: "Staffies kill people", "Staffies eat kids", and lots of other tragic tales that are really about abusive, neglectful, irresponsible upbringing and lack of training.

You looked at Mika and you judged her.

Dog owners, I don't know if I need to labour the point that Mika is not a man-eating killing machine. I don't know if you would believe me. I don't know if there is any point telling you that we rescued her from being put down by clearly irresponsible and neglectful owners, from a known rough neighbourhood, who had not speyed or vaccinated or wormed or fleaed Mika. That she is the sweetest, more affectionate, loyal and loving dog, and she has exceeded all our expectations of her. Everything I tell you could be swept away by the arbitrary labels that come with breed. For Mika could have acted the way she had and been a cross breed, as was true with Ralph - who was universally loved and doted on at the vets, despite acting so similar to Mika. If she was a golden retriever or a poodle or a Yorkshire terrier no one would have bat an eyelid. I have seen quite a few yappy and aggressive Yorkshire terriers around this area.

Instead, I was told by two separate people that I had a "handful", and by one incredibly rude and presumptuous lady that she was "terrified". This lady scoffed at me when I told her Mika was fine at home, and when she had entered the vet and looked at Mika the first thing she said, completely unsolicited, was "I'm glad I didn't bring my cat."

At first it was quite fascinating to me, canine fans. Many a time I had sit there with Ralph and I can say with certainty that it was a completely different experience. People did not drag their dogs away from him, for example, or hide them in thinly veiled fear. They saw that he wasn't scary or dangerous - or maybe they just saw that from his colouring and body shape. Not so with Mika.

Fellow dog owners, I am assuming that under the layers of preconceived ideas from the media and hearsay, you remember what it is like to have a dog who needs work. I don't believe that no dog needs work, really. Every dog is learning to be a better companion, and every dog owner is learning to be a better leader. I want to level with you. We have had Mika since Saturday, and we are getting to know her better every day. I believe I have picked up on a few things that we need to work on already, and we will. We will love her and train her and guide her in the best ways we can. And we will see her as she is, with all her flaws and her amazing strengths. For example, Mika likes to sleep in our bed, and she is wonderful at sharing the bed and burrowing under the duvet to give us space. A flaw and a strength!

Friends, I know that Mika's growling is bad and needs to stop, and I know that she can be overexcited, and these are things we have training strategies for. What I don't have a strategy for is that you will judge her before you know her. You will judge her unfairly. That upsets and angers me. I am sick of the fact that Staffies are feared without being given a chance. Because it's bad owners that create 'bad' dogs. Any dog of any breed could become aggressive given enough neglect, abuse and irresponsible ownership. I thought that much was obvious. Maybe it isn't.

In America, pit bulls are arguably the equivalent of Staffies in terms of being the marginalised breed. A dog rescue worker in the documentary 'Shelter Me' states that 90% of the time when pit bulls in America are seen just walking on the streets, they are reported as 'being aggressive'. An awful statistic.

So I end this letter with a request. Please give Staffies a chance. Give every dog a chance. Wipe the slate clean and forget everything that you've heard about how this breed is aggressive and how that breed are known to kill. How this breed should be kept away from kids and that breed should be locked away. Every dog has a different temperament. Every dog can be trained and loved and helped to be the best that it can be. They are dogs, not wolves. Dogs can be domesticated and can live alongside us. That's the way it works. Dog loving friends, as a dog owner, you should really be more knowledgeable about dogs. It's a basic requirement, isn't it?

Yours sincerely,

Mel, lover of all dogs and of Staffies in particular.

2013

I recently received a Christmas card from our dear, dear friends (love you, Listers) with the words: "Your honesty and vulnerability shows great courage." Having a husband who is within blogger fame naturally makes you think about your own blog, what it is, what category it might fall into, and other demographic-related issues - but my friends' words made me think about my blog in a new light. I think my blog is a channel for me to be honest and vulnerable. Nothing more, nothing less. And with that confession in mind, I wanted to write about some of my musings and reflections on 2013, some things I learned and others I struggled to learn. 

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2014!?

Every year I am amazing at the passing of a new year. Time passes so fast, the years and dates roll by, and what once seemed a lifetime away seems to come in the blink of an eye. When I was a kid I used to think of the 00s and dates like 2014 as though there were sci-fi universes full of flying cars and mind-control technology. Yet here we are, at the start of another year, after the rollercoaster of 2013 - coming into a new adventure, so similar from the last year but so pregnant with possibilities. Life goes on - life in all its chaos and pain and beauty and power. We are here to live another day, to grasp the hours with all our might and make the most of it all. A strange mystery and minor miracle, being alive.

This too shall pass

I am 25 years old and this year I think I really came to terms with the fact that I will likely live with depression for the rest of my life. It has been a gradual realisation, calmer and more accepting. Not cynical, not angry, but looking at the world with tempered eyes. It is part of me, like some people struggle with back ache or bone problems. It will come in bouts, peaks and troughs, sometimes brief and sometimes dragging through what seems like endless shadows. Sometimes I will bounce back, every bit the fighter as I always wish I was, and it will quickly feel like none of it happened. But sometimes I will be in the depths, and all that I will see and feel are the waves and the choking. I will feel like life was always like this, and I will wish that life was not life. 

This year I have dipped and risen up many times. It hasn't always been related to circumstances, and it hasn't always felt the same. 2013 was the year when I learned that the depression that is part of me will come and go. It will change in its expressions through time, as I change, and it will pass, it always does. It is part of me. But the dark periods will always end, no matter how prolonged or deep and desperate. Life will bounce back and burst full of joy and beauty, full of normality and peace. There will be rainbows as well as rain. 

This is what I struggle to remember - that my life is more than my depression. That my light and my dark come hand in hand. 

Love and grief 

Our baby dog Ralph was run over a train in November. He died, it was traumatic, and we loved him. This year I learned about grief in a way that I hadn't experienced before. Grief was its own monster, raw and powerful, a master of stealth attack. Sometimes it still grabs me, and the ache in my gut pulses, like it never left. I learned how it feels to lose something you love more than you thought possible, to see their absence in everything, a gaping hole of your regret that you took him to that place at that time, that you didn't do this or say that or give him this. Your nights wondering what might have been. To feel your heart rip in every move, and the tears which burn as they surge out of you but never stop.

I have said this before but I think that you grieve in proportion to the amount that you love. For a while I was scared. There were times when Dave would come home late or he wouldn't answer his phone, and I would be pacing around the house in a frenzied panic and in tears, praying that he hadn't had his life taken by a tragic, unexpected accident. There were moments when I thought that I could never love someone as much as I loved Ralph again if I was ever going to survive this life. But even in those moments, I knew that I would never stop loving. We loved Ralph so much. He was so special to us, and I regret nothing about the love and care we tried to give to him. I wish we had loved him more and given him more. We were blessed to have had him.

I think Dave and I have come to terms with Ralph's death now. If not completely, then almost fully. I think of him often. I miss him. To my hope of heaven I add another hope. One day I will see him again, happy and healthy, made whole. It will be as though none of this ever happened. 

Slow burner

2013 saw me start a new job and move towards what I consider my calling to be. With that has come challenges, a new working environment with new colleagues, a demanding role, and a gradual settling into new team dynamics. It also saw our move to Chalfont St Peter and our deepening of friendships built at church and at small group. I have spent so many hours doubting the point of relationships. Burdens and baggage make trust in people difficult for me. At the start and even middle of this year I thought I would never make 'real' friends. That it was the end for me, and I had had my share of close friendships from the past. Now, I was too broken and busy, too encumbered by social conventions and facades, to invest in a real way in new people. Especially with my history and my health problems. No way. 

I am humbled and a bit ashamed, really. Because we have made friends. Great friends with whom we share the everyday ups and downs of life. I have been honest with them about my story and my struggles, and they are still my friends. They are not 'weird' around me, they have shown me that they love and appreciate me, and they still want to share life with me. 

Looking back, I realise again that I am a slow burner. Only now, 6 months into work, do I feel that I have got to know a few people a bit better and settled into a comfortable dynamic with them. It takes time for me to make friends and to build relationships. What I need is patience and a willingness not to give up. A realisation that the type of friend I want and need is someone who is in it for the long game. It might take longer, but it is worth it.

Make love not war

I have never really been part of a church for longer than 2 years at a time. From the time that I became a Christian at 17, I have moved churches every 1 to 2 years. I have never really felt like I really belonged to a church. I think this has been to my detriment. Many of you will know that I have a anti-institutional bent when it comes to my faith in churches. I have been angry, disillusioned and extremely antagonistic at times to church structures, politics and rules. It has been something which has rocked me to my core, given that Dave is called to be part of the church as a leader. Most of the time these are churches that I would not naturally align myself with, and do not feel a part of as a result.

I am still on this journey. I have so many questions - not just about church and theology but about God and his nature. I am by no means anywhere near resolving most of them. 

But I realised that recently I have mellowed. I no longer feel militantly angry at church and everything that 'they' do. I no longer feel I need to declare war. I have realised that I have met some godly, kind and amazing people who work for and belong to Gold Hill, our current church. I feel humbled by them, loved and affirmed by them, and supported by them in a way that I would never take for granted. I love them.

I feel humbled by my husband and the commitment he has to the church and the people in it. The kindness and grace and godliness he shows by not 'slagging off Christ's bride'. 

Nowadays, I can see the good in an imperfect and broken system, led by imperfect people seeking to follow God's will. I feel like I can align myself with these people, these lovers of Jesus, trying to make the best of a bad situation. I admire them for being better than I could ever be, these brothers and sisters of mine.

----

So there. These are some of my thoughts on the second day of this new year. To all of you reading, I wish you every blessing and all my love for 2014. May this year be better than your last, and everything you want it to be! 

'It is not good for man to be alone'

Dave and I are currently doing a marriage course with an organisation called Family Life. Every two weeks or so we go together some material in a book called 'Together'. It has been such a wonderfully helpful and life-affirming experience for us - I highly recommend this to any couples who are looking to build on their marriage, which really is an art!

Last night we had a catch up session with our two amazing leaders. It was one of the best evenings I have had for such a long time. We were able to be honest, trade stories, find wisdom, laugh and seek God together in such an authentic way. We were so blessed by this time.

The topic we worked on was unity in marriage and how to deepen our sense of oneness. As part of the session we looked at Genesis 2:18-25 and God's introduction of Eve into Adam's world.

The Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.” 

Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals. 

But for Adam no suitable helper was found. So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep; and while he was sleeping, he took one of the man’s ribs and then closed up the place with flesh. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man. 

The man said,

“This is now bone of my bones
    and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called ‘woman,’
    for she was taken out of man.”

That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh. 

Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.

(As an aside, the feminist in me would like to point out a couple of things we learned and discussed before I go on. The Hebrew for 'helper' translates to 'opposite against', an equal who supports the man who needs help. 'Suitable' means 'being like another', matching him and complementary. So the term 'helper' isn't a term to indicate inferiority. The same term is used of the Holy Spirit on occasion. Just wanted to get that out of the way.)

I was really struck by God's reflection, "It is not good for the man to be alone."

We wondered, was Adam happy? Was he lonely? In original creation, before sin and ruin and any sense of the world being broken, when Adam was in perfect unity with the world and God, it is hard to imagine that Adam was deeply discontent or unhappy.

Arguably, Adam wouldn't have known anything else. He wouldn't have known what it was like to not be alone, in charge of the animals with no 'helper suitable for him'. He would have been content in a perfect relationship with and trust in God.

Yet God declares that things are not good, it isn't good for Adam to be alone. God knows Adam better than he knows himself. He knows that he needs someone else.

What struck me beyond all this was that God acknowledges that living with God and without people isn't enough. We are made for relationship with each other. It isn't enough to just be in relationship with God, we must be relating to other people.

But the truth seems to go even further than this - this isn't just true for us, in a world overpopulating and teeming with people to relate to. It was true for Adam, in perfect creation, at peace with himself, the universe and his maker.

People need other people.

When I was younger, and now in my more melancholy moments, I used to think that being a hermit and being at one with God would be enough. That it would be better for me to be alone - it would be a lot less messy and less harmful for other people. As long as I could be with God, in a good, fully open, submitted relationship with him, then that would be enough.

I was challenged by the study last night. Because I realised that God doesn't want that. It wasn't part of His original design. God wants us to be in union with other people. We are not supposed to be alone, no matter how much we are satisfied by Him.

God made us to need Him and to need each other.

And God knows us far better than we know ourselves.

The importance of being earnest

I was having lunch with an amazing lady I know from church this afternoon. We talked a bit about Christmas preparations, Christmas cards, presents, and so on. I mentioned that we liked to write proper messages in all our Christmas cards, rather than the usual "Dear x", "From y" drill.

It got me thinking about honesty. The reason I still write Christmas cards, and cards in general, is that it gives me a chance to do something which I wish I could do more in everyday life - to be honest in telling the person how important they are and how much they mean to me. To be able to thank them and tell them I love them.  Things that we would struggle to say face to face because of social convention or awkwardness. Things that are very true but that we often leave unsaid, to our and others' disadvantage.

When I was sending this lady an email afterwards to thank her for how wonderful she was, I was struck again by how important I think this is. I wish I did it more and more fully. I wish I could be more honest and authentic in the everyday rhythms of my life.

I think for some people, this can be the difference between life and real life. Encouragement is so rare in this unpredictable, uncertain world, full of tragedies and blips. Things are so complicated and the good can be so hard to hold onto.

Dave and I had an argument yesterday. In the course of it he said, "Why didn't you tell me this a week ago? Have you been feeling this way all this time? Why didn't you just tell me about it then?"

Reflecting on this now, I wish I was more honest. I should have been honest about how I felt, rather than keeping it inside, only to ruin. It would have been a step towards overcoming a problem. As in the case of 'thank you's and 'I love you's, I should have been honest in this situation of conflict and misunderstanding. I was afraid it would tear down, but it would have built up.

I guess there is a reason why honesty is disarming. Why the truth can be so affirming and life-giving. Why being authentic is something that most of us strive towards.

So here's to being honest and authentic.

Grief

Grieving is a strange process. Till very recently, I wasn't able to write anything about Ralph because I just didn't have the words. Everything was images and a big ball of memories and emotions that just wouldn't fit into letters and numbers, no matter how hard I tried.

Grief is funny. Some days I am fine and I feel nothing. I am able to go about my day, immune to Ralph's absence, thinking about him without heaviness of feeling. Accepting and living. Other days my mental space is full of Ralph, flooded with memories and ache and loss, and the etetnal ball in my stomach feels sore and raw, leaking tears and longing. There is no warning, no preparation for which times come when. I have to accept that I don't know when I will be 'over it'. When missing my baby will take over from missing my baby. Words fall short.

There is no cure for a hole in your heart and a hole in your life. No matter how many tears I cry, thoughts I conjure and words I say or write, our Ralph is dead. Nothing can bring him back.

All this has got me thinking about how some experiences bind us. Love is one of them. Death is another. I have found that grief is a leveller. Most people have felt it. Most people understand. Most people know what it feels like to have no solution to the black hole and all the things in your life that remind you of it, all the things you just have to learn to live with, until the cup fills up again and time rolls forward.

You grieve in proportion to the degree that you love. And nothing in the world could have made me love Ralph any less. Until a few weeks ago I don't think I had lost someone so close to me. I have lost all my grandparents but I regret to say that I was not that close to them. Not in this way. They were not part of my life like Ralph was. He was part of everything and in everything. Adjusting to life without him feels like starting again.

And I understand grief in a way that I hadn't before now.

Lazarus

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled.

“Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

Jesus wept.

Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance.

“Take away the stone,” he said.

“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said,“Father, I thank you that you have heard me.  I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” 

The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

- John 11.32-44

Goodbye Ralph.

This morning we scattered some of Ralph's ashes at a field on a familar walk in Chalfont St Giles that Ralph loved. We wanted to remember, celebrate and say goodbye to our baby Ralph. We wanted the send off to be full of life, just as our Ralph was till the very end.

Words will never express how much Dave and I loved Ralph. He wasn't just a dog but our baby, our family. Our lives aren't the same without him. We miss you, Ralph.

Ralph taught us more than we ever taught him. He wasn't a perfect, obedient dog. He was strong-willed, full of energy, and he knew what he wanted. We loved his sense of fun and mischief. He was amazingly clever and resourceful. He could open doors, find lost treasure, and read our minds sometimes. He was cuddly and sweet at times and independent and introverted at others. He was full of character, full of joy and life. 

Ralph loved everything about life. He loved being outside and especially loved the grass and rubbing himself in it. He loved people and other dogs. Every day was a new adventure for Ralph. It was inspiring, uplifting and humbling for us. Personally, Ralph was full of an unbridled joy and love of life that I so often lacked. Nothing phased him - no dog bites or injuries ever made him flinch. He was an anchor for me sometimes. We were so proud of our Ralph.

We are devastated that Ralph, who was only 2 and loved life so much, is now gone, that his life has been cut short. Ralph was doing what he loved most when tragedy struck, playing with his great friend Mishka, exploring and smelling his way around the world, running free. He was happy till the end. He lived a happy life. 

We feel so blessed for the time we had with Ralph, all the memories and stories and lessons we learned. We were blessed to have had him in our lives. Thank you, Ralph. We love you, we miss you, and we say goodbye to you. We will never forget you, and we will always love you. 

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Thank you, God, for our Ralph.

Thank you for the joy he brought us, the lessons he taught us and the time he had with us.

We feel it was far too short, but every day of our adventure with Ralph was such a blessing, and every blessing - every good thing - comes from You.

Thank you for the gift of Ralph, our furry and enthusiastic little friend and companion.

Thank you, God, for our Ralph.

Amen. 

 

Borrowed words

"Lately, he thought a lot about the story Father had told them the night before the trip to Kabul, the old peasant Baba Ayub and the div. Abdullah would find himself on a spot where Pari had once stood, her absence like a smell pushing up from the earth beneath his feet, and his legs would buckle, and his heart would collapse in on itself, and he would long for a swig of the magic potion the div had given Baba Ayub so he too could forget.

But there was no forgetting. Pari hovered, unbidden, at the edge of Abdullah's vision everywhere he went. She was like the dust that clung to his shirt. She was in the silences that had become so frequent at the house, silences that welled up between their words, sometimes cold and hollow, sometimes pregnant with things that went unsaid, like a cloud filled with rain that never fell. Some nights he dreamed that he was in the desert again, alone, surrounded by the mountains, and in the distance a single tiny glint of light flickering on, off, on, off, like a message.

He opened the tea box. They were all there, Pari's feathers, shed from roosters, ducks, pigeons; the peacock feather too. He tossed the yellow feather into the box. One day, he thought.

Hoped."

- 'And the Mountains Echoed', Khaled Hosseini

Memorial

There was a time
When I felt the dust
Your boots kicked up on my skin
And Your voice sang in me
Like a whisper.
But now you hide
Behind dim rooftops and the noise
Inside
And your face is one of many.
There was a time
When Your words were echoes
Of my scribbles in the silence
And my tears fell on Your fingers
Caught and bottled by You.
No more now,
When the rain and the sun soak through me
Drowning out your songs.
I used to see Your blood
In every leaf and tree,
Every smile of a stranger
Shadowing the scream of another,
I smelled Your scent in mine
Back when I loved You.
Now your blood fades into the red
Of lipstick, scars and short dresses,
Wars and wounds worlds away
From nails and sacrifice.
Now you slip through the sand
Of a love with no name
But my own,
A memorial of who I was when
I was Yours.

Living vs. existing

Lightbulb moments are few and far between for me these days. I guess I should be grateful for this one, though it was in truth not just sobering but a deeply unpleasant realisation. 

In a training session today, my colleagues and I were encouraged to brainstorm what we would need to live and not just exist. Our trainer turned over a page on a big flip chart with her pen poised to receive ideas. Within a second - not an exaggeration - a chorus of voices chanted, "Money." It was immediate. Apparently a no-brainer. Little conversations started around me about how important money was, chuckles and eye rolling indicating that everyone needed more money. "So, enough money, then?" our trainer said, writing 'Enough money' down on the flip chart. People laughed. "I never have enough money," was the general bantery consensus, the oh-so-obvious agreement between the group. I was speechless. I had wanted to say 'Purpose' and felt wrong-footed, incredulous.

Within the next few seconds a flurry of responses compounded my feeling. Sleep seemed to be a major contender in the living-not-existing hierarchy of needs. Food was another one. I was relieved when the masses agreed on love, family, friends and social life. Surely relationships are vital in living and not merely existing. But then clothes and make up went on the list. Cigarettes and alcohol followed shortly. When I eventually offered 'purpose' to the trainer, she enthusiastically wrote 'Purpose and occupation' on the board to the tune of a silent and distracted majority. Not necessary to live and not just exist, so it seemed to my contemporaries.

I thought, maybe people are missing something here. Maybe they've misunderstood the question, and instead they're thinking, 'What do we need to exist and survive?' Though then I'd be hard pressed to understand why clothes and make up are necessary. No. I think they were responding to the same question I was.

I have to be honest. It's been a while since I felt how I did this afternoon. The sense of isolation and incredulity that I used to feel when I was in high school, trying to relate to my classmates who would brush away my musings and repeat, "Melanie, you're so deep," or "You think so/too much." I felt wholly different and separate, I couldn't relate to these people who were meant to be my peers. I was taken aback. I felt like they were a different species, to be honest. 

Thus the lightbulb moment, the humbling and sobering realisation. I am not one of them. No matter how hard I try to fit in or understand, how hard I kid myself into believing that I find Christians and churches too churchy and insular, that I'm more at ease with 'the real world' and 'normal people', that I can have a laugh and a joke and fit into their ways of thinking. I am not like them. No matter how hard I try to fit in, I will never be able to honestly accept in the depths of my being that the meaning of life is nothing more than money, clothes, make up, and alcohol. I will never be 'of the world', for as long as I am 'in' it. I will always be sitting there in brainstorming sessions like today's, thinking incredulously, "Purpose, anyone? Legacy? Contributing to society and making a difference to someone other than yourself, for something greater and higher than yourself? No? Okay. Never mind then."   

I realised that I had forgotten this a bit. Taken it for granted. Thought that I was part of this society, this world made up of people who think this way. But I am not. We who have met God an chosen to follow Jesus' footsteps will always be different, marked out, called to and driven by something else. At the end of the day, there's no getting around it.

I have a confession to make. I felt judgmental initially. But in the end, what I feel most is sadness. It makes me sad that some people honestly think that clothes and make up are what makes life worth living. It depresses me that when it comes to the crunch, they think that is what makes them get up in the morning. Those things wouldn't get me through half a day. I feel despair at the ways that lots of people in my generation think, where self-fulfilment is the only lasting motivation. The inevitable consequences of commercialism and a lack of a sense of belonging to something greater than yourself. I couldn't do it. I couldn't live my whole life purely for money, clothes, make up and booze. Could you?

So, all this to say, today I was hit with this realisation: You are different. You're meant to be. Don't kid yourself. You're a Christian. Own it.

The image of God

I have learned a lot about the image of God in my first month as a care assistant for the elderly. Most of the residents suffer from Dementia and are in varying stages of deteroriation. I remember helping to feed some of the residents on my first day, and thinking about what being alive means and what it means to have the image of God. Some of our residents are immobile and don't have the ability to communicate. They are made comfortably in recliner chairs. I remember thinking about how they appeared catatonic, or in a sort of coma. But they had all the bodily functions, and could eat, drink and swallow. They were still very much alive, even though they appeared not to have any mental capacity left.

It made me think about how a human being is still alive after many of the things that we equate with quality of life have left. The ability to speak, to make relationships, to enjoy hobbies, to express one's hopes and dreams. A person stays alive when all of these things that we traditionally equate with personhood fade away. The image of God that is within them - eternal, everlasting - can never be diminished, no matter how much the person is reduced by sickness and old age.

I learned fairly quickly the importance of treating the residents as people with all the glory and worth that they ever had. Everyone has this because of what God has put inside them. So I learned to talk to these residents as though they can hear, as though the characteristics that are so evident in the photos on their bedroom walls, the details of their histories, and stories about how they used to be, are just as evident as they ever were.

A simple but powerful thing.

I see the image of God in people being forgotten here sometimes. All the residents had hopes and dreams and great and ordinary lives. Like you and me. Easy to forget when someone can't hold a conversation and forgets how to walk. But not so easy to forget when you look into their eyes and see the same thing that we all want at the end of the day - to be respected for the light that God has put in each and every one of us. The light that can never be put out.

The fragility of life

On Monday, I started a new job as a care assistant at a care home for the elderly. It has been an exhausting week learning new procedures, faces and names, and realising anew the privilege of being a carer and being part of such a vulnerable and intimate time in individuals' lives.

Today, I also had my first 'episode' in what feels like a very long time. It had been such a long period of stability and contentment that I had wondered whether depression was a distant memory. During these 'episodes', all my thoughts and emotions scramble together like a sudden attack, a chaotic mess of disjointed painful noises overlapping in my mind. I am left wracked and unable to figure out what to do. Lost and alone. Then I come out of it, and have to figure out where to go from there. How to pick myself up again.

The numbness is subsiding as I write. I am now struck by the fragility of life. We go out of our way to ignore it, to pretend it's not there. To go through the motions of life, managing well, self-sufficient and successful. I think it works for the most part. And then something hits. Setbacks. Illness, death, pain. Something happens to throw everything out of kilter, and we realise again that the walls we construct around us are made less of sturdy brick but more of panes of glass, glued together to the best of our abilities, but so easily shattered and torn down by the storms of life. Human beings are so fragile. Our lives are so breakable. I am seeing this more and more every day, especially since returning to nursing and care. I am learning to accept this more and more in myself. Everything could change from one day to the next.

Life is a strange thing. We could lose everything in an instant. Yet we believe and act as though what we have and who we are stands forever. That we are infinite, invincible. An illusion easy to live by.

Many of you will know the Serenity Prayer, famously adopted by Alcoholics Anonymous. The original Serenity Prayer is attributed to theologian Reinhold Niebuhr. With no wisdom or conclusions to offer, I end this post with this prayer.

God, give me grace to accept with serenity
the things that cannot be changed,
Courage to change the things
which should be changed,
and the Wisdom to distinguish
the one from the other.
Living one day at a time,
Enjoying one moment at a time,
Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,
Taking, as Jesus did,
This sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it,
Trusting that You will make all things right,
If I surrender to Your will,
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,
And supremely happy with You forever in the next.
Amen.

"A prophet without honour"

I approached a man I guessed was from Hong Kong while working on the stand yesterday. As usual, I asked whether he had time to hear more about Toybox and our work. Instead of answering my question, he asked me where I was from.

"Hong Kong," I said.

"Are you studying?" he asked.

"No. I work here."

"You work here?" he cried. He tutted. "Let me tell you something." He moved the flyer I had give him away. "Don't sell to me, I don't like people selling to me."

Then he proceeded to dole out lengthy advice on what I should be doing with my life and career for about 5 minutes before leaving the stand abruptly.

It was incredibly rude and pretty judgemental. I have to say I was quite affected by it. The crux of what this guy said to me was that I should be doing a PhD in the university degree I got, then going into research and becoming a specialist. "Then one day, when you are a specialist and people ask you for advice and expertise, God will use you."

Sadly, I have heard this all before. It's nothing new, and I have received this spiel from so many people from my hometown - many of whom have virtually been strangers to me, who have seen fit to weigh in to my life and tell me that everything I have done is wrong. But I rarely get it in such an explicit way from someone from.Hong Kong who claims to be a Christian.

I don't know why so many people from Hong Kong seem to love telling me what to do with my life. That what I am doing is wrong. That I should be pursuing an affluent lifestyle, a lucrative career, or academic prestige and credentials.  I am not doing these things and I really believe in the path I have chosen. I don't doubt myself when harangued by these views. But it just gets annoying and very old.

Never mind that these mindsets are counter-gospel, but what I don't understand is where people find the presumption to give someone they don't know this kind of arrogant judgement on their life choices.  I don't know whether this occurs as much in other cultures.

If I'm completely honest, sometimes I am apprehensive about meeting people from Hong Kong here in the UK. I expect this kind of unwelcome judgement from them, this scorn of my choices to try and live in solidarity with the poor and needy, to live out of the love of Jesus. Sadly this happens too often for me to feel like this anxiety is unfounded.

It's the reason why I don't like going home. Who likes feeling like they are looked down on all the time? I am proud of my choices though. I am not ashamed of Jesus. As I said, it just gets old and wearisome.

I was reflecting on Jesus' words, "A prophet is not without honour except in his own town and in his own home." Maybe this is just the way it is. It certainly has always been for me.

I listened to an interview on the radio a while ago with a Pakistani lady who recently immigrated to the UK. She said that she actually preferred living here, even if she couldn't speak English well and didn't have much involvement in the community. She said that her neighbours were kind and warm to her. At home in Pakistan, she was looked down on and gossiped about. Here, she wasn't judged and under pressure to conform to the standards they imposed. She didn't like being with other Pakistani women there.

I really resonated with what this lady said. I know it sounds awful, to say you would rather not be with your own kin. That you are anxious about being with people of your ethnicity. I don't know if anyone else will understand this, but it is how I have felt for a long time.

And I think that Jesus understands it. I hope and pray he does, anyway.