My friend Vicky has recently started her own blog. She's a quality person and has a lot of good things to say, so am looking forward to seeing what kind of stuff she comes up with on her page.
As I was at a loose end this afternoon, I came up with the relatively geeky concept of seeing exactly how many clicks it would need on the 'next blog' icon at the top left hand of the blogger page before I got linked onto Vicky's blog.
It sounded like a fun game in theory, but after about ten minutes I was bored and had been to the blogs of many, many people. Blogs about business, about their children, their sporting prowess, their failures, some stuff in Chinese I didn't understand, some weird photos of cats in funny outfits and some commenting on the news stories of the week.
What I learnt was that there are lot of blogs out there that you could be reading.
But you are reading this one rather than looking at ones with weird photos on, and I just want to say thank you.
It's humbling to know there's a lot of competition for your attention out there, and to send out some thanks for spending a few minutes in my world.
I've just sent Vicky a text message to ask if she doesn't mind having her blog linked from this site. Until then, you'll have to keep using the next blog button.
But remember I cannot be held responsible for what you may find on your journey into the depths of the weird, wacky and wonderful world of weblogs.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Potential Breakthroughs And Film Recommendations
I went on a course last year through work where I was encouraged into taking steps to fulfilling the dreams that would make you feel alive. One of the things that I mentioned was the enjoyment I get from writing. The concept of me writing a book was mooted about with the facilitators of the course, so I purchased a blank notebook from Paperchase.
Apart from the NASA-like title of 'Project One' on the inside cover, the notebook has remained blank since November. But I think I've finally got an idea that I'm interested in enough to dedicate time and energy researching, as well as thinking about wanting more than a couple of people to read. It might end up a book, it might be an article. But I want to do it, and it's the motivational battle I've lost frequently since November.
So now I have the motivation, I just need some creative genius from somewhere to get it all together.
Speaking of creative genius, those of you stuck for something to do this weekend, go and see Hot Fuzz. It's great and I haven't laughed so much in a long time.
Apart from the NASA-like title of 'Project One' on the inside cover, the notebook has remained blank since November. But I think I've finally got an idea that I'm interested in enough to dedicate time and energy researching, as well as thinking about wanting more than a couple of people to read. It might end up a book, it might be an article. But I want to do it, and it's the motivational battle I've lost frequently since November.
So now I have the motivation, I just need some creative genius from somewhere to get it all together.
Speaking of creative genius, those of you stuck for something to do this weekend, go and see Hot Fuzz. It's great and I haven't laughed so much in a long time.
On Speaking, Listening And Being Angry
We're nearly a month down the line from my last post, so feel it appropriate that there should be an apology to my select readership about the delay in posting anything new.
I have been busy running around here, there and everywhere as usual, but have also been revisiting the topic for my BA dissertation in my Bible study over the last few days. My topic intended to look at the media and see whether it could relate to the New Testament book of James and the challenge to be wary of the power of our words. I'm not going to post any of that dissertation here, so don't worry. It was soundly panned, so no need to inflict it on a wider audience than has already been exposed to it.
But over past days I have been pondering again on the challenge in James 1:19 to be slow to speak, quick to listen and slow to become angry.
I don't just want to add more words to the internet just for the sake of being able to do so. Hence the slow to speak and slow to blog for the month of February.
The second part of the challenge is to be quick to listen. I've made it my business to listen a lot this month. I have heard a lot. Problems from colleagues. Disappointment towards me from other Christians. Friends who are over the moon. Friends who feel they are facing down into an abyss.
The point I've realised in amongst all the words I have heard is that all of them have have a profound impact on my month, and in some cases, my life as a whole.
Having realised afresh the power of the words of others, I've been more determined to be slow to speak and appreciate the power of my words on others.
For me, this stems from a paranoia that I have nothing of any benefit to say to those who look to me for words. My team, the young people I work with, my church, my family, my friends all look to me for words. Yet for all my worries that I've got no idea of the right thing to do or say, I never stop to say 'I don't know'. Which would be preferable to saying some words to fill a silence and actually then finding that those careless words have had an impact far beyond their original intention and made something worse.
It's a tough challenge. I spent a year living with these speech ethics in James running around my head for the disseration, and I still feel I've not got them sorted out, five years down the line.
I hope it doesn't take another five years to realise I should be faster to listen than I am to respond with words.
And I know what you are thinking. He's not addressed the third part of the challenge, about being slow to become angry.
I'll get round to that as soon as I have mused on it some more.
But don't push me on it. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
I have been busy running around here, there and everywhere as usual, but have also been revisiting the topic for my BA dissertation in my Bible study over the last few days. My topic intended to look at the media and see whether it could relate to the New Testament book of James and the challenge to be wary of the power of our words. I'm not going to post any of that dissertation here, so don't worry. It was soundly panned, so no need to inflict it on a wider audience than has already been exposed to it.
But over past days I have been pondering again on the challenge in James 1:19 to be slow to speak, quick to listen and slow to become angry.
I don't just want to add more words to the internet just for the sake of being able to do so. Hence the slow to speak and slow to blog for the month of February.
The second part of the challenge is to be quick to listen. I've made it my business to listen a lot this month. I have heard a lot. Problems from colleagues. Disappointment towards me from other Christians. Friends who are over the moon. Friends who feel they are facing down into an abyss.
The point I've realised in amongst all the words I have heard is that all of them have have a profound impact on my month, and in some cases, my life as a whole.
Having realised afresh the power of the words of others, I've been more determined to be slow to speak and appreciate the power of my words on others.
For me, this stems from a paranoia that I have nothing of any benefit to say to those who look to me for words. My team, the young people I work with, my church, my family, my friends all look to me for words. Yet for all my worries that I've got no idea of the right thing to do or say, I never stop to say 'I don't know'. Which would be preferable to saying some words to fill a silence and actually then finding that those careless words have had an impact far beyond their original intention and made something worse.
It's a tough challenge. I spent a year living with these speech ethics in James running around my head for the disseration, and I still feel I've not got them sorted out, five years down the line.
I hope it doesn't take another five years to realise I should be faster to listen than I am to respond with words.
And I know what you are thinking. He's not addressed the third part of the challenge, about being slow to become angry.
I'll get round to that as soon as I have mused on it some more.
But don't push me on it. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
The Weapon Of Our Warfare
My friend Joe got married yesterday.
I had the privilege of being able to attend, it was a beautiful service. Having been to quite a few weddings in the previous twelve months, Joe and Jessica had organised a wedding service that would have managed to surprise even the most experienced wedding crasher.
The service took place in a church in central London that had been standing for over 300 years. Sure, things had been amended inside due to repairs required over the years, but there was a sense of history that hit you as you walked through the doors.
The music and singing was great, and there was something absolutely revolutionary that in central London on a Saturday afternoon, where most other people are out worshipping at the altars of high street shops, football grounds or entertainment, a bunch of people were chosing to focus on someone bigger than themselves.
It was also great to see some old friends at the service and to catch up.
I'd been to a wedding where the bride and groom had taken communion after the vows, but the whole congregation shared in the eucharist yesterday afternoon. It seems such an obvious and simple thing to do, but it put the focus for me back on the most outstanding act of love and sacrifice in history. Joe and Jessica have it sussed that their love is possible because of a bigger act of love on Jesus's behalf.
One of the stained glass windows of the church contained a picture of a shield with a number of symbols on it. I couldn't make them all out, so the full significance was probably lost on me. But I was struck by the sentence underneath it.
It read: The weapon of our warfare.
My first glance was to see it negatively, but as I watched and listened to Joe and Jessica make their commitment to each under under that slogan, I came to a renewed realisation.
The weapon we have is love.
And I wondered if I was more effective at loving people, what difference would that make to the battles and warfare I encounter on a daily basis. The answer that resounded in my head was a simple and obvious one. A lot.
And if all of us committed to wield love and grace rather than weapons of hate, it could change the world.
I had the privilege of being able to attend, it was a beautiful service. Having been to quite a few weddings in the previous twelve months, Joe and Jessica had organised a wedding service that would have managed to surprise even the most experienced wedding crasher.
The service took place in a church in central London that had been standing for over 300 years. Sure, things had been amended inside due to repairs required over the years, but there was a sense of history that hit you as you walked through the doors.
The music and singing was great, and there was something absolutely revolutionary that in central London on a Saturday afternoon, where most other people are out worshipping at the altars of high street shops, football grounds or entertainment, a bunch of people were chosing to focus on someone bigger than themselves.
It was also great to see some old friends at the service and to catch up.
I'd been to a wedding where the bride and groom had taken communion after the vows, but the whole congregation shared in the eucharist yesterday afternoon. It seems such an obvious and simple thing to do, but it put the focus for me back on the most outstanding act of love and sacrifice in history. Joe and Jessica have it sussed that their love is possible because of a bigger act of love on Jesus's behalf.
One of the stained glass windows of the church contained a picture of a shield with a number of symbols on it. I couldn't make them all out, so the full significance was probably lost on me. But I was struck by the sentence underneath it.
It read: The weapon of our warfare.
My first glance was to see it negatively, but as I watched and listened to Joe and Jessica make their commitment to each under under that slogan, I came to a renewed realisation.
The weapon we have is love.
And I wondered if I was more effective at loving people, what difference would that make to the battles and warfare I encounter on a daily basis. The answer that resounded in my head was a simple and obvious one. A lot.
And if all of us committed to wield love and grace rather than weapons of hate, it could change the world.
twentyeight
So, I've officially survived what the NME describe as 'the year of rock and roll death'. That is to say, such rock luminaries such as Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain all died aged 27.
Whereas I do have rock music preferences, I hardly epitomise the lifestyle of rock and roll excess, so perhaps it's not surprising that I'm still here as I embark on my 29th year.
The thing that bothers me about my birthday today is those named above had already established their legacy to music at the time of their death. However, I am not a rock icon but a mere mortal. I long to have some kind of lasting impact on the world with my life but quite a lot of the time am not even sure what direction I am headed in, let alone what my legacy to this world will be.
Have I become the kind of person I didn't want to become ten years ago? I worry that I've morphed into a man who is a slave to work and less and less capable of creating a lasting and beneficial effect on the lives of those around him.
Maybe I'm just in a melancholy mood because I'm getting older.
But maybe I'm onto something and need to take the chance to make a change before I get to a point where the opening for that change has long gone.
Whereas I do have rock music preferences, I hardly epitomise the lifestyle of rock and roll excess, so perhaps it's not surprising that I'm still here as I embark on my 29th year.
The thing that bothers me about my birthday today is those named above had already established their legacy to music at the time of their death. However, I am not a rock icon but a mere mortal. I long to have some kind of lasting impact on the world with my life but quite a lot of the time am not even sure what direction I am headed in, let alone what my legacy to this world will be.
Have I become the kind of person I didn't want to become ten years ago? I worry that I've morphed into a man who is a slave to work and less and less capable of creating a lasting and beneficial effect on the lives of those around him.
Maybe I'm just in a melancholy mood because I'm getting older.
But maybe I'm onto something and need to take the chance to make a change before I get to a point where the opening for that change has long gone.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Court
I had to go to court this week.
Naturally, I didn't do my preparation beforehand and ended up getting hopelesly lost and muddled up on the streets of Salisbury. Not being used to going to court, I had made sure that I was relatively smartly dressed so that when I went into the court they didn't throw me out of the building. So I found myself a long way from where I should have been, rain driving into my eyes and wind threatening to blow me into the path of oncoming traffic, suited and booted and trying to stop total strangers to ask for directions.
I noticed than when you stop people in the street to ask for directions to the court, there is an immediate change in their body language. There is a flash of panic across their eyes and you can practically see the speech bubble above their head form and the following thoughts take shape.
'Why does he need to go to court? Is he a criminal? Why else would he be smartly dressed unless he was trying to avoid the consequences of some heinous crime?!'
Without wishing to encourage accusations of paranoia, it did appear that the handful of people I made contact with whilst on my adventure to find the court all reacted negatively towards me. If they had known the full story, that I was headed to court to make final arrangements for a divorce and not to be sentenced for a criminal act, would they have reacted differently? Maybe. But their reactions made me feel like a criminal and I didn't enjoy feeling like an outcast as I finally began to trudge in the right direction towards the court.
The experience has made me acutely aware of the judgements that I make of people based on snippets of information and not the full story. And even then, it's not my job to judge people.
Thinking of this on the train home, I found myself once again astounded at the concept that Jesus encountered some of the most undesirable people in the eyes of the society he was born into. He knew all about their stories, and yet looked beyond all those circumstances and refused to judge them. He didn't treat them like criminals, but as friends. And rather than offering them a short shrift to keep them away, he extended an offer of life.
Not a life defined by how badly you had done or what mistakes you had made up to that point.
But new life.
A new life with him.
Naturally, I didn't do my preparation beforehand and ended up getting hopelesly lost and muddled up on the streets of Salisbury. Not being used to going to court, I had made sure that I was relatively smartly dressed so that when I went into the court they didn't throw me out of the building. So I found myself a long way from where I should have been, rain driving into my eyes and wind threatening to blow me into the path of oncoming traffic, suited and booted and trying to stop total strangers to ask for directions.
I noticed than when you stop people in the street to ask for directions to the court, there is an immediate change in their body language. There is a flash of panic across their eyes and you can practically see the speech bubble above their head form and the following thoughts take shape.
'Why does he need to go to court? Is he a criminal? Why else would he be smartly dressed unless he was trying to avoid the consequences of some heinous crime?!'
Without wishing to encourage accusations of paranoia, it did appear that the handful of people I made contact with whilst on my adventure to find the court all reacted negatively towards me. If they had known the full story, that I was headed to court to make final arrangements for a divorce and not to be sentenced for a criminal act, would they have reacted differently? Maybe. But their reactions made me feel like a criminal and I didn't enjoy feeling like an outcast as I finally began to trudge in the right direction towards the court.
The experience has made me acutely aware of the judgements that I make of people based on snippets of information and not the full story. And even then, it's not my job to judge people.
Thinking of this on the train home, I found myself once again astounded at the concept that Jesus encountered some of the most undesirable people in the eyes of the society he was born into. He knew all about their stories, and yet looked beyond all those circumstances and refused to judge them. He didn't treat them like criminals, but as friends. And rather than offering them a short shrift to keep them away, he extended an offer of life.
Not a life defined by how badly you had done or what mistakes you had made up to that point.
But new life.
A new life with him.
Friday, December 15, 2006
He's Always Around
OK, you have to give me credit for going a few posts without mentioning some kind of superhero? Maybe you won't, but I accept that I'm a geek and a nerd and still make a beeline for films based on comics I used to read when I was younger. Note, used to read!
Anyway, I didn't get to see Bryan Singer's Superman Returns at the cinema, and watched it this week after succumbing to the low price strategies currently being employed with great success by some high street shops to drag mugs like me inside their doors and convince them to part with their cash in exchange for DVDs.
It's a great film.
In terms of reflecting on the film though, I became aware of how few people actually seek out relationship with Superman. Sure, there's Lois Lane, but there are segments of the film showing Superman rescuing people all across the world. Yet they are only interested in him when he is saving them. Not before, not after. They want to know Superman is around for peace of mind in difficult times, but that's as far as it goes.
Now, this is reflection was influenced in light of the work I'd done on the magi post I wrote earlier in the week. I'm still amazed at how close Bethlehem and Jerusalem are, and I'd never noticed that before. I puzzled as to why the religious leaders didn't bother to go with the magi to find the baby. I figured it was because they were looking for a messiah to deliver them and a baby didn't fit that bill. Maybe they'd wait until he was a bit older and posed a real threat to the political status quo, but thought there was no point taking an interest in him until he actually proved his worth. And so they stayed at Herod's court. Maybe they liked they were inwardly thrilled at the idea that their hoped for messiah had arrived. But they would wait until he did something first.
Just to clear things up, I'm convinced Jesus is real and also healthily convinced that Superman is a fictional comic book character. But I'm convinced that this behaviour of only wanting a saviour in times of need is one that does pervade our culture. I know people who accept that Jesus existed, but want to treat him as some kind of divine rubber ring, stationed in an easy to reach place on the edge of the waters of their life, ready to come to their aid if they should get into difficulty.
But there is so much more to him than that.
Just imagine. If the citizens of Metropolis wanted to get to know Superman, outside of him saving their necks, they could find out all about where he came from, why and see their lives differently.
Just imagine if we took the same approach with Jesus. Not just at Christmas, but all the time-wanting to get to know him and not just to call out to him in times of difficulty. In seeking a relationship with him, everything changes. As Philip Yancey writes, no one who meets him ever stays the same.
Anyway, I didn't get to see Bryan Singer's Superman Returns at the cinema, and watched it this week after succumbing to the low price strategies currently being employed with great success by some high street shops to drag mugs like me inside their doors and convince them to part with their cash in exchange for DVDs.
It's a great film.
In terms of reflecting on the film though, I became aware of how few people actually seek out relationship with Superman. Sure, there's Lois Lane, but there are segments of the film showing Superman rescuing people all across the world. Yet they are only interested in him when he is saving them. Not before, not after. They want to know Superman is around for peace of mind in difficult times, but that's as far as it goes.
Now, this is reflection was influenced in light of the work I'd done on the magi post I wrote earlier in the week. I'm still amazed at how close Bethlehem and Jerusalem are, and I'd never noticed that before. I puzzled as to why the religious leaders didn't bother to go with the magi to find the baby. I figured it was because they were looking for a messiah to deliver them and a baby didn't fit that bill. Maybe they'd wait until he was a bit older and posed a real threat to the political status quo, but thought there was no point taking an interest in him until he actually proved his worth. And so they stayed at Herod's court. Maybe they liked they were inwardly thrilled at the idea that their hoped for messiah had arrived. But they would wait until he did something first.
Just to clear things up, I'm convinced Jesus is real and also healthily convinced that Superman is a fictional comic book character. But I'm convinced that this behaviour of only wanting a saviour in times of need is one that does pervade our culture. I know people who accept that Jesus existed, but want to treat him as some kind of divine rubber ring, stationed in an easy to reach place on the edge of the waters of their life, ready to come to their aid if they should get into difficulty.
But there is so much more to him than that.
Just imagine. If the citizens of Metropolis wanted to get to know Superman, outside of him saving their necks, they could find out all about where he came from, why and see their lives differently.
Just imagine if we took the same approach with Jesus. Not just at Christmas, but all the time-wanting to get to know him and not just to call out to him in times of difficulty. In seeking a relationship with him, everything changes. As Philip Yancey writes, no one who meets him ever stays the same.
Trying To Solve Algebra Equations By Chewing Bubblegum
I successfully managed to avoid sleeping properly last night. This was not a deliberate endurance challenge or some kind of well paid medical experiment. More of a consequence of allowing myself to get on the treadmill of worrying about things. Things which I knew I could do nothing about in the early hours of the morning, but somehow decided were still worth ruminating on for prolonged periods.
Jesus famously taught us not to worry about tomorrow. In fact, he followed up this statement by pointing out the reason for not worrying-that tomorrow has enough trouble of its own and there is therefore no need to add to the troubles each day brings.
After reading such statements, I wonder how it is that some sections of Christianity focus on the concept that following Jesus is some guarantee of an easy ride. He certainly never taught that, and that is not the road that was before him during his earthly ministry.
But I find it encouraging knowing that my Saviour understands the world in which I live. And whereas my worries may not dissolve overnight, I can take solace in the fact that one day, all will be restored with no more tears and no things to fret over.
In the meantime, I understand today why it's important not to worry. Because my lack of sleep yesterday due to worries can have a ruinous impact on my day today. And that could mean mistakes made, words misspoken and generally cause more things to worry about.
If only I'd reread that passage in Matthew 6:24-34 last night. Maybe I would have slept better.
Jesus famously taught us not to worry about tomorrow. In fact, he followed up this statement by pointing out the reason for not worrying-that tomorrow has enough trouble of its own and there is therefore no need to add to the troubles each day brings.
After reading such statements, I wonder how it is that some sections of Christianity focus on the concept that following Jesus is some guarantee of an easy ride. He certainly never taught that, and that is not the road that was before him during his earthly ministry.
But I find it encouraging knowing that my Saviour understands the world in which I live. And whereas my worries may not dissolve overnight, I can take solace in the fact that one day, all will be restored with no more tears and no things to fret over.
In the meantime, I understand today why it's important not to worry. Because my lack of sleep yesterday due to worries can have a ruinous impact on my day today. And that could mean mistakes made, words misspoken and generally cause more things to worry about.
If only I'd reread that passage in Matthew 6:24-34 last night. Maybe I would have slept better.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
The Generation Game
Recently at our church we had a generation sharing moment, and split the congregation into the traditional market research categories, you know, the ones that rudely awaken most people into realising that they aren't as young as they thought.
On this occasion, I got a shock in addition to the now obligatory reminder that I'm nearly 30.
I was the only member of the congregation to fit in the 21-30 category.
I cast my mind onto those not in attendance and worked out that even with the absent folk, literally only a handful of people in our church fit into this age category.
I don't really know the breakdown of the ages for others churches in Andover, but don't feel optimistic that any of them are hiding away hordes of people in their twenties.
Maybe it's just an Andover phenomenon. Perhaps bigger towns and cities find it easier to attract twentysomethings and keep them part of the church family.
But I've been alone with this thought for a couple of weeks, so thought I'd blog it in the hope that it stops bothering me.
In a way, I hope it doesn't though.
It reminds me that for all my concentration on working with young people and getting the message out to them, there's an even greater need to get the message out to my peers. It may be more difficult to appeal to them, as the lure of careers, mortgages, socialising, relationships and so on gradually impeaches on their time.
But it's necessary to take on the challenge of doing what is difficult.
Without that, there will be a missing generation in our church.
On this occasion, I got a shock in addition to the now obligatory reminder that I'm nearly 30.
I was the only member of the congregation to fit in the 21-30 category.
I cast my mind onto those not in attendance and worked out that even with the absent folk, literally only a handful of people in our church fit into this age category.
I don't really know the breakdown of the ages for others churches in Andover, but don't feel optimistic that any of them are hiding away hordes of people in their twenties.
Maybe it's just an Andover phenomenon. Perhaps bigger towns and cities find it easier to attract twentysomethings and keep them part of the church family.
But I've been alone with this thought for a couple of weeks, so thought I'd blog it in the hope that it stops bothering me.
In a way, I hope it doesn't though.
It reminds me that for all my concentration on working with young people and getting the message out to them, there's an even greater need to get the message out to my peers. It may be more difficult to appeal to them, as the lure of careers, mortgages, socialising, relationships and so on gradually impeaches on their time.
But it's necessary to take on the challenge of doing what is difficult.
Without that, there will be a missing generation in our church.
Why Heaven Isn't A Half Pipe
I've had the day off work today and have spent around three hours wondering around carrying out various tasks. And now my knee hurts.
Now, I'm not going to waste blog space by bemoaning the state of pavements or the potentially leg breaking movements required to avoid the marauding terror represented by twin pushchairs, overloaded with children and massive bags of Christmas shopping.
Instead, in a cheap attempt to provide my readership with a few laughs, I will explain how it came to be that I'm now wincing in pain after some relatively straightforward exercise.
In June 2005 I made my first venture into a skate park. Thankfully, this was not some kind of mid-twenties crisis-I was one of the adults accompanying some of the young people from my church and some of those who attend Fusion.
Looking back now, I realise that had I kept this clear divide, reminding myself that I was an adult with a job to go to and many bills to pay and that these were young people I served and who would heal a lot faster than me, things would probably be different today.
Throughout the course of the evening, I began to develop the foolish notion that this skateboarding lark couldn't be that difficult. After all, I go surfing and I'm not a great swimmer, so if I could conquer those issues and develop the necessary skills to surf, surely skatebaording and blading would be no different?
I managed to keep such ideas to myself for the majority of the evening, until the point in the evening was reached where the young people began to dare the leaders to tackle a variety of hazardous challenges.
Hannah was dared first, to go down the half pipe on her blades. To set this in context, the half pipe is about seven feet high of curved wood with a mattress of concrete at the bottom.
Hannah understandably had a variety of reservations about completing this challenge but the young people had already decided that they weren't going home without seeing one of their youth leaders make a public fool of themselves. Seeing as that comes particularly easily to me, and in light of self talk earlier declaring that "It can't be that hard", I stepped up.
Squeezing into a borrowed pair of blades that were two sizes too small for me, I approached the edge of the half pipe. Little did I know, doubts over my ability to do this were also at the edge of the half pipe. But I couldn't possibly back down now. That would make me look stupid.
Although, not as stupid as I would look a few seconds later.
With a deep breath, I stepped forward and began to roll down the half pipe.
And I fell.
To describe me as falling with style would have been a generous overstatement. An ungainly mess of wheels, flailing limbs and panic stricken expressions would be more accurate.
And now I was in the really dangerous place. It surely could not be that difficult to do. So, I hauled myself up back to the top of the half pipe for my second attempt.
Second attempt, same result.
The second attempt was when I began to feel the pain in my right knee and lower back, but the laughter had somehow knocked into my pride during the second fall.
So I tried a third time.
Dragging myself up the slope again, resembling the moment in Revenge of The Sith when Anakin Skywalker, minus arms and legs tries, to pull himself up a hill, I was certain I could complete the challenge this time.
No chance. As I crashed down this time, the laughter was tempered with a few sympathetic murmurs as the pathetic spectacle clattered into the ground again.
The protest from inside me meant that this was definitely my last attempt. As I got back to the top of the ramp and took the blades off, Hannah completed her descent of the half pipe on the first attempt.
In time, people who were there began to say encouraging things, like I had deliberately put myself in that position to relate to our young people. Maybe. But realistically, as soon as that first attempt had failed, it was stupid male pride that had driven me to throw myself down the ramp on two further occasions.
Stupid male pride that probably explains why my knee hurts today.
Now, I'm not going to waste blog space by bemoaning the state of pavements or the potentially leg breaking movements required to avoid the marauding terror represented by twin pushchairs, overloaded with children and massive bags of Christmas shopping.
Instead, in a cheap attempt to provide my readership with a few laughs, I will explain how it came to be that I'm now wincing in pain after some relatively straightforward exercise.
In June 2005 I made my first venture into a skate park. Thankfully, this was not some kind of mid-twenties crisis-I was one of the adults accompanying some of the young people from my church and some of those who attend Fusion.
Looking back now, I realise that had I kept this clear divide, reminding myself that I was an adult with a job to go to and many bills to pay and that these were young people I served and who would heal a lot faster than me, things would probably be different today.
Throughout the course of the evening, I began to develop the foolish notion that this skateboarding lark couldn't be that difficult. After all, I go surfing and I'm not a great swimmer, so if I could conquer those issues and develop the necessary skills to surf, surely skatebaording and blading would be no different?
I managed to keep such ideas to myself for the majority of the evening, until the point in the evening was reached where the young people began to dare the leaders to tackle a variety of hazardous challenges.
Hannah was dared first, to go down the half pipe on her blades. To set this in context, the half pipe is about seven feet high of curved wood with a mattress of concrete at the bottom.
Hannah understandably had a variety of reservations about completing this challenge but the young people had already decided that they weren't going home without seeing one of their youth leaders make a public fool of themselves. Seeing as that comes particularly easily to me, and in light of self talk earlier declaring that "It can't be that hard", I stepped up.
Squeezing into a borrowed pair of blades that were two sizes too small for me, I approached the edge of the half pipe. Little did I know, doubts over my ability to do this were also at the edge of the half pipe. But I couldn't possibly back down now. That would make me look stupid.
Although, not as stupid as I would look a few seconds later.
With a deep breath, I stepped forward and began to roll down the half pipe.
And I fell.
To describe me as falling with style would have been a generous overstatement. An ungainly mess of wheels, flailing limbs and panic stricken expressions would be more accurate.
And now I was in the really dangerous place. It surely could not be that difficult to do. So, I hauled myself up back to the top of the half pipe for my second attempt.
Second attempt, same result.
The second attempt was when I began to feel the pain in my right knee and lower back, but the laughter had somehow knocked into my pride during the second fall.
So I tried a third time.
Dragging myself up the slope again, resembling the moment in Revenge of The Sith when Anakin Skywalker, minus arms and legs tries, to pull himself up a hill, I was certain I could complete the challenge this time.
No chance. As I crashed down this time, the laughter was tempered with a few sympathetic murmurs as the pathetic spectacle clattered into the ground again.
The protest from inside me meant that this was definitely my last attempt. As I got back to the top of the ramp and took the blades off, Hannah completed her descent of the half pipe on the first attempt.
In time, people who were there began to say encouraging things, like I had deliberately put myself in that position to relate to our young people. Maybe. But realistically, as soon as that first attempt had failed, it was stupid male pride that had driven me to throw myself down the ramp on two further occasions.
Stupid male pride that probably explains why my knee hurts today.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Magi
I didn't expect our arrival in Jerusalem to cause as much upheaval as it did. After all, we had journeyed with the expectation of finding the baby who was born to be king of the Jews. Herod and his people developed faces filled with anguish and panic.
Not that we hadn't suddenly become worried either. Thoughts flashed across my mind. Had the long journey all been in vain? Is it possible that we could have misread the stars?
We didn't get any answers to where the King had been born during that first audience with Herod. As we were ushered out of the throne room, we overheard instructions being made to assemble the chief priests and teachers of the law. I began to feel optimistic again. If we had made mistakes on the way, surely the religious leaders would have ideas as to where their promised king had been born. Maybe they could even guide us as to where he would be.
I can't explain how uneasy I felt on hearing that we had been summoned to a private meeting with Herod. It didn't take long to have heard rumours of Herod's cruelty around the court. I didn't particularly relish the prospect of being isolated in the presence of a man who had shown no qualms about ordering the execution of his wife, mother-in-law and his own eldest son. Although we were respectable people, I had no doubt that if he could murder members of his own family, he'd have no problem permanently removing us foreigners from his court and life itself.
However, it was Herod the politician we encountered behind closed doors. After asking for more explanation of how we had followed the star, he explained that the chief priests had outlined to him that Bethlehem was the place where the king would have been born. In the course of this discussion, we were involuntarily recruited by Herod to go to Bethlehem to confirm the birth of the king and report back to him. So he could come and worship him, he said. I felt uneasy.
Preparing to head for Bethlehem, you can't imagine how relieved and excited we were when the star that had set us off on this long journey in the first place appeared to be going ahead of us. We weren't just doing an errand for Herod, there was a sense that something altogether more important would be there at our journey's end.
Soon we arrived in Bethlehem. The star stopped over a house. Inside we found a couple and a child.
In hindsight, there should be something embarrassing about a group of grown men not just giving gifts, but falling to their knees and worshipping a child. But when we saw him, it didn't feel like there was an option not to fall down before the infant. Shame was chased away and our hitherto expensive gifts seemed insignificant.
He was just worthy of being worshipped.
That night, the peaceful sleep you would assume would follow after a long journey is completed failed to materialise. The most vivid dreams about the hideous consequences of letting Herod know where to find the king. One of us having this dream would be enough to put down to chance. But the morning brought the revelation that we had all had been shaken by the same vivid dream.
I looked over my shoulder a number of times as we started off on our alternative route home. Herod would no doubt find our decision not to return to his court with information tantamount to treason and would surely show us no mercy. More importantly, I didn't want our presence in the area to give away the location of the baby king, as the dream had convinced me that Herod had nothing but elimination planned for the child. The six miles between Bethlehem and Jerusalem was not nearly enough distance to be considered safe as far as I was concerned.
As soon as we had reached a safe distance away, thoughts turned from the threat posed by Herod to contemplation on the wondrous sight that we had found in Bethlehem.
How would his kingdom be brought about? Would he remember us?
Despite the great distance that lay between our location and home, and the distance in years that would have to go by before the baby king had grown up and could establish his kingdom, I had an unshakable feeling in my heart.
My eyes had seen the king.
Not that we hadn't suddenly become worried either. Thoughts flashed across my mind. Had the long journey all been in vain? Is it possible that we could have misread the stars?
We didn't get any answers to where the King had been born during that first audience with Herod. As we were ushered out of the throne room, we overheard instructions being made to assemble the chief priests and teachers of the law. I began to feel optimistic again. If we had made mistakes on the way, surely the religious leaders would have ideas as to where their promised king had been born. Maybe they could even guide us as to where he would be.
I can't explain how uneasy I felt on hearing that we had been summoned to a private meeting with Herod. It didn't take long to have heard rumours of Herod's cruelty around the court. I didn't particularly relish the prospect of being isolated in the presence of a man who had shown no qualms about ordering the execution of his wife, mother-in-law and his own eldest son. Although we were respectable people, I had no doubt that if he could murder members of his own family, he'd have no problem permanently removing us foreigners from his court and life itself.
However, it was Herod the politician we encountered behind closed doors. After asking for more explanation of how we had followed the star, he explained that the chief priests had outlined to him that Bethlehem was the place where the king would have been born. In the course of this discussion, we were involuntarily recruited by Herod to go to Bethlehem to confirm the birth of the king and report back to him. So he could come and worship him, he said. I felt uneasy.
Preparing to head for Bethlehem, you can't imagine how relieved and excited we were when the star that had set us off on this long journey in the first place appeared to be going ahead of us. We weren't just doing an errand for Herod, there was a sense that something altogether more important would be there at our journey's end.
Soon we arrived in Bethlehem. The star stopped over a house. Inside we found a couple and a child.
In hindsight, there should be something embarrassing about a group of grown men not just giving gifts, but falling to their knees and worshipping a child. But when we saw him, it didn't feel like there was an option not to fall down before the infant. Shame was chased away and our hitherto expensive gifts seemed insignificant.
He was just worthy of being worshipped.
That night, the peaceful sleep you would assume would follow after a long journey is completed failed to materialise. The most vivid dreams about the hideous consequences of letting Herod know where to find the king. One of us having this dream would be enough to put down to chance. But the morning brought the revelation that we had all had been shaken by the same vivid dream.
I looked over my shoulder a number of times as we started off on our alternative route home. Herod would no doubt find our decision not to return to his court with information tantamount to treason and would surely show us no mercy. More importantly, I didn't want our presence in the area to give away the location of the baby king, as the dream had convinced me that Herod had nothing but elimination planned for the child. The six miles between Bethlehem and Jerusalem was not nearly enough distance to be considered safe as far as I was concerned.
As soon as we had reached a safe distance away, thoughts turned from the threat posed by Herod to contemplation on the wondrous sight that we had found in Bethlehem.
How would his kingdom be brought about? Would he remember us?
Despite the great distance that lay between our location and home, and the distance in years that would have to go by before the baby king had grown up and could establish his kingdom, I had an unshakable feeling in my heart.
My eyes had seen the king.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Fusion 8/12/06
Sum total of last night at Fusion:
2 young people attacked outside the building.
2 emergency service phone calls.
1 bag of ice cubes.
1 confrontation with two incredibly abusive and extremely inebriated young men who did not take kindly to my observation that they were possibly over our 11-18 age limit.
4 drunken teenagers.
1 birthday card.
2 splintered bannister poles.
1 unhelpful taxi driver.
1 helpful taxi driver.
Instances of general rudeness and negative attitudes amongst those in attendance? Too numerous to recount.
1 27 year old youth leader who in the face of all the above, didn't look a thing like Jesus. Or act like him.
1 amazing team of young leaders who in spite of all the chaos unfolding around them, served diligently, carried out their roles with dedication and showed their devotion by making sure the evening closed with prayer and worship to the One who inspired us to do this event in the first place.
Jamie was right. The evening could have been worse.
2 young people attacked outside the building.
2 emergency service phone calls.
1 bag of ice cubes.
1 confrontation with two incredibly abusive and extremely inebriated young men who did not take kindly to my observation that they were possibly over our 11-18 age limit.
4 drunken teenagers.
1 birthday card.
2 splintered bannister poles.
1 unhelpful taxi driver.
1 helpful taxi driver.
Instances of general rudeness and negative attitudes amongst those in attendance? Too numerous to recount.
1 27 year old youth leader who in the face of all the above, didn't look a thing like Jesus. Or act like him.
1 amazing team of young leaders who in spite of all the chaos unfolding around them, served diligently, carried out their roles with dedication and showed their devotion by making sure the evening closed with prayer and worship to the One who inspired us to do this event in the first place.
Jamie was right. The evening could have been worse.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
On The 6:28
The turning back of the clocks has meant that the stern faced, silent crowd that board the 6.28 train from Andover to London are surrounded by darkness during the long minutes that tick by before the train arrives and many of the crowd can return to sleep when they commandeer a seat.
I've taken to grabbing the seat outside the main carriage, you know, the one that pulls down like a cinema chair but only gives you a view of the grey walls of the train, or even worse, is outside the toilet. As the train pulls away, I look out of the window and see the same darkness for the entire twenty minutes that I am on board before my stop arrives.
But there was something different about a recent journey.
The carriages were all changed around, causing chaos to the 6.29 faithful who have gotten used to knowing exactly which concrete slabs to stand on so that they can get through the doors first. When I managed to grab the cinema seat, I realised that something else was different. I was facing the other way, the direction that the train was headed for.
And rather than staring into the pitch darkness of a cold, miserable November morning, there was something else for my eyes to focus on; the splintering of the darkness and the emerging sun rapidly raising the curtain on a brand new day.
Sure, there was darkness behind me. But in front of me was something altogether more exciting.
I've taken to grabbing the seat outside the main carriage, you know, the one that pulls down like a cinema chair but only gives you a view of the grey walls of the train, or even worse, is outside the toilet. As the train pulls away, I look out of the window and see the same darkness for the entire twenty minutes that I am on board before my stop arrives.
But there was something different about a recent journey.
The carriages were all changed around, causing chaos to the 6.29 faithful who have gotten used to knowing exactly which concrete slabs to stand on so that they can get through the doors first. When I managed to grab the cinema seat, I realised that something else was different. I was facing the other way, the direction that the train was headed for.
And rather than staring into the pitch darkness of a cold, miserable November morning, there was something else for my eyes to focus on; the splintering of the darkness and the emerging sun rapidly raising the curtain on a brand new day.
Sure, there was darkness behind me. But in front of me was something altogether more exciting.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
The Whistler
I sat in a park eating my lunch this week.
There was a man in the middle of the field, whistling.
Fifteen minutes of whistling.
Just whistling.
Rooted to the same spot.
After fifteen minutes, by which time I had confirmed that I should classify this gentleman as absolutely loopy, a dog burst through from some nearby bushes and hurtled at great speed towards the whistling man.
Then the man and the dog walked on together.
I don't like drawing spiritual parallels with regards to dogs, but I wonder how often, like that dog, I am ignoring God's calls to me to go where He is.
I like to think that recently I've been on a burst of increased fervour with regards to my relationship with God.
But maybe He's been asking me to be there with Him for ages, and my recent progress is actually the equivilent of that dog suddenly realising that the whistle was aimed at him and that he needed to move fast. That what is progress for me is just getting to where I was supposed to be all along, if I had been listening to the call.
There was a man in the middle of the field, whistling.
Fifteen minutes of whistling.
Just whistling.
Rooted to the same spot.
After fifteen minutes, by which time I had confirmed that I should classify this gentleman as absolutely loopy, a dog burst through from some nearby bushes and hurtled at great speed towards the whistling man.
Then the man and the dog walked on together.
I don't like drawing spiritual parallels with regards to dogs, but I wonder how often, like that dog, I am ignoring God's calls to me to go where He is.
I like to think that recently I've been on a burst of increased fervour with regards to my relationship with God.
But maybe He's been asking me to be there with Him for ages, and my recent progress is actually the equivilent of that dog suddenly realising that the whistle was aimed at him and that he needed to move fast. That what is progress for me is just getting to where I was supposed to be all along, if I had been listening to the call.
The Mini Bus Of Despair
I tried to block out the noise, but without success.
They were all around me in the mini bus.
Teenagers.
They were being rude, deliberately offensive and consistently unresponsive to my requests for some more reasonable behaviour towards each other.
And we were still over half an hour away from home.
As I descended deeper in silent depths of discouragement and despair, I was reminded of a challenging mission I set myself recently. That whenever I have somebody before me in need, to ask myself who else is going to help this person, and who is else there praying for this person.
I realised that this Wednesday evening trip to Laserquest was the practical side of things, and that as we were now on the way home, the most significant and revolutionary thing I could do was pray quietly for everyone on the bus and the various situations they faced on a daily basis.
So I prayed.
Time passed.
No change to the noise level and crude conversation topics.
We arrived back into Andover.
I felt different.
The noise, bad language and bad behaviour hadn't changed as a result of my prayers. But I had changed.
My prayers actually had done me more good on this occasion, reminding me of the need to forget myself and why it is that I use hours of my free time on a weekly basis to work with young people.
I realised it's a privilege to work with the young people I see each week, no matter what bad press gets given to teenagers in the press.
I understood how prayer can actually tune me out of my selfish frequency, and get me onto God's wavelength, enabling me to see the issues before me from His perspective rather than my own.
And who knows what longer term impacts my prayers might have on the lives of those young people. Certainly not me.
But God does.
They were all around me in the mini bus.
Teenagers.
They were being rude, deliberately offensive and consistently unresponsive to my requests for some more reasonable behaviour towards each other.
And we were still over half an hour away from home.
As I descended deeper in silent depths of discouragement and despair, I was reminded of a challenging mission I set myself recently. That whenever I have somebody before me in need, to ask myself who else is going to help this person, and who is else there praying for this person.
I realised that this Wednesday evening trip to Laserquest was the practical side of things, and that as we were now on the way home, the most significant and revolutionary thing I could do was pray quietly for everyone on the bus and the various situations they faced on a daily basis.
So I prayed.
Time passed.
No change to the noise level and crude conversation topics.
We arrived back into Andover.
I felt different.
The noise, bad language and bad behaviour hadn't changed as a result of my prayers. But I had changed.
My prayers actually had done me more good on this occasion, reminding me of the need to forget myself and why it is that I use hours of my free time on a weekly basis to work with young people.
I realised it's a privilege to work with the young people I see each week, no matter what bad press gets given to teenagers in the press.
I understood how prayer can actually tune me out of my selfish frequency, and get me onto God's wavelength, enabling me to see the issues before me from His perspective rather than my own.
And who knows what longer term impacts my prayers might have on the lives of those young people. Certainly not me.
But God does.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Click
My first trip to the cinema in absolutely ages took me to see Click, the new Adam Sandler film.
Having got over the excitement of seeing the trailer for Spiderman 3, the film proved quite enjoyable. It tells the tale of hard working Michael Newman who comes into possession of a remote control that controls...his life. Without spoiling the ending, what starts out as a gadget that makes Michael's day to day living easier, eventually begins to overrule his choices automatically and take him away from what is most important to him.
Apart from opting to go for a safe, Hollywood pleasing ending rather than one which would have been thought provoking, the film hit home a couple of points.
Firstly, our modern obsession with control. We want things to be easy, and to have everything on our terms. We are the most important people in the universe. Philip Yancey's new book 'Prayer' quotes theologian Daniel Hawk who states 'the basic human problem is that everyone believes that there is a God and I am it'. Incidentally, the theological geek in me remembered that Michael means 'he who is like God'. I wonder if the makers of Click realised this as they gave their central character this name as he acted out as someone who believed he was God of his own life.
Uncomfortable as it may be, I agree with Hawk. We all want to have life on our own terms, to be God, without any consequences. If anything, Click helped remind me that the easy way, chosing to live as though the only God is me and that I should insist on my right to do whatever is best for me has shallow and ultimately dire consequences.
Now we come to the part where I have to work hard to avoid spoiling the plot totally. The other hard hitting message of the film comes as Michael hauls himself from his hospital bed to stagger after his son to give him a message. (For those of you keeping score at home, yes, this bit did make me cry).
The message is this: 'Family comes first'.
Not a bad thing to go out for some entertainment and leave with a reminder to keep in mind when faced with Monday's work pressures.
Don't crumble to the demands of workaholism or be tempted by the easy way out.
Ignore what the world says is important. Don't listen to the tyranny of the urgent.
Family comes first.
Having got over the excitement of seeing the trailer for Spiderman 3, the film proved quite enjoyable. It tells the tale of hard working Michael Newman who comes into possession of a remote control that controls...his life. Without spoiling the ending, what starts out as a gadget that makes Michael's day to day living easier, eventually begins to overrule his choices automatically and take him away from what is most important to him.
Apart from opting to go for a safe, Hollywood pleasing ending rather than one which would have been thought provoking, the film hit home a couple of points.
Firstly, our modern obsession with control. We want things to be easy, and to have everything on our terms. We are the most important people in the universe. Philip Yancey's new book 'Prayer' quotes theologian Daniel Hawk who states 'the basic human problem is that everyone believes that there is a God and I am it'. Incidentally, the theological geek in me remembered that Michael means 'he who is like God'. I wonder if the makers of Click realised this as they gave their central character this name as he acted out as someone who believed he was God of his own life.
Uncomfortable as it may be, I agree with Hawk. We all want to have life on our own terms, to be God, without any consequences. If anything, Click helped remind me that the easy way, chosing to live as though the only God is me and that I should insist on my right to do whatever is best for me has shallow and ultimately dire consequences.
Now we come to the part where I have to work hard to avoid spoiling the plot totally. The other hard hitting message of the film comes as Michael hauls himself from his hospital bed to stagger after his son to give him a message. (For those of you keeping score at home, yes, this bit did make me cry).
The message is this: 'Family comes first'.
Not a bad thing to go out for some entertainment and leave with a reminder to keep in mind when faced with Monday's work pressures.
Don't crumble to the demands of workaholism or be tempted by the easy way out.
Ignore what the world says is important. Don't listen to the tyranny of the urgent.
Family comes first.
14 Years
Spent some time with old friends on Saturday.
The first one of our clique hits 28 years of age next weekend.
As the increasingly regular cloud of nostalgia descended on the balcony where we were chatting, it dawned on us that we were all 14 years old when we meet.
Those of you with mathematical tendencies will see where I am going with this.
We've been friends for half our lives.
A friendship group that has enjoyed and endured school exams, different colleges, different universities, two weeks in Greece, religious and political differences, a wild Millennium eve party, round the world trips, Man Utd winning, relationship break ups, Man Utd losing, Oasis at Knebworth, poker, a weekend in Madrid and much more that I cannot list here without incriminating the innocent.
I've blogged on how great my friends are before, and hope that they are aware of it in the way I am when I'm with them, not just when they see these messages.
In a life full of uncertainty, it's good to have moments like this.
If I know anything, I know I am blessed.
The first one of our clique hits 28 years of age next weekend.
As the increasingly regular cloud of nostalgia descended on the balcony where we were chatting, it dawned on us that we were all 14 years old when we meet.
Those of you with mathematical tendencies will see where I am going with this.
We've been friends for half our lives.
A friendship group that has enjoyed and endured school exams, different colleges, different universities, two weeks in Greece, religious and political differences, a wild Millennium eve party, round the world trips, Man Utd winning, relationship break ups, Man Utd losing, Oasis at Knebworth, poker, a weekend in Madrid and much more that I cannot list here without incriminating the innocent.
I've blogged on how great my friends are before, and hope that they are aware of it in the way I am when I'm with them, not just when they see these messages.
In a life full of uncertainty, it's good to have moments like this.
If I know anything, I know I am blessed.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Things I Discovered During A Weekend In Dublin
It is possible to mix Paul Simon's 'You Can Call Me Al', 'Sweet Child O' Mine' by Guns 'n 'Roses and 'Jump Around' by House of Pain together in the same DJ set.
Eating a whole tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream is the equivilent in fat content to consuming a carton of Flora margarine. (But nowhere near as tasty I would presume)
Being face to face with a tiger isn't scary when there is an inch of glass between you. However, seeing a sleeping boa constrictor and witnessing a mole snake eat a mouse whilst separated between the same quantity of glass makes me disappear rapidly into my jumper.
Guinness tastes better in Dublin.
I can't convert prices from Sterling to Euros in my head nearly as fast as I would like.
A bowlful of Irish stew is very filling.
If a U2 song is played in a pub, everyone sings along.
The builders of a church opposite the apartment we stayed in dedicated their work by inscribing 'Deo.Optimo.Maximo' across the front of the building. I remembered I don't know any Latin, so had to look the meaning up. It means 'To God, most good, most great'. I thought how great it would be if everything I did was worthy of dedication to a most great, most good God.
Eating a whole tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream is the equivilent in fat content to consuming a carton of Flora margarine. (But nowhere near as tasty I would presume)
Being face to face with a tiger isn't scary when there is an inch of glass between you. However, seeing a sleeping boa constrictor and witnessing a mole snake eat a mouse whilst separated between the same quantity of glass makes me disappear rapidly into my jumper.
Guinness tastes better in Dublin.
I can't convert prices from Sterling to Euros in my head nearly as fast as I would like.
A bowlful of Irish stew is very filling.
If a U2 song is played in a pub, everyone sings along.
The builders of a church opposite the apartment we stayed in dedicated their work by inscribing 'Deo.Optimo.Maximo' across the front of the building. I remembered I don't know any Latin, so had to look the meaning up. It means 'To God, most good, most great'. I thought how great it would be if everything I did was worthy of dedication to a most great, most good God.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
A Night In The Life Of Loser Church Boy
7pm arrive at event.
7-7.05pm-begin to set up event. Try to remind self to chat to team members arriving, not just focus on task.
7.06pm-Remind self again that people are more important than any one thing that needs to be done, stop charging around so much.
7.30pm-team time. Bring random thought, encourage prayer for each other and event.
8pm-start event, greet young people arriving at event, sign them in on list. Frustrate said young people by having to ask them more than once to spell names and repeat telephone numbers. Feel old and deaf. Sign young people in and out of building for next hour. Realise one of my old youth leader's children is now old enough to attend this event. Sign them in, feel old. Intersperse time on door with some meaningful conversation with young people. And some downright surreal chats as well.
9pm-change over roles, roam building. Banter with some young people. Try not to take the insults personally. Quell minor uprisings. Drink Coke. More bizarre conversations about nothing in particular. One further meaningful conversation. Wonder why the balance is that way and people feel more comfortable spouting nonsense around me than something profound. Walk On...
10pm-event finishes, tidy up. See 7.06pm.
10.30pm-worship. Remember how much more God cares for every single young person in attendance this evening. And also those who were not there. Overwhelmed with sense of humility at being part of such an event.
11pm-building locked up. View text messages unanswered from throughout the evening. 2. Surely there should be more? Review challenging text sent by friend earlier that day.
Be Like Jesus.
I wonder if I was?
7-7.05pm-begin to set up event. Try to remind self to chat to team members arriving, not just focus on task.
7.06pm-Remind self again that people are more important than any one thing that needs to be done, stop charging around so much.
7.30pm-team time. Bring random thought, encourage prayer for each other and event.
8pm-start event, greet young people arriving at event, sign them in on list. Frustrate said young people by having to ask them more than once to spell names and repeat telephone numbers. Feel old and deaf. Sign young people in and out of building for next hour. Realise one of my old youth leader's children is now old enough to attend this event. Sign them in, feel old. Intersperse time on door with some meaningful conversation with young people. And some downright surreal chats as well.
9pm-change over roles, roam building. Banter with some young people. Try not to take the insults personally. Quell minor uprisings. Drink Coke. More bizarre conversations about nothing in particular. One further meaningful conversation. Wonder why the balance is that way and people feel more comfortable spouting nonsense around me than something profound. Walk On...
10pm-event finishes, tidy up. See 7.06pm.
10.30pm-worship. Remember how much more God cares for every single young person in attendance this evening. And also those who were not there. Overwhelmed with sense of humility at being part of such an event.
11pm-building locked up. View text messages unanswered from throughout the evening. 2. Surely there should be more? Review challenging text sent by friend earlier that day.
Be Like Jesus.
I wonder if I was?
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Missed Opportunities
I've got all Philip Yancey's books.
As far as I'm aware there's not a prize for that.
However, I'm trying to communicate that his writing has had a profound impact on my spiritual journey. His books introduced me to the wonders of God's grace and also encourage me to hold strong to my faith in the face of some difficult days.
On Sunday, I became the holder of a signed programme to go along with my book collection.
What does it say?
'To Paul, Missed you in Bristol! Philip Yancey'
I wasn't there. I had the chance to be there with him, but didn't take it.
Somehow, exciting as a signature is, it can't ever be a substitute for actually being in the company of the author.
I overslept this morning because I stayed up to watch the Lost Season 2 finale. As a result, I missed out on the usual time I set aside to talk to God. The brief prayers I shot out as I rushed around provided me with an idea, an autograph, a reminder that God is there, but nothing compared to actually making time to listen and converse.
I had the chance to be there with him, but didn't take it.
Missing out on the company of a favourite author is one thing.
But to miss being in the presence of the author of everything?
As far as I'm aware there's not a prize for that.
However, I'm trying to communicate that his writing has had a profound impact on my spiritual journey. His books introduced me to the wonders of God's grace and also encourage me to hold strong to my faith in the face of some difficult days.
On Sunday, I became the holder of a signed programme to go along with my book collection.
What does it say?
'To Paul, Missed you in Bristol! Philip Yancey'
I wasn't there. I had the chance to be there with him, but didn't take it.
Somehow, exciting as a signature is, it can't ever be a substitute for actually being in the company of the author.
I overslept this morning because I stayed up to watch the Lost Season 2 finale. As a result, I missed out on the usual time I set aside to talk to God. The brief prayers I shot out as I rushed around provided me with an idea, an autograph, a reminder that God is there, but nothing compared to actually making time to listen and converse.
I had the chance to be there with him, but didn't take it.
Missing out on the company of a favourite author is one thing.
But to miss being in the presence of the author of everything?
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