Last week, just in case you aren't aware, was Easter! From the moment I got to England my supervisor has been reminding me that Easter is the busiest time of the year in the Anglican Church. After surviving last week, I support that statement 100%. Not only was there a massive amount of preparation that went into each service, but there were added church services and cleaning responsibilities, and food preparation throughout the week. But through all these activities, Easter took on a whole new meaning for me.
Maunday Thursday began with a Blessing of the Oils service at York Minster, in which we gathered oils for baptisms, healings, and confirmations. That service in itself was a lengthy ordeal, where people congregated from all over Yorkshire to pick up the blessed oils for those in their church whom requested them, listen to the Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Whitby speak, receive Holy Communion to commence the beginning of Easter weekend, and of course, to enjoy a nice hot cross bun after the service had finished (which fyi was the first time I've ever had a hot cross bun, and it was delicious!).
While at this service I got to talking with the Archbishop of York, who is one of the most jovial people I've ever met. A constant smile on his face, I learned that he had endured many hardships while he lived in Uganda, and that he had to eventually flea the country because his life was in danger. Yet in spite of the difficulties he has encountered, he's incredibly positive and willing to do anything to serve God, even give up his own life. As I was talking with him he mentioned that he was the one who came up with the idea of serving teas, coffees, and hot cross buns after the service, which has now become a yearly tradition. After all, Easter, although a time for reflection on the greatest sacrifice ever given, should be a celebration complete with a party more than a time of somber remembrance, because of the incredible thing that Jesus did for us.
And what a celebration Easter turned out to be. Beginning my day at 4:30am (which is ridiculously early even if you are a morning person!), I helped my supervisor and his family prepare for the breakfast we were serving after the sunrise service on the Westwood pastures, one of my favorite places in Beverley where cows roam freely to graze, people play golf or take their dogs for walks, and families bring their children to play in the wide open fields. I've never been to a sunrise service before for Easter, and this one was incredible. People from multiple congregations came together, singing praises to God as the sun began to peak over the hills waking up the new day, celebrating the fact that Christ conquered sin and death, and we are now free. At the conclusion of the service we had tea, coffee, and an amazing breakfast for everyone to partake in. I honestly haven't seen that many happy people so early in the morning! And what a better way to start Easter, than to begin it with fellowship, breakfast, singing, the glorious sunrise, and excitement over what Jesus has done?
The rest of Easter consisted of more celebrating by helping out at 3 more church services, having a meal with some friends, and then reflecting on the incredible life that Jesus led, as well as all the work related events that I had been involved with throughout Holy Week. A few of these events during the week included a Friday morning service, 24-hour prayer at a fellow church in Beverley, a silent walk throughout the town to reflect on the events of Good Friday, Saturday morning prayer meetings, and various other happenings, but the thing that stood out to me the most wasn't the celebrating or the other ceremonies like the Archbishop talked about. It was our service on Maunday Thursday.
We had a "sample" of a Seder Meal, which is the traditional feast that Jews have to mark the beginning of the Passover. I'd never been to a meal like this before, where each item represents something meaningful and different. To name a few, there was maror (bitter herbs) which represent the bitterness and hardships of slavery, charoset (fruit and nut paste) which represent the material used by the Jews to build storehouses during their time of slavery in Egypt, and 4 cups of wine to symbolize various promises. What an incredible tradition and celebration to have. I was thrilled to be a part of it and to learn a little bit more about the Jewish culture and rituals.
However, the meal wasn't what had the most impact on me. My supervisor was in charge of planning and organizing this service, and he had the brilliant idea to incorporate a foot washing ceremony during the service for the entire congregation, which I certainly thought sounded like a great idea since it could be a very powerful and meaningful event...that is until I learned that I, along with one other woman, were going to be the people washing every one's feet. Now that was something that certainly hadn't made my "must do/experience while in England" list. Yet as I was kneeling at people's tired and worn feet, doing my best to wash them carefully, I couldn't help but think that honestly, I wouldn't just randomly up and decide to wash some one's feet. It's fairly gross, especially when you know that you're going to eat food immediately afterwards and might not have time to wash your hands, and you get an up close and very personal experience with different ideas and levels of the importance of hygiene. But Jesus didn't think like that. He washed people's dirty, disgusting, smelly, and probably pretty messed up feet because they wore sandals all the time, and he did it on his own accord. During a meal. Willingly. Humbly. Full of unconditional love for those he was with, and this was one way he revealed part of how great his love is. He loves us enough to do the ultimate acts of service for us that most people would cringe at doing. Many people in the congregation probably weren't deeply affected by having their feet washed. But what about if Jesus had been there? What would it be like to have your feet washed by Jesus?
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
On Being English
On Wednesday afternoons I help out at a local primary school in a classroom for children that are struggling, or whom have essentially been temporarily removed from their regular classroom due to behavioural issues. These children, regardless of how many times they flick me off or shout swear words at me because life hasn't treated them as it should treat children of their age, make me ridiculously happy. Weekly, one of them asks me, “Heidi, do I speak American?” And in the most hilarious voice possible that only seems to heighten the North Yorkshire accent, he proceeds to repeat every word I say for the next half hour. Although I try to be very sincere and keep a straight face as I tell him he's getting closer and to keep practicing, he knows very well that I am hiding a smile. However, he is not so gracious to me when I perform my English accent for him, which to my dismay as I spend more time in England, has unintentionally come out more and more through my responses to poor unsuspecting and slightly bewildered people. Thus, to assist me in giving up my “atrocious” American habits, my new little friend has decided to dedicate his time in this classroom to teaching me how to be “proper English” so that when I return to the States I can bequeath my new found knowledge upon all my counterparts so that they in turn, will learn how to be “real, normal people”, as my friend informs me. Now, in all my 23 years of life, never have I once thought that I wasn't a real person, yet since coming to England, I have since been enlightened. :) So my friends and family, let me now, share my enlightenment. First of all, in north England, “tea” does not just mean merely a cup of tea, oh no. There are numerous meanings to this simple, three letter word, but it all depends on the time of day one is referring to. For instance, if I invited you over for tea at about “half past six” as they say in England (six thirty is absolutely unheard of language) it would mean that I am not inviting you over for an actual cup of tea, but I am inviting you over for the evening meal. Naturally, tea will be served, but that is only after everyone has finished eating the meal, as well as the pudding, which is in fact not “pudding” as we Americans know it, but is actually any type of dessert. However, if I invited you over at 10am for tea, that would mean that you are most likely going to receive a cup of tea, and possibly a biscuit, which to my bewilderment isn't in fact a biscuit at all in the way we think of it as some bread based doughy object you put jam on, but is actually something along the lines of a very hard and crunchy cookie that most people dunk in their tea in hopes of softening it before it is consumed. When greeting someone, it is always appropriate to say “Hiya! You all right?” A question which very rarely requires an answer. At first I was constantly concerned, thinking that everyone thought something was wrong with me or maybe I looked a little funny that day or like I hadn't slept that night, and that's why they were asking if I was all right. Yet thanks to my friend, I have now been informed that this greeting is almost like saying “Hi, I see you there, and I will acknowledge you, but please don't engage me in a conversation that could possibly become too personal or lengthy.” Moreover, in conversations, whether passing someone on the street or while hanging out with a friend, and I cannot emphasize this enough, there MUST NEVER be silence. When all else fails, talk about the weather. After all, this is England, and the weather could change at any moment. However, most of the time it seems to fall under the category that Brits refer to as “absolute rubbish”, where the sky is overcast and it's most likely raining, or going to be raining within the next couple minutes, or perhaps it recently stopped raining. Yes, yes. That is more likely. Also, when getting directions from someone who is English, you may want to think twice about it and just go search for a map. These are some directions I received when I first arrived in Beverley: “To get into the town center walk towards the rail road tracks (mind you, they weren't anywhere in sight) and turn left when you see a big bush by a post box. Carry on down that street until you find a snick-et (what in the world that was, I had no idea) and turn down it. Wind around, cross the drive, carry on down the snick-et which will meet up again after you cross the drive and go down it a ways, until you come to a pub, then turn left. There are two round-a-bouts, and on the second one you should take the third from the left turn. Follow the road and take a right at the green house (funny...all the houses here are made from bricks....) and walk until you come to a pedestrian only zone which will be marked by a post. Then you've reached town. If you see a cow, you've gone to far so turn around and reverse the directions.” To which I inquired about road names, only to learn that people don't really know the names of the roads around here, and the directions I received were excellent directions compared to most others I've gotten while living here. Maps are an excellent investment. Terminology and phrases that are important to know in England (and trust me, they're VERY important, for I am forced to review them with my little friend every single Wednesday): 1) It just does my head in (meaning something along the lines of the situation being annoying) 2) Winding me up (frustrating or irking me) 3) I just can't be bothered (whatever they should have done, they didn't because, really, they just plain didn't feel like it) 4) Trousers (pants...never, ever say pants unless you're referring to your underwear/knickers) 5) Nappy (diaper) 6) Track suit bottoms, or trackies (known to us as “sweatpants”, but considering what “pants” means in England....well...really...you never want to make the same mistake that I have and say “sweatpants”. It makes for a very awkward situation) 7) Rubber (eraser...really, I know what you're thinking) 8) Magnum (an amazing ice cream brand, so get your mind out of the gutter!) 9) Pavement (sidewalk...which funny story about this, I was typing this blog in a word document and the spell check kept changing “sidewalk” to “pavement”! My little friend also tells me every Wednesday that “sidewalk” just doesn't make sense, because it's paved and “sidewalk” has nothing to do with pavement. Clearly, Americans are odd creatures) 10) Ta (thank you) 11) Shattered/Knackered (very tired) 12) Thingy (EVERYTHING is referred to as “thingy” so you have to follow conversations along very closely to actually know what “thingy” is in hopes of even somewhat remotely following the conversation) 13) Jumper (which is in fact not a dress which I discovered after the initial shock I encountered when my supervisor (who is a male) told me his was going to put on his jumper, yet something more along the lines of a sweatshirt) I hope that you have had as much fun learning through reading this as I have learning through living the English culture these past 8 months. Now, I trust and hope that you are all well, and that you, like myself, feel like brand new enlightened people thanks to my little friend, ready to live life the proper English way.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Be the Change
First of all, I am so sorry for the massive gap it has been between this blog post and my last one! My life has been chaotic, to say the least, what with my computer not functioning to the point that it no longer turns on to work becoming increasingly busy to my mom visiting me for a good portion of February.
When I first came to Beverley I thought I had entered a utopia, a "Pleasantville" in most respects. Here lies a quiet quaint village where, after living and working in one of "the worst neighborhoods in Denver, Colorado" even the poor seemed to have enough here due to the UK's incredible welfare system. Yet the more time I spend here, the clearer my vision becomes. The ideal of pure contentment here has vanished, people seek more things materially and still are overwhelmed with dissatisfaction per say.
A lady I know here told me that her job bores her. It no longer challenges her, and she's alone for the majority of her time at work. She dreads retirement, as the primary thing awaiting her is tea and cake at parlors, cleaning the house, and, most daunting for her, becoming a full-time carer, leaving this incredibly driven, goal oriented woman feeling like she has little purpose as a housewife. Yet in spite of her lack of enthusiasm for her job, she refuses to search for another, for, in her own words, she's done her work too long, is too comfortable, and change seems to be too much. Comfortable, yet broken. Hurting. Someone I have seen as the "perfect" woman, as she always has her life held together and in the perfect order regardless of what transpires, suddenly became not so "perfect".
Give me your eyes so I can see.
Everything that we keep missing,
Give me your love for humanity.
Give me your arms for the brokenhearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see."
For just one second, because our weak human nature could endure little more. But in that brief second, what would we see? The brokenness buried behind a smile, the perfection that is really unbearable torture, the emptiness, loneliness, dissatisfaction with life, fear, envy, hate, dishonesty, suffering, the needs. In a flash, our perception of every person we saw in that moment would be radically transformed, and we would know them for what they are: Human. Broken. It's everywhere. Lurking around each bend in the road. We can see it if we take the time to search someones eyes, their disposition, their nonverbal communication. It says it all if we only take the time to question and pay attention.
Yet there is beauty in the brokenness. A hand reaches out to help, someone does something kind, love is revealed through a friend, an acquaintance, a complete stranger. Healing amidst the anguish. How many people are hurting that we don't know about? It could be anyone, even our closest friend. What kind of an impact can I have by setting aside my selfishness and my busy life and actually pay attention, reading between the lines, watching actions and body language? How different could I make the world?
Ghandi said to be the change you wish to see in the world. Now, when first read that sounds like a phrase someone could quickly breeze over and say, oh, well that's a nice idea. But when dwelt on, allowing the concept to sink in, there is so much power in those few words. With that sentence comes great responsibility that can have a huge impact if we all partake in our share. Be the change.
At St. Nicholas Church we had a Lent service tonight that focused on working out the kinks you have in your life, purifying yourself, being transformed by Christ, starting over, and yes, it was even about brokenness. One of the Bible verses we read came from Isaiah 58:6-7, which says, "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter-when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?" We often ask why there is so much suffering in the world, why there is starvation, why there are so many needs. A great amount of the answer to those questions lies primarily in our own hands and in these Bible verses. Be the change. Out of all the verses I read tonight these from Isaiah stood out to me in particular. We should walk with these people, not in front of them, not behind them, but aside them, accompanying them in their journey. We should help those who are broken, those who are struggling, whether they are rich or poor, for as brothers and sisters in Christ, this is what we are called to do.
When I first came to Beverley I thought I had entered a utopia, a "Pleasantville" in most respects. Here lies a quiet quaint village where, after living and working in one of "the worst neighborhoods in Denver, Colorado" even the poor seemed to have enough here due to the UK's incredible welfare system. Yet the more time I spend here, the clearer my vision becomes. The ideal of pure contentment here has vanished, people seek more things materially and still are overwhelmed with dissatisfaction per say.
A lady I know here told me that her job bores her. It no longer challenges her, and she's alone for the majority of her time at work. She dreads retirement, as the primary thing awaiting her is tea and cake at parlors, cleaning the house, and, most daunting for her, becoming a full-time carer, leaving this incredibly driven, goal oriented woman feeling like she has little purpose as a housewife. Yet in spite of her lack of enthusiasm for her job, she refuses to search for another, for, in her own words, she's done her work too long, is too comfortable, and change seems to be too much. Comfortable, yet broken. Hurting. Someone I have seen as the "perfect" woman, as she always has her life held together and in the perfect order regardless of what transpires, suddenly became not so "perfect".
The chorus of one of my favorite songs by Brandon Heath says:
"Give me your eyes for just one second,Give me your eyes so I can see.
Everything that we keep missing,
Give me your love for humanity.
Give me your arms for the brokenhearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see."
For just one second, because our weak human nature could endure little more. But in that brief second, what would we see? The brokenness buried behind a smile, the perfection that is really unbearable torture, the emptiness, loneliness, dissatisfaction with life, fear, envy, hate, dishonesty, suffering, the needs. In a flash, our perception of every person we saw in that moment would be radically transformed, and we would know them for what they are: Human. Broken. It's everywhere. Lurking around each bend in the road. We can see it if we take the time to search someones eyes, their disposition, their nonverbal communication. It says it all if we only take the time to question and pay attention.
Yet there is beauty in the brokenness. A hand reaches out to help, someone does something kind, love is revealed through a friend, an acquaintance, a complete stranger. Healing amidst the anguish. How many people are hurting that we don't know about? It could be anyone, even our closest friend. What kind of an impact can I have by setting aside my selfishness and my busy life and actually pay attention, reading between the lines, watching actions and body language? How different could I make the world?
Ghandi said to be the change you wish to see in the world. Now, when first read that sounds like a phrase someone could quickly breeze over and say, oh, well that's a nice idea. But when dwelt on, allowing the concept to sink in, there is so much power in those few words. With that sentence comes great responsibility that can have a huge impact if we all partake in our share. Be the change.
At St. Nicholas Church we had a Lent service tonight that focused on working out the kinks you have in your life, purifying yourself, being transformed by Christ, starting over, and yes, it was even about brokenness. One of the Bible verses we read came from Isaiah 58:6-7, which says, "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter-when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?" We often ask why there is so much suffering in the world, why there is starvation, why there are so many needs. A great amount of the answer to those questions lies primarily in our own hands and in these Bible verses. Be the change. Out of all the verses I read tonight these from Isaiah stood out to me in particular. We should walk with these people, not in front of them, not behind them, but aside them, accompanying them in their journey. We should help those who are broken, those who are struggling, whether they are rich or poor, for as brothers and sisters in Christ, this is what we are called to do.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Christmas in England
Spending Christmas thousands of miles away from my family is going to be, and has been thus far, a very different experience for me. I've been able to try so many new things, and I've experienced the generosity and kindness of people in my new community. Daily, for over the past month, I have been asked what my plans are for Christmas, being so far from home. Thus far, everyone who has asked me this question has told me that they want to ensure I have somewhere to go, someone to spend it with, and if I had no one their house is always open.
But Christmas is just around the corner now and don't worry. I have plans. But before Christmas comes, there is much to do. In England people have been preparing for Christmas for months! Other than shopping for presents, attending "turning on the lights" ceremonies throughout town, and decorating the house and Christmas tree, people have been baking for months in anticipation of Christmas dinner. In fact, some people even started immediately after Christmas last year.
So then, what does Christmas in England look like? This Christmas, as most of you may know from the news, we have snow! Apparently it's the most snow people have had in England for the past 20 years, and it's by far one of the coldest winters. In spite of this, people are still in high spirits and Christmas traditions are still carried out, and here's a few that I've participated in:
Christmas pudding, also known as figgy pudding to us in the States, is typically made months in advance, sometimes even made a year in advance. Rumor has it that the longer it sits, the better it tastes, and the amount of brandy that is added to it ensures that this tasty treat doesn't go bad after sitting for a long period of time. And yes, this pudding (which is more like a fruit cake) is actually lit on fire just before it is consumed! I still haven't quite figured out why...and no one that I've asked seems to know.
More Christmas traditions include making and eating Christmas cake and mince pies, drinking mulled wine, having numerous Christmas dinners with friends well before Christmas actually arrives, making Christingles, going to see pantomimes, and breaking open Christmas crackers (which to my shock and bewilderment actually isn't something you eat, but instead is a cardboard tube wrapped in brightly colored paper. Why they call it a cracker is beyond me.).
Although I've thoroughly enjoyed partaking in these various activities to become "as British as possible" this Christmas season, I'm can't stop thinking about the amount of time and preparation that goes in to this one event, this single day that is over and gone so quickly. So much time, so much money, so much effort for just one day. I keep thinking about all the people that anticipate the fuzzy feelings, the warmth, the excitement of Christmas. And I also think about those who are alone, those who have no friends or family to be with, those who don't have food to eat, and those who will be excited if they get to sleep in a bed for the night.
I'm sure you've discussed this at least once already this season with someone (I know I have), but Christmas is not about the food, it's not about the amount or what kind of presents you get, or the disappointment you face when you open something you really don't like that your great-aunt's second cousin twice removed who can't even remember your name bought for you. So what is it really about? There's a tradition in Poland where on Christmas day everyone sets out an extra place at their dinner table just in case they see someone on the streets, someone who is alone, someone who is in need, they will be prepared and have room to invite them in for feasting and fellowship.
Now I've been invited to go to various houses, and for this I am truly blessed and eternally grateful. So then, where am I spending Christmas? With my new family, here in England. Yet there are so many people in this world who are less fortunate than I am and aren't adopted into families as quickly as I have been. What would it take to embrace the Polish tradition and invite someone to my Christmas dinner? I live just outside of a city that is full of poverty and despair. Even in this quaint town of Beverley there are homeless people, lonely people, people who are suffering, and people who do not have enough. It wouldn't be that difficult for me to find someone to invite to my house for fellowship and a warm meal. And let's face it, all I would really be sacrificing would most likely be that extra serving of stuffing that I probably don't need anyways.
But Christmas is just around the corner now and don't worry. I have plans. But before Christmas comes, there is much to do. In England people have been preparing for Christmas for months! Other than shopping for presents, attending "turning on the lights" ceremonies throughout town, and decorating the house and Christmas tree, people have been baking for months in anticipation of Christmas dinner. In fact, some people even started immediately after Christmas last year.
So then, what does Christmas in England look like? This Christmas, as most of you may know from the news, we have snow! Apparently it's the most snow people have had in England for the past 20 years, and it's by far one of the coldest winters. In spite of this, people are still in high spirits and Christmas traditions are still carried out, and here's a few that I've participated in:
Christmas pudding, also known as figgy pudding to us in the States, is typically made months in advance, sometimes even made a year in advance. Rumor has it that the longer it sits, the better it tastes, and the amount of brandy that is added to it ensures that this tasty treat doesn't go bad after sitting for a long period of time. And yes, this pudding (which is more like a fruit cake) is actually lit on fire just before it is consumed! I still haven't quite figured out why...and no one that I've asked seems to know.
More Christmas traditions include making and eating Christmas cake and mince pies, drinking mulled wine, having numerous Christmas dinners with friends well before Christmas actually arrives, making Christingles, going to see pantomimes, and breaking open Christmas crackers (which to my shock and bewilderment actually isn't something you eat, but instead is a cardboard tube wrapped in brightly colored paper. Why they call it a cracker is beyond me.).
Although I've thoroughly enjoyed partaking in these various activities to become "as British as possible" this Christmas season, I'm can't stop thinking about the amount of time and preparation that goes in to this one event, this single day that is over and gone so quickly. So much time, so much money, so much effort for just one day. I keep thinking about all the people that anticipate the fuzzy feelings, the warmth, the excitement of Christmas. And I also think about those who are alone, those who have no friends or family to be with, those who don't have food to eat, and those who will be excited if they get to sleep in a bed for the night.
I'm sure you've discussed this at least once already this season with someone (I know I have), but Christmas is not about the food, it's not about the amount or what kind of presents you get, or the disappointment you face when you open something you really don't like that your great-aunt's second cousin twice removed who can't even remember your name bought for you. So what is it really about? There's a tradition in Poland where on Christmas day everyone sets out an extra place at their dinner table just in case they see someone on the streets, someone who is alone, someone who is in need, they will be prepared and have room to invite them in for feasting and fellowship.
Now I've been invited to go to various houses, and for this I am truly blessed and eternally grateful. So then, where am I spending Christmas? With my new family, here in England. Yet there are so many people in this world who are less fortunate than I am and aren't adopted into families as quickly as I have been. What would it take to embrace the Polish tradition and invite someone to my Christmas dinner? I live just outside of a city that is full of poverty and despair. Even in this quaint town of Beverley there are homeless people, lonely people, people who are suffering, and people who do not have enough. It wouldn't be that difficult for me to find someone to invite to my house for fellowship and a warm meal. And let's face it, all I would really be sacrificing would most likely be that extra serving of stuffing that I probably don't need anyways.
So instead of focusing on what Christmas isn't, why not focus on what it is about, and then do something about it? To me, Christmas is about love. It's about sharing and being with other people regardless of who they are. It's about showing others how important they are. And above all, it's about Jesus and who He was as a person. A leader. A servant. Someone who cared about those who are less fortunate and often forgotten. The Messiah.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Never Never Land
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Matthew 11:28-30
Rest for your souls. What exactly does that mean? So many people spend their lives searching for rest and peace in this messy world that we live in, and I'll admit that I've been one of them. My entire life I have loved these verses, probably because for as long as I can remember I've lived a chaotic lifestyle, rarely taking time to actually slow down and just be. This being the case I often asked God to give me rest, even though it was completely my fault that I didn't rest since it was my choice of how I was living my life. I believe that true rest would never happen. No way. Not for me. I like being busy way too much for that. However, things are different in England. Since coming here rest has been one of the greatest things that I have learned.
I don't know how many of you have been to England when it snows, but with it's narrow, cobbled streets the whole country transforms into a magical place where entire cities shut down and become silent. Rest. This past week it has been snowing like crazy all over the UK. Airports closed, roads shut down, people abandoned their cars on the sides of highways because it was too treacherous for them to drive, others were stuck in their homes not leaving for days. So why do I find this simply chaotic and dreadful image so splendid? Because it's in times like these where people are forced to stop. To step back from their crazy lifestyles, and to breathe.
Last week I found rest for my soul. With all of Beverley basically closed, I spent quality time hanging out with friends, sledding with my supervisor's son and dog on the Westwood, and enjoying a few days where I had absolutely nothing to do but be still.
One particular afternoon we were invited to the neighbor's house for tea and scones. Roisin and Lola, two of their children, were absolutely ecstatic that we were visiting, and kept asking me to come and see their room. After being led up two winding flights of stairs we finally made it, and I entered a little girl's paradise. Bursting with light and vibrant colors I stepped into a dreamworld, a place that was safe and full of love. I spent my time with the girls getting glittered poured over my head and spread through my hair in attempt to help me fly to Never Never Land. It was in that moment that I was doused in glitter, shouting out happy thoughts, flapping my arms in preparation to take off to Never Never Land, and running around the room with the girls that I was overcome with sheer joy and peace. Rest for your soul doesn't occur when we become so busy we forget to actually breathe, it comes when we take time to enjoy the small things of life like we did when we were children and embrace the gifts that God has given us, letting His grace shower down on us. So now, as we enter the Christmas season, take a step back with me, enjoy the moments that you've been given, take time to fly to Never Never Land, and take time to rest.
Peace.
Matthew 11:28-30
Rest for your souls. What exactly does that mean? So many people spend their lives searching for rest and peace in this messy world that we live in, and I'll admit that I've been one of them. My entire life I have loved these verses, probably because for as long as I can remember I've lived a chaotic lifestyle, rarely taking time to actually slow down and just be. This being the case I often asked God to give me rest, even though it was completely my fault that I didn't rest since it was my choice of how I was living my life. I believe that true rest would never happen. No way. Not for me. I like being busy way too much for that. However, things are different in England. Since coming here rest has been one of the greatest things that I have learned.
I don't know how many of you have been to England when it snows, but with it's narrow, cobbled streets the whole country transforms into a magical place where entire cities shut down and become silent. Rest. This past week it has been snowing like crazy all over the UK. Airports closed, roads shut down, people abandoned their cars on the sides of highways because it was too treacherous for them to drive, others were stuck in their homes not leaving for days. So why do I find this simply chaotic and dreadful image so splendid? Because it's in times like these where people are forced to stop. To step back from their crazy lifestyles, and to breathe.
Last week I found rest for my soul. With all of Beverley basically closed, I spent quality time hanging out with friends, sledding with my supervisor's son and dog on the Westwood, and enjoying a few days where I had absolutely nothing to do but be still.
One particular afternoon we were invited to the neighbor's house for tea and scones. Roisin and Lola, two of their children, were absolutely ecstatic that we were visiting, and kept asking me to come and see their room. After being led up two winding flights of stairs we finally made it, and I entered a little girl's paradise. Bursting with light and vibrant colors I stepped into a dreamworld, a place that was safe and full of love. I spent my time with the girls getting glittered poured over my head and spread through my hair in attempt to help me fly to Never Never Land. It was in that moment that I was doused in glitter, shouting out happy thoughts, flapping my arms in preparation to take off to Never Never Land, and running around the room with the girls that I was overcome with sheer joy and peace. Rest for your soul doesn't occur when we become so busy we forget to actually breathe, it comes when we take time to enjoy the small things of life like we did when we were children and embrace the gifts that God has given us, letting His grace shower down on us. So now, as we enter the Christmas season, take a step back with me, enjoy the moments that you've been given, take time to fly to Never Never Land, and take time to rest.
Peace.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Uprooted.
No matter who you are, moving to a new place is never easy. Starting a new job, attempting to make new friends in a place that often doesn't have the friendliest people, finding your feet in a culture that you thought would be similar to yours since, after all, we were a colony, yet discover it to be quite different. Leaving behind so many things that you love-those special people who have the capacity to make you smile just by looking at you a certain way because they know you, the favourite coffee shop you frequented so often that customer's dogs listen to you better than to their owners, that beautiful rock on the top of the mountain that you sat numerous times to watch God's artwork displayed as He paints yet another glorious sunset.
Yet there is something painfully beautiful about moving to that new place. You get a fresh start, a new beginning. You can be whoever you want to be. You realize how much you love people back home, and how much they love and support you and your crazy wild dreams. You meet new people that even after such a short period of time you love so deeply, and they bring so much joy and laughter into your life. Some of these people already trust you and accept you so much into their lives that they even get a copy of their house key cut for you so you can come and go as you please. And you learn that regardless of where you go or what you do, God is always, always faithful. In spite of how challenging things may be, how stressed out you get about something that happened back home over 2000 miles away from you, how often you feel that you are alone in the world though you're surrounded by people simply because you just don't understand their culture, God is always there, a constant.
I've been reading The Church that Never Sleeps, which is about a church in L.A. that is open 24-hours a day, providing numerous services to people in the worst area of the city. In this book the pastor says in regards to the challenges he faced while starting the church, "In the middle of my difficult journey, I learned that God sends rays of hope along the way to keep you on the path. They might not be big rays, but the little rays that encourage you and enable you to go another day." For me it's not usually the big things in my life that touch me and keep me going, but rather the tiny bits of encouragement. It can be something as small as someone telling me that the card I gave them made their day, or a girl thanking me through tears for taking the time to be with her and make her feel worthwhile, or even someone special buying me a travel mug for my morning cup of coffee because my host family doesn't have to-go cups since people in England don't tend to take coffee "to go"...they actually take time to sit and enjoy it (which I'll admit is something Americans could learn to do more often). It's these moments in England that I value and treasure, knowing that God is in the midst of it all, and I'm filled with peace knowing I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Peace.
Yet there is something painfully beautiful about moving to that new place. You get a fresh start, a new beginning. You can be whoever you want to be. You realize how much you love people back home, and how much they love and support you and your crazy wild dreams. You meet new people that even after such a short period of time you love so deeply, and they bring so much joy and laughter into your life. Some of these people already trust you and accept you so much into their lives that they even get a copy of their house key cut for you so you can come and go as you please. And you learn that regardless of where you go or what you do, God is always, always faithful. In spite of how challenging things may be, how stressed out you get about something that happened back home over 2000 miles away from you, how often you feel that you are alone in the world though you're surrounded by people simply because you just don't understand their culture, God is always there, a constant.
I've been reading The Church that Never Sleeps, which is about a church in L.A. that is open 24-hours a day, providing numerous services to people in the worst area of the city. In this book the pastor says in regards to the challenges he faced while starting the church, "In the middle of my difficult journey, I learned that God sends rays of hope along the way to keep you on the path. They might not be big rays, but the little rays that encourage you and enable you to go another day." For me it's not usually the big things in my life that touch me and keep me going, but rather the tiny bits of encouragement. It can be something as small as someone telling me that the card I gave them made their day, or a girl thanking me through tears for taking the time to be with her and make her feel worthwhile, or even someone special buying me a travel mug for my morning cup of coffee because my host family doesn't have to-go cups since people in England don't tend to take coffee "to go"...they actually take time to sit and enjoy it (which I'll admit is something Americans could learn to do more often). It's these moments in England that I value and treasure, knowing that God is in the midst of it all, and I'm filled with peace knowing I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Peace.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
English Hospitality
Hospitality can make a world of a difference. In my past experiences abroad, it can mean everything from saving the head of the fish for guests of the household to slaughtering the only goat the family owned to prepare a feast to finding and offering the best chair for the guest to sit on. Gestures of hospitality have come to mean so much to me in England, and I've learned that one of the greatest and most common acts is offering a cup of tea or coffee.
A couple weeks ago as I prepared to leave for a conference in London I witnessed a quintessential act of hospitality. A loud crash that sounded like a door slamming from a strong wind echoed through my flat early in the morning. My host mother, Liz, ran out of her room to inquire if I was alright, thinking that I had managed to injure myself (which wouldn't have been out of the ordinary) but the noise actually wasn't caused by me this time. After inspecting every area of the flat and finding nothing we opened the front door and were greeted by the sight of a camper that had smashed into the side of our flat! Looking up the street the owner of the vehicle was running towards us apologizing profusely. Apparently she had neglected to put the parking break on, and although we scarcely live on an incline it was enough to make the camper just roll into our flat. Luckily, no one was hurt. There was damage done to the house, yet instead of being upset and treating the woman poorly, Liz quickly ran up to her and said, "Would you please come in for a cup of tea or coffee?" And so she came in to chat and sort things out for the repairing of the flat in a peaceful manner. Having tea, afterall, is a wonderful way to figure out how to solve all problems.
Peace. :)
A couple weeks ago as I prepared to leave for a conference in London I witnessed a quintessential act of hospitality. A loud crash that sounded like a door slamming from a strong wind echoed through my flat early in the morning. My host mother, Liz, ran out of her room to inquire if I was alright, thinking that I had managed to injure myself (which wouldn't have been out of the ordinary) but the noise actually wasn't caused by me this time. After inspecting every area of the flat and finding nothing we opened the front door and were greeted by the sight of a camper that had smashed into the side of our flat! Looking up the street the owner of the vehicle was running towards us apologizing profusely. Apparently she had neglected to put the parking break on, and although we scarcely live on an incline it was enough to make the camper just roll into our flat. Luckily, no one was hurt. There was damage done to the house, yet instead of being upset and treating the woman poorly, Liz quickly ran up to her and said, "Would you please come in for a cup of tea or coffee?" And so she came in to chat and sort things out for the repairing of the flat in a peaceful manner. Having tea, afterall, is a wonderful way to figure out how to solve all problems.
Peace. :)
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