Everything Matters - My Dishwasher Calling

We all want our lives to matter.

If I had to state who my ‘god’ was before Christianity, I’d say it was the god of experience. All hail Experience: the god of the last century, the god of the western world. Without belief in a higher power, this life becomes all there is and we are answerable to no one. We’re all charged with the mission of wringing as much out of our limited time as we possibly can – the most success, the most travel, the most partying, relationships, fun and gratification – all documented on Facebook and published to our peers.

Making the most of the time we have is not a bad thing in itself – I still want to travel more, live abroad, write a children’s book and learn another language. But as Christians, one of the biggest allures is that suddenly we’re called to something more than just entertaining ourselves for the duration of our lifespan.

The phrase ‘God has a plan for your life’ is one that is bandied about frequently amongst the church, and is a hugely exciting concept. God has a plan for my life? God wants to use me? This idea of working for something greater than yourself and making a difference in the world is the perfect counterpoint to the self-fulfilment quest of modern, secular living.

I prayed often to God about what my purpose might be, and then one day I thought I’d heard suddenly that I should go to art college – so clearly, like the thought came from outside me and invaded my head. It felt wonderful – as someone who doesn’t get many ‘words from God’, it was the first time I felt personally that God actually cared enough to speak to me, and knew me better than I knew myself.

Not related to text - a cafetiere cosy I made!

I invested a lot of time, hard work and money into completing my Foundation in Fine Art (a prerequisite for an art degree) at Central Saint Martin’s. I was accepted onto my chosen degree course. So my disappointment was overwhelming when not only did all my applications for funding get turned down, but just as I decided I’d have to defer and earn my tuition fees, the government announced that they were tripling fees to £9,000 a year. Well, that was pretty definitive - there was no way I could ever save £27,000 even in ten years. Unless God pulled something amazing out of the bag, this career path was no longer an option for me.

I bought a lottery ticket just in case God was testing my faith. Thinking that only strippers could earn that kind of money, I vaguely considered whether I could give that a go, then realised that, moral issues aside, I’d have to lose 30lb, and master some dance moves a bit sexier than my standard Running Man and ‘Thunderbird Arms’. NOPE. The doors were firmly shut in my face just as I’d gathered some forward momentum.

I was furious and disappointed with God – I can feel the frustration anew just writing this! Moreover, the worst disappointment was realising that God had never spoken to me at all and had never answered my prayer for clarity. To be honest, I still don’t understand the whys or wherefores of that saga, or whether I was a total flippin' numpty to take such a leap of faith, just trusting that God would smooth out all the details.

After a week of lying in bed watching box sets and wondering what on earth I was going to do now, I found a temp job that turned permanent, which was lucky, because I was in no state to sell myself in job interviews and it at least allowed me to pay the bills. 

 Struggling not to be beaten, I tried really hard to find the good in the situation – maybe God was using this time to build my character. Maybe his plan was just delayed. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I decided to try and serve God however I could, wherever I found myself to be. Now, my office already has a lot of Christians competing to bring in baked goods for the team and share their ministry work stories. We even have a prayer group, for goodness sake! The only think I could think of was the smallest task imaginable – the dishwasher. I could load the dishwasher to serve the people in my workplace.

The idea exists within Christianity that if you serve faithfully in the small things, God will come to trust you with bigger things. Man, I loaded that dishwasher. I loaded the hell out of that dishwasher. I didn’t even tell people why I was doing it! (Erm, apart from on this blog right now, to lots of people).

But here’s the rub – it took too long. It felt like a pretty pointless task – it wasn’t like people were coming up to me going “Wow, you are SO willing to serve us, where does that desire come from and who is this person Jesus of whom you speak?” Half the time people weren’t even SEEING ME load the dishwasher, and of course, serving is pretty unrewarding if no one is there to tell you how amazing and good-hearted you are . . .

I think this might be one of the Christian’s worst fears: A really dull calling.

Most of us are willing to pack up and fly to Guatemala and live in a tent whilst we plant a church. We’re eager to jet off to Cambodia to combat human trafficking and fight injustice. But what if God’s plan for us is to serve the people around us by . . . . making them cups of tea? What if it’s a lifetime of boredom just for a few minutes of conversation that helps one person?

I really struggle with that. I want volcanoes and revivals and miracles, and the glory of God evident in my life.

To illustrate how I try and come to terms with this prospect, I shall turn to that classic of artistic film making, the rom-com-dance movie ‘Shall We Dance’ (Shut up. Meaning can be found in the weirdest of places). This is a quote from one of the main characters, played by Susan Sarandon, on why people want to get married:

"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet* ... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things ... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'."

This is exactly what God offers. That all the boring, unseen, seemingly meaningless stuff that you do every day WILL be noticed, and God will be your witness. That it matters. That EVERYTHING matters.

Who knew that a brew of Tetley’s could be an instrument of the divine?

So – for now at least – if you want a dishwasher loading, I am your girl. If you need a cup of tea, I will MAKE THE SHIZZ out of that cup of tea. Just don’t ask me for fruit tea. I don’t approve of fruity teas.

*When was this made? I think we’re at 6 billion, right?

Moderation - Bleurgh!

 "Oh Lord, make me good, but not yet”

That Saint Augustine knew what he was talking about when he uttered the immortal prayer above.

Coming to Christianity at twenty six, I had over a quarter of a century of bad habits to overthrow (specifically, for the purposes of this post, drinking too much) and I’m convinced (but biased) in thinking it’s harder to change yourself as an adult than to have avoided our culture’s norms for the young in the first place. And they are norms – for mainstream culture now celebrates excess and hedonism.

As a newbie Christian I was lucky enough to have sensible and compassionate people around me, who, when I first realised I believed and started freaking out about ‘having to give up my whole lifestyle now’, advised me to concentrate on getting to know Jesus, and in time the rest would fall into place.

Turns out I’m a bit of a slow learner.

Christians logically know that God does not want us to get drunk (not because he’s a party pooper and hates fun, but because it leads to debauched mistakes, wasted money and disco bruises). The problem is that those born and raised Christians who stuck to this rule always seemed, to me, to be a bit holier than thou, constantly wearing their Judgement Pants, which based on their facial expressions must be overly tight and give you wedgies.

As much as I think I’ve outgrown this habit, and wised up to its destructive consequences – harming my body, making me do stupid things and quenching the Holy Spirit – I still occasionally slip up.

And here’s the truth (in a whisper) . . . sometimes I still want to slip up.

My view pre-Christianity was that one of the great joys of life was getting together with a bunch of amiable people in a pub type environment, and getting merrily sloshed.

And it’s not so easy to override that, because the reality is that sometimes it IS fun. Nothing gets the conversation flowing and overcomes self consciousness in a group like getting a round in, then one more, then ‘just one more’. Having a sensible one or two really isn’t the same - the fun comes in pushing the boat out just that bit too far, commiserating over hangovers the next day and laughing over the stupid stuff you got up to the night before.

And I have done some pretty stupid stuff – fallen off tables I’ve been dancing on, gotten lost, cried in public, been in arguments with taxi drivers and policemen (and one police-woman), eaten more dodgy fried chicken than I’d care to remember, and embarked on some short term flings and longer unsuitable relationships that have no doubt left me emotionally damaged. 

I recently moved into a new flat, sharing with three lifelong Christian girls. I’d only ever lived with non-Christians before, and even though I’d tried to take my faith seriously and never planned on deliberately going coco-loco on the vino, I liked the freedom of knowing that, should that ever accidentally happen, my Christian cover wouldn’t be blown by my housemates.

I didn’t relish the idea of sinning against God but, in the grand scheme of things, drinking too much didn’t seem like such a biggie, and I knew God would forgive me. This grace thing is handy, huh?

By the time I chose to live with Christians I felt like I didn’t want this fractured lifestyle even occasionally – I wanted to be living the way God wanted each and every day. But I was still worried that I might find the atmosphere too suffocating, and one day I’d flip, go out on the lash and come home plastered, a mammoth bottle of vodka in one hand and a man called ‘Genghis’ in the other, and my Christian cover would be gone forever.

As it turns out, I’ve found the lovely Christian girls I live with to have more grace for people and more fun in their little fingers than most people I’ve ever lived with previously had combined. I love the regular cups of tea and settling down to watch ‘Gilmore Girls’ (a TV show so relentlessly girly that I’m convinced if a man watched it he’d start menstruating). I LOVE living with people that I can get together and pray with. And they mix a mean cocktail too.

Turns out that the person wearing big fat judgemental pants was me.

In such an atmosphere of freedom and grace, I find that, actually, I’m not such a drinker these days. And there you have God’s approach in a nutshell – change never comes from Him belittling you or making you feel like a failure, it comes from a place of complete love and acceptance.

Ironically, it’s not fear of condemnation, or the goal of living a sin free existence, that has caused this bad habit to tail off and die. It’s a desire to live in the best God has for me, and the knowledge that what God has for me is WAY better than anything I’d thought up for myself.

I want to get the most out of each day, serve God the best I can, and use my skills and passions to the best of my ability. I don’t want to waste the short time that I have, miss out on God’s promptings, poison the body I’ve been given, or quench the Holy Spirit that I’m assured lives in me. I want to be the person that God created me to be.

Let’s celebrate! Champagne anyone??

Look Up!

We’re busy people, right?

Whether you’re running your own business or running around after toddlers all day, life is hectic, so it can be easy to keep your head down and just try to speed through tasks as quickly and efficiently as possible . . . .

At times I’ve been so tuned out that when powering down Tottenham Court Road I’ve walked straight past my turning three times in a row, each time admonishing myself to ‘pay attention’, and each time motoring on by because I’m JUST SO FOCUSED ON GETTING THERE QUICKLY!

Lately I’ve started taking the bus . . .

It’s amazing what you notice from a bit higher up.

Streets that I’ve walked down a gazillion times suddenly seem beautiful and interesting when I’m able to see the architecture that starts above shop level. Bulky plinths that I’ve never paid any attention to before are suddenly revealed to bear statues to heroic figures.

These quirks were there the whole time, all I needed to do was take my focus off my own feet long enough to lift my gaze.

Now I’m not big on saying “I think God might be telling you this”, mostly because the radio frequency that connects me to The Man Upstairs must have an iffy receiver at the moment, so I’m just going to say this from me: maybe you should remember to lift your gaze too.

There are flat out amaze-balls blessings all around us when we just remember to take our focus off ourselves for a few seconds.

God wants more for you than just surviving and getting from A to B as quickly as possible. He has more for you beyond that horizon line you may have imposed on yourself. And He’s been there the whole time.

All you need to do is . . .  take a moment to Look Up!

Here’s some of the cool stuff I’ve been discovering on my bus route (well, cool to me, but I am a nerd):

Picture from LSE photo album on Flick

 Artillery Mansions:

I have never noticed this building before! According to the House of Fraser website (no I’m not sure why they have a webpage on this either) this was built in 1899 as a base in London for service personnel coming home on leave. It was bought by Army & Navy Stores Ltd in 1946, and is now largely empty, which it totally a trip to Crazytown when you think of how strapped for housing space we are in this city.

                                        

Picture from English Heritage

Statue of Edith Cavell:

This statue in Trafalgar Square (looking here a bit like Abraham Lincoln and I think with pigeon on head) depicts Edith Louisa Cavell who, according to my extensive and thorough research (Wikipedia) "was a British nurse who is celebrated for saving the lives of soldiers from all sides without distinction and helping some 200 Allied soldiers escape from German-occupied Belgium during World War I, for which she was arrested. She was subsequently court-marshaled, found guilty of treason and sentenced to death. Despite international pressure for mercy, she was shot by a German firing squad. Her execution received worldwide condemnation and extensive press coverage.

The night before her execution, she told the Reverend Stirling Gahan, the Anglican chaplain who had been allowed to see her and to give her Holy Communion, "Patriotism is not enough, I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone." These words are inscribed on her statue in St Martin's Place, near Trafalgar Square in London. Her final words to the German Lutheran prison chaplain, Paul Le Seur, were recorded as, "Ask Father Gahan to tell my loved ones later on that my soul, as I believe, is safe, and that I am glad to die for my country”.

She sounds totally Bad Ass.

History lesson for today over – have good weeks you lovely people!

Melancholia

I’ve accidentally fallen back into an old, toxic relationship. Same old story really – as much as I try to move on and become like one of those healthy people, it keeps sucking me back in until I can’t remember life without it.

I’m talking about depression – that strange, overused word that almost everyone has experienced these days. Depression is my abusive husband who I can seemingly never escape from.

Some people seem to be predisposed to certain conditions, and I suspect it is so with me and depression, as it’s been present in my existence, on and off, since late single digits of age. I’m under no false illusions, though, that what I experience is anything other than a mild manifestation of what, for some, can be the dominating, debilitating monster that consumes their lives.

I’ve never attempted to end my life. I’ve never even thought about ending my life (other than dramatic entries in my fourteen year old self’s diary: “I love _____ so MUCH and he doesn’t even know that I EXIST!!! There’s nothing else for it, I’m going to HAVE to kill myself!” I was over it and onto someone else within a week).

I’ve never been fired from a job, or sectioned. I’ve never been so blue that I can’t get showered and dressed . . . eventually.

Mostly it manifests itself in an exhausting inertia.

The alarm goes off, a good night’s sleep has been had, yet the thought of getting up seems so pointless that I can barely find the energy to raise my arms. All I can think is that all over the city people are going about their morning routines like hamsters in wheels, performing the same old choreography as every other day. If I get up, what will happen? I will sleepwalk through my day, but what then?

What has changed? What is all this for?

Why are people so interested in the trivial minutiae that make up their lives? I envy them, yet all I can feel is the absurdity of caring so much about work promotions, dinner parties, which shoes to buy – how little these things that make up our day to day lives actually matter in the grand scheme of things. I just want to sleep. To take a break from this troubling consciousness and stop fighting myself.

But I don’t have that option. I need to work to live. I get through this phase by ‘bribing’ myself to get up: ‘Just get up and read your book, you don’t have to get dressed’ . . .  ‘Just get showered and get dressed, you don’t have to leave the house’ . . . . ‘If you go to the train station, you can buy yourself a coffee and some chocolate, you don’t need to go into work’. . . . . ‘Just go into the office and get through the morning . . . . Just do one task then you can stop . . . . Just go straight home, you don’t need to socialise after work . . . . . Just make some dinner, then you can go to sleep’. Every day chopped up into tiny sections, the concept of getting through a whole twelve hours utterly incomprehensible.

Depression isolates you. Moreover, it makes isolation appealing. To be amongst people is to summon a monumental willpower in disguising your true state of mind. To arrange your face in the correct approximation of ‘happy’ or ‘excited’ and engage in conversation, when really you feel like an ice sculpture slowly melting away, your sharp features eroding into a pool of water on the floor.

Attempt to climb inside the home movie of friends gathered together that’s playing before you, but instead find yourself stuck watching it from a distance. Laugh a little too loudly. React a little too slowly.

Self admonishments to ‘snap out of it’ ‘pull yourself together’ and ‘count your blessings’ don’t change anything. You know how lucky you are. How blessed you are compared to people with real problems. Yet nothing seems to touch you.

Certain activities help soothe your fractured self – baking, drawing, walking, praying. Quiet repetitive activities that restore order to the bat cave of your head. But, ironically, depression zaps the motivation to do the very things that will help you.

Praying . . . God . . .  Jesus. Shouldn’t belief in Jesus banish the blues? Shouldn’t his perfect love cast out all fear?

One day it will. I know that one day, at the end of my life, however long or short that may be, His love will be all encompassing, and these phases of melancholia nothing more than a dim half memory. Through Jesus I know that the markers of success the world values are not really important overall, which helps heal the frustration at this thing interrupting my life without respect for my schedule or plans.

But until then, I carry on.

I treat myself kindly.

I draw.

I walk.

I write.

I heal.