Those Days

Everybody has those days, I guess. The days when being cheerful is harder than some make it out to be; the days when the words 'war' and 'broken' and 'hurt' make you want to cry; the days when the Sun isn't shining, when you want to click your fingers and make some things disappear; the days when you don't think that you have much good in yourself at all. The days when you've kind of forgotten how to love.

A friend wrote me a letter a short time ago that seemed to paint my heart in the words that were written there. 'Perhaps I got proud... and I've hit smack-bang into a brick wall. I need to pull my socks up, but it seems their elastic is gone and they will keep slipping down.'

There.

And I ache in those days, because I sense that perhaps...I am the problem. The re-ocurring reproach of my life appears again: 'Circumstance does not make you who you are. You make you who you are.' So stop sulking and change things.

No. I can't do that. Not always.

But so much more comfort can be found without pondering hopeless self-help. Jesus makes me who I am. I believe in him. And the Bible says beautiful, true things about righteousness and Jesus, and belief. And so much is relevant to me. To you.

Romans 4:3 is beautiful, paraphrased this way: '[Imogen] believed God, and it was counted to [her] as righteousness.



 

On Bravery

A man leaps into a burning car to save the life of the woman inside.

A teenage girl dies saving her six year old brother from drowning by jumping into an icy river.

A father of two daughters risks his life to rescue an elderly gentleman who falls in front of a train during a seizure.

Brave. The word has some great glory about it, and speaks of honour and grandeur and presence of mind. It is a beautiful word. When I hear it in conversation, I am immediately attentive, my eyes widen, and my mind imagines as hard as it possibly can what it would be like to be there, to see that need, to act with so much courage...and then I wonder.

Am I brave?

I was pondering this confronting, gorgeous question on a sunswept Wednesday afternoon last week, and I came to a conclusion.

I don't think that on my own I'm that brave at all.

I thought I was. Or rather, I thought I would be if the situation arose.

Of course I would be, wouldn't I? I would be brave if I was in that position, but I have not been in that position yet, and probably never will be. I would be brave, if only circumstance would bring it to light.

No.

Circumstance has brought it to light, and I have lost so many opportunities because I have not realised it sooner. I don't need a burning car, a freezing river, or an oncoming train to be brave.

I have always thought that bravery meant striving for an ultimate, human bigness. It doesn't. Bravery is not about seeking honour, but honouring someone else. It may not require sacrificing your life, but it will often require sacrificing your pride. It is not about appearing to do the right thing, it is about actually doing the right thing, whatever the consequences. It is about living fully. It is about hoping, when every part of your heart tells you to despair; giving $10 to the homeless man you just walked past; being happy to be you, when everyone is telling you to be someone else; hanging out the washing when your mum asks you to, despite wanting to scream, "NO!". It is about loving, even when they don't love you back.

That is brave. And every moment that goes by where we reject an opportunity to help someone, act with integrity, speak the truth, be who we were meant to be, or do what God tells us to do, we are missing, losing the brave moment that could have been ours.

On my own, I am not brave. Not in the slightest. But I have a hope. A hope in Jesus. And 'Since we have such a hope, we are very bold.'

(2 Corinthians 3:12)

And we start with the little things.

 

 

Adventure: Fire, Cold, and Ginger Beer

4^th of May- Saturday- 2013- entry 55

"Yesterday happened, and it was beautiful. T invited me and A up to their house for his birthday and we complied, gladly. Up we went. A campfire was set up, and we sat in front of it long into the night. What a dream. The great, big, star-ridden sky arched over us, just me, E, A and T. The fire flickered. The cold from the elements deepened as the heat from the fire did. Shooting stars shot their way across the sky. Sometimes we would talk, sometimes we would not, staring into the flames without saying a word for a few, silent, companionable moments. We turned in during the early hours of the morning.

I snore, quite badly. Before going to sleep, I told everyone to nudge me if I was interrupting their sleep with my raucous oinking. The inevitable happened, of course, when I DID snore and nobody was game enough to nudge me. I have a new name: Lady Snore-a-lot. However, I have revenged. 

T has been dubbed 'The Invalid'.

We awoke close to seven in the morning. After a morning repast of French toast, we set off, just the four of us again, on a picnicking trek. We came to a little, shady green spot, made so by the tall, majestic trees that swayed and whispered above us.

"Sssshhhhhhh...hhhusshhhh......ssshhhhhhh..."

Oh, beautiful. But however silencing the trees were hoping to be, we did not obey in the slightest. What a joyful little party we made, laughing with joy at our glorious situation. We broke out the ginger beer and chocolate cake. "Here's to Adventure and Friendship!" said A. Our little tin cups clinked in a dribbly proclamation of our joy. The next couple of hours passed, alternately, in utter silliness, seriousness, and perfect friendship. Friendly mannerisms were developed with each other. Aren't those wonderful? Nobody else understands them unless they are there at their conception. I love these: The little oddities reserved for different people that prove the friendship, even though it is a strange way to express it.

We left this evening, hearts full, overflowing, and so terribly, terribly happy."

 

 

 Photography credit: Elizabeth Somervaille and Anwyn Howarth.