Much more than a month!

Meet Elliot and Buttons. They have been a long-term project of mine. And when I say long-term, I mean REALLY long.

I was given a cross-stitch set by my auntie for my fourteenth birthday, and started it not long after. Over the past twelve years, Elliot (the elephant) and Buttons (the mouse) have made the painstakingly slow journey towards their current framed glory. The progress has gone in fits and starts of course; I'm slow but not that slow! There have been periods where I've worked on it quite frequently, and years at a time when it has sat in a drawer gathering dust. It's a surprisingly complex pattern; I had no idea how many different shades of light grey and off-white existed before I started!

The process of cross-stitching is an inherently fascinating discussion, I am sure you all agree. But for the unconverted among you*, lets bring in some parallels to life. I have recently been listening to people talk about old dreams, things that were vision a long time ago but seem to have gone by the wayside. It reminded me of this.

Sometimes dreams (/visions/goals/whatever your terminology) can be really exciting at first; we see the picture of what is going to happen into the future and can't wait to make it a reality. We set off, stitching row by row, anticipating the end result any time.

But it's a longer process than we expected. There are more obstacles than we ever knew existed. It's funny working to a pattern. You have to trust that everything will work together, because part way through it just looks like random blocks of colour, and doesn't seem to make sense at all!The initial vision and current state of affairs just don't seem to match up. And life gets in the way; surviving takes over for weeks, months, years at a time. Occasionally we look back and think about it, or have a really refreshing experience and move forwards a couple of steps, but ultimately, progress is slow.

I have a real problem with finishing things. Getting to the conclusion of anything is a real challenge for me psychologically.  Once all the cross-stitching is done, the picture needs stitching around to draw in the outline and the detail. The outline is so fiddly but adds real detail and definition to the picture.  This sat in my drawer just awaiting the outline for eighteen months.You might be on the edge of realising your dream; all of the pieces are in place and you can more or less see the end product; let me tell you it's worth going all the way to the real thing!

I've learned a lot in the twelve years since I first unwrapped that present. I have learned that hearts do break, but they mend again. I've learned to be a speech therapist. I've gone from being a child to an adult, I've nearly gotten married! I'm not sure how much any of those things have contributed to my sewing abilities (every parable has it's limits), but they have certainly contributed to my dreams. Dreams that have begun their process but are nowhere near ready yet.

Joseph had a dream. He was going to rule over all of his brothers and parents. The journey from favourite son to ruler took him through slave, manager, prisoner and advisor before he finally saw the dream come to fruition. Each phase was vitally important in producing the man capable of coping with the reality of the position he had seen so long ago.

So what's my point? Partly just to show off a long-term achievement. But partly to encourage you. Don't give up. Don't regret perceived 'wasted' years. Just keep following the pattern and trust in God for the rest.

*This is a joke, I'm aware irony doesn't always come across well in print.

A Month Gone By

I was doing really well and now there has been a whole month without a post. No good!

It's been quite a busy month. This might have to be a life-update post.

At the beginning of October I went to Frankfurt to the 24-7 Prayer Eurogathering. It was an amazing weekend. I went by myself and met some amazing people, learned some incredible stuff and had my mindsets and stereotypes challenged, again. I'm sure there will be lots to come out of that in the months to come.

The following week I had a job interview at the Hollybank Trust. This is an organisation I have wanted to work for ever since I graduated, and when the job was first advertised at the beginning of September, I lost a day's worth of work because I was just so excited about it! So reflecting on Germany was put on hold for a little while as every waking moment was dedicated to interview preparation. And, I got the job! It's the most amazing feeling, but at the same time very surreal. I'm still waiting to get a start date and do induction training and all of that, so it's a funny transition phase where I have a job, but don't have it yet. Can't wait to start!

Since then I have spent time catching up on everything I didn't do whilst preparing for trips abroad/interviews. I've had a hectic month, but things are finally slowing down. Today was an amazing day off- I left the house once, to buy some milk for a cup of tea!

Clocks go back tonight, loving my extra hour's sleep :-)

These Streets

Today, I feel quite saturated. I’ve just come home from visiting 40 children who come to kidz klub, plus their parents, older siblings, younger siblings, friends, friends’ parents, etc… I’ve met a lot of people tonight. I’ve walked a lot of streets. But it’s not a one-off; I rode these streets on a bus on Saturday, collecting and returning children. I was there again on Monday visiting older siblings. Yesterday I spent the evening with those siblings just down the road. On Saturday I’ll see them and the cycle will begin all over again.

I enjoyed today. This bizarre Indian summer weather meant that people were outside, they were happy, and leant a feeling of hope to the beginning of term. I enjoyed playing with children and chatting with parents. I loved meeting new people who were positive about kidz klub. Everything went well and I came home satisfied and happy. Is that why I feel I own these streets tonight, because I’m happy on them? What about when summer fades? When it’s wet and windy, or when someone breaks into the car, or takes issue with something that happened on Saturday? Will I still own these streets then? How deep does my compassion run?

I’ve been thinking recently about where I live, and why I’m here. I am part of a group of people who have all been drawn to this place, to this geographical location for a purpose. There are as many different purposes as there are people in the group. But what is my purpose? Why did I choose to move to this run-down part of town that used to be beautiful, in a crumbling house, with neighbours from every walk of life but my own? The story is a long one that runs far back, but ultimately my purpose is this: to love broken people.

Broken people aren’t always nice. They aren’t always happy to see a person of light. They don’t always feel positive and friendly. I am a broken person, I should know. But in my brokenness I have found a hope and a love that comes from beyond me. I may be afflicted in every way, but I am not crushed; I may be perplexed but not driven to despair; persecuted but not abandoned; struck down but never destroyed. My brokenness has been and is being healed by love.

May the saturation continue, in good times and bad. May I continue to look beyond what my eyes can see to the world just beyond this one. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

I sprinkled a couple of bible references from 1 Corinthians 4 in there- can you find them? I’ve got lots more to say about them in a blog I’ve been meaning to write for a couple of weeks, so watch this space for the details.

A Perfect Afternoon

I was lost in an old world, revisiting times gone by in a book about the Message Trust, a quality bunch of people who shaped my teenage years and are probably responsible for the place in which I find myself today.

"Beep-beep, beep-beep"

A text message brought me back to the present day. Relaxed on my bed, an autumn sun was streaming through the window. Colbie Caillat was playing bubbly, hopeful music. The name on the text made me smile. Today, life is good.

What's in a name?

I have spent this morning exploring the meaning of my name. I was inspired to find it out after reading this devotion about identity. It's all about the meaning of my brother's name, so I thought I would have a look into my own!

It seems odd that at the age of 24 I've never really done this before. The trouble is that on the surface Rebecca (or Rebekah) seems to have a fairly unpleasant meaning. I've looked at the character in the Bible but tended to steer clear of the actual meaning of the word. However a couple of years ago a friend of mine came out with this amazing interpretation that actually made it sound quite nice! I wish I could remember how he put it. But it inspired me today to seek out that side- it has to be out there somewhere!

There are two short, sharp, no-frills interpretations of the Hebrew for "Rebekah". The first is "ensnarer" (I had known it before as "bound"), and the second is "fat, fattened; a quarrel appeased". My name means "fattened"! There are people who have tried to do this to me(!) so maybe it was prophetic after all. Jokes.

Once I got over the fat bit, I guess "a quarrel appeased" is a pretty good meaning! It's all about bringing peace and bringing people together. I do have a knack for bringing people from different circles into the same room, and I'm not one for arguing. I'll take that.

The alternative interpretation of "ensnarer" is captivating. I will leave it to others to decide whether that is true or not. Another lovely little article suggests the word "secured" which I think I like best. It also says this:

Within this name lies the notion that individuals are placed together by something higher or smarter than they.

I like that notion.

Rebecca. Peacemaker. Secured. Fattened. It has a certain ring to it...

Walking Home

It is dark, but not cold. It’s warm enough that I can walk home with just a light t-shirt and not feel the chill. The streets, so familiar by day, seem strange and unknown in the dark. The pavements are patched up with tarmac that gleams under the streetlights and its inhabitants are almost entirely unisex, the women having gone indoors long before dusk. Only a trio of girls whose mothers believe they are at a friend’s house and a lady out drinking with her man and his mates buck the trend. There is an aroma of fine spices and the faint sound of Asian music. Shops that were weathered and empty this morning are now lit up and filled with people in their best finery, feasting and celebrating. I am not in some far-off country but in Harehills, Leeds, a neighbourhood homing representatives of almost any other nation you could name.

I’m walking home. I notice the strangeness, feel a little alien on the streets. I enjoy the freedom of walking alone but there’s a slight thrill, a sense of danger and I’m glad my mother believes that I am at a friend’s house too. This may be “my” country, but these are not my streets. Not because I’m white; some of those out tonight have British ancestors far out-dating my own; but because I’m green. I’m new. It’s still strange to me. I pass two men standing in a bus stop in long kurta robes. I turn off the main road and meet the smell of alcohol as a group sit in their yard drinking beer. A bunch of noisy youths cross in front of me and finally it comes into view, and then I am there: home. The gate squeaks, the door clatters open and closed again and the strangeness is gone, locked outside on a warm, dark night.

Climbing off my rocker

"Worry is like a rocking chair-- it gives you something to do but it doesn't get you anywhere."

I am just coming to the end of a lovely week off. It feels a little bit naughty because it wasn't really for any occasion, but it's my first full week off since Christmas so I decided I deserved it. My plan was that while I had all this lovely free time I would write a whole list of blog posts that have been waiting to come out. Instead I slept in lots at the beginning of the week and then got up very early for busy things at the end of the week. So it didn't really work out, and tomorrow I have to be busy and working again so here is my last evening of "freedom".

It's funny actually, what difference a state of mind makes. In real life I have quite a lot of days off and work less than 30 hours in the average week, but those days don't feel like holiday because I have other responsibilities, other things to think about, deadlines hanging over me. Tomorrow I won't do anything I'm being paid for, but I have a full day's work and it's definitely not holiday. I'm learning that there will always be a to-do list, there will always be deadlines, but sometimes I have to put those things away and relax. It's difficult with my working pattern but I'm getting there, slowly.

About the working pattern. I swing between extremes of being desperate for the routine of a regular contract, and dreading the day I ever find myself in one. At the minute I'm enjoying the flexibility of life and the idea of a 9-5 job is horrifying, but as soon as I've written that I'm liable to change my mind. It recently struck me that I do live every week without the guarantee of a single hour's work, but I never doubt that it will come and I guess it's all just a part of living by faith. It's trust.

Every time I think about my life I want to post that song, Trust, again. This year more than any other I have learned that all I can ever do is in God's strength. The week before my break was a particularly difficult one- I had two new SLT clients to meet and no idea what to do with them; long hours of work; awkward situations with friends; a leaky basement that had me up every four hours through the night to empty a bucket and consequent discussions with our landlord. Every day I found that I knew Jesus was with me, I knew that he would take me through the situation and out the other side, but still I was really, really anxious to the extent that I wasn't in a very good mood for most of the week (except for a little while after each obstacle had been faced and overcome...)

So I have a new challenge. I have learned (am still learning) to trust from my spirit, my "know-er" as someone once called it. I know from experience and crazy blind faith that my God loves me and doesn't ask me to do what he won't equip me for. The challenge now is to deal with all that unnecessary worry that doesn't change anything other than the quality of my day and those unfortunate enough to cross my path.

"The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

We never stop learning, hey?