Searching for God Knows What

If you are one of those friends of mine who is not a Christian and who cannot understand why I would choose to believe such a thing, I would like you to read this book because it explains much better than I could, why.

I can pretty much nod to every opinion he articulates, and sometimes I did it so hard I thought my head might fall off.

He does write in an irritatingly chummy and mildly patronising way at times, especially at the beginning, but keep going with it - you'll get used to that and his content is real gold dust.

Stephanie would like to announce...

...that after 17 months and 23 interviews, she finally has landed herself a permanent (well, year's contract) full-time job!

It's as an internet counsellor for gambling addicts so it's a great start to a career in counselling, and the hours fit around going to Uni and doing a placement. Basically, it fits like a glove, and I am over the moon.

A Dream Come True...Almost

As documented on a previous post, I have a bit of a soft spot for Mr Damien Rice. In my view, he should totally sack Lisa Hannigan and get me on board doing the harmonies. Since this is about as likely to happen as a piece of cheese becoming king of the universe, I settled for the next best thing; singing harmonies with a boy who looks a bit like a young Damien if you squint in the dark while looking through your fingers having drunk a litre of meths. Throw in the fact that he can sing and play like him, and my elbows start to go a bit funny. I want you to know that during this clip, I am almost beside myself with excitement. It was a bit of a disappointment to me therefore, when I watched it back and realised that I looked static and terrified, and as if I couldn't have been more bored if I was watching a documentary about forks. I apologise for this. Enjoy.

Reception Rage

Sorry, I just had to get this off my chest.

I am on a switchboard. This means that my sole raison d'etre is to find out who your call needs to be forwarded to.

Scenario #1. This is how the conversation goes in reality, about 239420785 times a day:

Phone rings.

Steffy B: Good morning, [Name of organisation]

Member of Public: Hi, my name is Philancho Peristhwali and I live at 39 Bonkybrook Avenue, but I used to live in Slipsyhips Boulevard from 1990 to 2007. My mother has thyroid issues and has been to see Doctor Randyhosen. No, sorry, Doctor Bristletit. But Doctor Bristletit wasn't able to issue a prescription for my mother, who has a thyroid problem, because she needs a new medical card. Can I give you my postcode so that you can help me to get a new one?

Steffy B: Just hold the line one moment while I put you through to someone who can help you with that.

*Click*.

This is what goes on in my head, about 239420785 times a day:

Phone rings.

Steffy B: Good morning, I feel like dying.

Member of Public: Hi, my name is....

Steffy B: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! It is of NO relevance to me WHATSOEVER what your name is, where you live, who your mother is, who you doctor is or was, what your medical history or hers is or was. SHUT UP. I know you need a medical card, so just say so. Let me put you through to someone who gives a *Click*.

Scenario #2. This is how the conversation goes in reality about 239420785 times a day:

Member of Public walks into reception.

Steffy B is on the phone enduring monologue from Scenario #1.

MoP: Hi I'm here for a meeting concerning the managers and sub-managers of the regional directors for departmental departments.

Steffy B: I'll be with you in just a moment.

This is what goes on in my head about 239420785 times a day:

Member of Public walks into reception.

Steffy B is imagining above angry retaliation while enduring above monologue from Scenario #1.

MoP: Hi I'm here....

Steffy B: ARE YOU BLIND? I am holding a phone receiver to my face. Has it occured to you that there might be a reason for this? It is because I am in a phone call. PHONE, CALLLLLL. So shut up and wait. When I have finished I will pretend I care about your STUPID meeting, but I do NOT care and would like to be dead right now. I wish the same to you.

Scenario #3; Scarily close to many actual conversations:

MoP: The meeting I have come to attend is not on the schedule sheet.

SB says: Oh dear. Would you like me to call someone for you?

SB thinks: That is a statement. It is not a request for help, nor even an acknowledgment that I am a human being. What exactly was it that gave you the impression that I have any desire to help a rude man who fires axiomatic statements at me?

MoP: Yes.

SB says: OK, do you have the name of someone I could contact?

SB thinks: OK, there are two things missing here. The first is the word please. This is a word that people use as a suffix to a sentence in order to communicate that they appreciate they are asking something of someone that they do not have to give, and that they acknowledge the humanity of the person with whom they are speaking. The second thing missing is the name of a person to call. You see, I cannot read your mind and nor do I wish to. You are clearly a moron. The irony is that you think I am a moron, which is why you are speaking to me as if I am some blonde receptionist, just because I am a blonde receptionist.

MoP: No.

SB Says: I need to know a name really, otherwise I can't help you.

SB thinks: OK bye then. BYE. FROG OFF! Why are you still here? Why are you looking at me as if you expect me help you? Do you not understand how little I care?

MoP: Hold on let me think....Dave.

SB says: OK. Do you have a surname?

SB thinks: HOLD ON LET ME THINK? Is this the first time it has occured to you to do that? You would prefer to just stand there staring at me while I do all the running, rather than bother to come up with, what is that you say, DAVE? Do you seriously expect me to suddenly say, "oh Dave! Well why didn't you say?! Thanks so much for your accurate, precise and helpful information!"

MoP: No.

SB says: Right, there are quite a few Dave's in this building! Do you perhaps have the name written down somewhere?

SB thinks: Serioulsy, do you want me to murder you?

MoP: He works for the NHS.

SB says: OK. Do you know what department?

SB thinks: What exactly do you think you have just walked into, if it is not a 4 storey building full of people, all of whom fit the description you have just blessed me with?

MoP: No.

SB says: OK, I'm not sure how I can help you then.

SB thinks: I may actually cry.

MoP: But I need to get to my meeting.

SB says: Right, yes. Do you have any other names of someone I could contact?

SB thinks: Oh why didn't you say so?! You see, I thought this was all just for FUN!! Now I will reveal to you the information that I have been foolishly keeping a secret from you all this time!!

And so it goes on until the MoP realises he got the wrong building/day/receptionist.

What I have learned so far...

...on my esteemed MSc Course.

Humanistic/Person-Centred Counselling:

Counsellor: Hi Bob, welcome to our session. This time is yours, use it for whatever you need.
Client: Thanks. I'm feeling really low at the moment.
Counsellor: Mmmm.
Client: Yeah, I'm just feeling pretty sad a lot really.
Counsellor: Mmmm. You're feeling sad.
Client: That's right.
Counsellor: Mmmm. It's OK to feel sad Bob. Let's explore how it feels right now for you to be feeling sad right now.
Etc. etc.

Cognitive Behavioural Therapy:

Counsellor: Hi. What's the problem?
Client: Um, I'm feeling really low at the moment.
Counsellor: On a scale of 1 to 10, exactly how low would you say you were feeling?
Client: Um, I guess, a 9?
Counsellor: Right. By the end of the week I want you to get that down to an 8. Here is an exercise: Next time you find yourself feeling sad, give yourself a little slap and say "PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER BOB!".
Client: Um...
Counsellor: Trust me, this stuff really works.
Client: But I...
Counsellor: Sorry, times up.

Psychodynamic psychotherapy:

Counsellor: Hi Bob, I notice you chose to wear blue today. Interesting.
Client: Well, it's funny you should say that. I'm feeling quite blue.
Counsellor: Interesting.
Client: Yes, I'm really quite unhappy.
Counsellor: I notice you used the word unhappy there.
Client: Yes.
Counsellor: It's interesting you should choose that word, or rather, that that word should choose you. You see, the word 'unhappy' is an anagram of the word pypahun.
Client: I'm sorry, I'm not sure I follow...
Counsellor: Pypahun is an ancient word from yore, which has many meanings, but principally it describes someone who wishes to have sex with a family member.
Client: Oh...
Counsellor: It's clear from the way you are sitting that you have been fantasizing about your mother.
Client: Oh!
Counsellor: You are telling me you are unhappy but really you are communicating through the transference and countertransference, a repressed sexual desire which is linked to the way that your father looked at you when you were being potty trained...
etc. etc.

*Disclaimer:
May I point out that I am using the tool of caricature, and I am not trying to discredit my own future profession (well, maybe the psychodynamic bit). I would also like to point out that in my previous post I was using the tool of comedic licence, and I am not in fact late every day. This is just in case any potential employers, or reference writers, or lecturers should stumble across any of this. That is all.

Routine

Up until now, I have always had a job which requires me to work mainly from home at quite random hours wearing whatever I like. For the first time, I now have to go to an office in smart clothes at the same time every day. I am still excited by this! I feel like part of the Real World. Since this is my blog and I can write what I like even if it's dull as dishwater, I am going dedicate a little moment or two, just to enjoy that routine.



Every day my radio alarm goes off at 6:45 for half an hour, allowing me to gently rise to consciousness. Each morning I listen to the presenters wondering what they look like, and decide I will stay in bed for 'just one more song'. When the alarm switches itself off, I switch the radio back on again for 'just one more song'. I will do this until they play Take That (which they do every day) when I am forced out of bed to save my ears.



I will then switch the shower on to warm up the water while I use the loo. Every morning I will forget that the seat is broken and I will suddenly slip to my left involuntarily exclaiming "WOO!" as I remember. I will look at the new seat to the left of the loo, wondering why I havn't fitted it yet, until I remember how much I love hearing guests involuntarily exclaim "WOO!", and I forget all about it again. I get into the shower for exactly 5 minutes minus loo time, because that is how long my crap shower will allow me hot water, thus I wish to avoid involuntarily exclaiming "GAAHH!!" as I am showered with icy water.



I put on my smart clothes, and consider putting my hair in plaits to avoid potential wildness. I conclude plaits are not appropriate so let nature do its random thing, not caring a fig.



As I leave the house, I switch on Ruby and have the daily dilema of whether to listen to the Willow Creek podcast, which will be edifying and spiritually enriching, or whether to listen to sweet, sweet music. It varies from day to day whether I select the aural equivalent of bran flakes or sugar puffs.



Depending on how many times I chose to stay in bed for 'just one more song' I will get a different bus with different collections of routine characters. If I am on time, the bus will be packed and will be driven by Angry Bus Driver. He will always shout at someone for something at every stop. Once he shouted at me. Invariably he will refuse to drive off until everyone complies with whatever he is angry about, so sometimes he makes everyone else on the bus angry too because he makes us all late. Perhaps that's why I never leave the flat on time.



If I am a few minutes late I will get on the bus which has Sleeping Fat Woman on it. She is always in the same seat (or, one and a quarter seats actually) always alseep, and always makes 'You're the One for Me, Fatty' by the Smiths come into my head for the duration of the journey. Now I think about it, I hope Sleeping Fat Woman is not in fact Dead Fat Woman....perhaps I should poke her tomorrow morning. Also on this bus is Fat Rick Astley. He is not Actual Rick Astley because he is not ginger enough. He is usually asleep too, which allows me to stare at him wondering what Actual Rick Astley is doing right now. Perhaps he is now behind the scenes in the music industry, or perhaps he is a generic person in an office, where each new employee exclaims "Hey, isn't that 80s Pop Legend Rick Astley?!" to which his colleagues reply in a bored and resigned way "Yeah" because Actual Rick Astley is actually just like the rest of us, and he refuses to sing 'Never Gonna Give You Up' on demand.



I get off the bus at the Guardian offices and think to myself "I must find out if you can still get hold of those Greek Myth booklets they gave away" and then instantly forget again. I look at my watch to do the impossible maths required for getting to work on time (10 minute walk in 4 minutes, or minus 6 minutes etc.). I arrive sweating and breathless saying to my colleague "Morning Emmanuel!" "Morning Steph" he replies, looking at his watch to see how many minutes late I am. "Sorry I'm late" I say. "You'll be alright" he replies with a laid back smile, which I return.

And thus, the day begins.

Worship While You Work Out!!

Yes, this IS for real. I can taste a little bit of sick in the back of my throat.....


Gospel Aerobics

You Probably Had to be There

Witsy: This book is fascinating. One minute you're reading about the human anatomy, the next you're learning about the Coffin Fly.
Me: I definately don't want to hear about the Coffin Fly.
Witsy: Did you know that the Coffin Fly can survive its entire life on one human corpse?
Me: Did you hear what I just said?

They laugh like drains.

Christianity is Not a Panacea

For the last few months, for one reason or another, I have been going through a Difficult Time. Friends have been great in varying measures and without them, I don’t know where I’d be.

However, I have been amazed at some of the beliefs that have been unearthed through friends trying to give me words of comfort.

Let me give you an example. One of the exhausting motifs of the last 12 months has been my relentless failure to find full-time employment following UCCF. The rollercoaster of hope built by getting to the interview stage (17 times now) followed by the plummet of disappointment when again I am thanked for applying and told that my performance at interview was exemplary, but that one other candidate was better qualified and had more experience than me, has been wearing to say the least and has gently eroded my confidence and my bank balance.

More than one friend has said to me in response, ‘God has just the right job for you, you just haven’t found it yet’. This was said lovingly, and with a real desire to restore hope, and a genuine belief in its truth. But I am incredulous.

Where has the idea come from that for Christians, if we wait long enough, everything will turn out just fine? That a little while longer, or just that smidge more faith, will give us just the perfect little happy ending? When did we decided that Romans 8:28 was authored by Walt Disney?

Look around you at your Christian community – how many Hollywood endings do you see? How many people in perfect situations that are just right for them?

I’m not saying that life is a crock of crap for everyone, that’s clearly not true either, but neither is this idea that because we believe in God, we will either be free from the big pains of life, or the little irritating shitty little things that seem to happen for no reason, and that deny the description of ‘just right’ whatever sphere they happen to be in.

Perhaps the most eye-opening thing about hearing all this from some of my friends is that I have bought into it too. Even though I am one of the most cynical Christians I know, I’ve become aware that the reason my response to suffering (whether it’s small-scale but slowly draining like the job situation, or large-scale and heart-wrecking like my perpetual relationship situation) is rage. I am just so angry with God that all of this isn’t easier than it is. That now that I have given everything to him, I still have hot water that cuts out, or bills that I didn’t expect but can’t pay, or loneliness, or unemployment, or friends that cut themselves up literally and metaphorically, or that people die, or miscarry or get Alzheimer’s and there just isn’t anything I can do to help. Those things just don’t seem to fit.

Surely we should be able to say to those who are not Christians, ‘Look! Follow Jesus and you will have a life like mine!’ without feeling the need to shove all the pain and disappointment and unanswered prayer into some big cupboard that gets opened up when they’ve been a Christian a little while, and everything comes crashing down off the top shelf onto their heads.

We know that this should never be what we sell, that’s why we bang on about the evils of the prosperity gospel. We know that becoming a Christian is not about converting to a rosy life of ease and laughter, because we are happy to quote things about ‘taking up your cross’. We would all, and perhaps me especially, readily tell you that often in this life following Jesus means suffering.

So why am I so surprised and angry?

I have felt pressure from friends recently (and sometimes from my own internal promptings) to stop being so angry and disappointed and be thankful for what I’ve got. And it’s true that I have a great deal to be thankful for. The 365 project was very helpful for someone of my personality, and I’ve recently started it again over text with a friend, because it’s good for me to remember to be thankful everyday.

But I’ve also been told repeatedly that ‘Christians should be joyful’. My response to this has been further rage; at other Christians for not understanding my pain, and at God again, for not giving me something that is a clear expectation from scripture.

I have felt that the pressure to be thankful and to experience joy, comes from an expectation that I ought to shrink my disappointments, my pain and my genuine authentic responses.

I don’t think this is the answer.

God knows my true heart reaction to these situations, so pretending that my reactions are different is a waste of time. All through the Bible Christians have responded to suffering by spilling out their anger and tiny human understanding at him;

“How long, O Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?
Or cry out to you, “Violence!” but you do not save?
Why do you make me look at injustice?
Why do you tolerate wrong?
Destruction and violence are before me;
There is strife, and conflict abounds.
Therefore the law is paralysed, and justice never prevails.
The wicked hem in the righteous, so that justice is perverted.”

Habakkuk 1:1-4 for example.

That is not slapping on a smile over the crap and saying that it’s all OK really because Jesus loves me. Habakkuk is a person with faith who just cannot see the mind of God in his mess and is authentically yelling out his fear and confusion to him. I am relieved that God puts passages like this in the Bible. It helps me not to be afraid that I will scare him off with my honesty.

So trying to pretend my problems are smaller than they are is not the answer here. Trying to pretend my response to them (to the pain and problems themselves as opposed to the bigger picture) is joy and gratitude is inauthentic. So what can I do?

I had a conversation with Priss last night about a comparatively small issue. She told me something she had recently learned and articulated;

“I was challenged to remember to make Jesus lord over everything. Wanting him first, even if that meant never having a well paid job or remaining single, not getting my own house, having no friends... etc.”

She shocked me with that. She shocked me by showing me how many millions of miles I am away from making a statement like that. That in fact I have managed to turn that attitude upside down. I realised that my misguided belief that God ought to give me everything I want because I’m his, had made me into this big greedy monster making demands, while God was my little servant, expected to feed me with things and if he didn’t, he incurred my rightful rage. What an ugly image.

Importantly, that does not mean that my needs and desires are not legitimate. It does not mean that my lack of them is not a real deficit. It does not mean that I ‘ought to be glad’ that things are hard.

It does not mean I should pretend that all of this is small.

It does mean I should remember that God is BIG.

Priss (and the Holy Spirit!) stretched my tiny butler God and showed me a glimpse of his greatness and his rightful place as Lord over everything. This is not then, a begrudging acquiescence that I have to submit to him, but a wonderful realisation that his bigness means that I can trust him to be big enough to carry me through the pain, the disappointment, all the rest.

Lately I’ve been trying to hold on to truths of him guiding me by his right hand, but I’ve been hating the places he’s taken me and wanted to shake myself free. I’ve now caught a glimpse of how powerful that right hand is. I hate to say it, but one of my most hated Christian kids songs has helped me here (I mostly hate it because English Christians seem to always insist on singing it inexplicably in an American accent. Since when did we worship Gad?):

Our God is a great big God
Our God is a great big God
Our God is a great big God
And he holds us in his hands.

This is TRUE and unbelievably for someone who hates kids songs, is a truth that helps me in the depths of my adult pain.

If Jesus is Lord of my life, I won’t demand from him. If he’s really Lord of all of it, I will trust him with it. I will not try to wriggle out of that great big hand, but I will rest in it. I might cry, I might shout, I might fall apart in the middle of it. But I will trust that it carries me, instead of assuming that it just pushes me where I don’t want to go, and takes away the things I want.

I have a long way to go still before I can say that this is how I am actually living my life, but at least I am on my way there. I feel I have a little way to go before I can say with authenticity that my response is joy, but at least I know that joy in suffering is possible (Romans 5 and countless others, promise me that) and so I can hope for that promise. Habakkuk begins with rage and confusion, but it ends like this:

“Though the fig-tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
I will be joyful in God my Saviour.

The Sovereign LORD is my strength;
He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
He enables me to go on to the heights.”
I think I am somewhere between chapter 1 and chapter 3 of Habakkuk at the moment. I am feeling the loss of the olives, the sheep and the grapes. I am trying to learn not to expect them, while acknowledging the pain of their absence, and I am trying to learn and hold onto the hope, that the bigness of God will lead to joy in the heights, even if it takes me a little while to get there.

A Tribute to Relay

This morning has been a tearful one for me, as it's the morning that some of my favourite ex-colleagues head off for Relay 1 - the first conference of the year for UCCF Relay Workers. I am tearful because I am not exaggerating to say that the Relay conferences (which I have done 3.5 times over) have been some of the best weeks of my life. As far as I'm concerned the Relay programme just gets it right. It is so soaked in grace that it's dripping it all over the floor and there is no greater foundation for, well, anything.

Grace means that the nervous ones on trains and in cars right now will learn that they have every right to be there even though they are all too aware of their inadequacies and failings. Grace means that the cocky ones on their way there will learn that they have no right to be there despite their achievements and talents, but that they're welcome anyway because it's God that's going to be doing the work. Grace means that each of these things are equally true the other way around too. Grace is that wonderful leveller and I so wish I could be there for a 4th time to watch it doing its work.

At my first Relay 1, I was in the first camp. That first conference was the first time I ever remember feeling accepted as I was, and seeing that acceptance rooted in the unchangeable truths of the gospel. It was the first time I really realised that I did have something to offer, and that God had given me gifts that were usable and relevant. That conference was the first time I heard the parable of the sower taught, and that teaching was what got me through years of disappointments in the FE ministry. It was a constant (thought sometimes quiet) reprieve, whispering "Just sow, and sow, and sow, and sow, and sow, and sow....."

As I've repeated the conferences from the other side, it's Relay more than anything else that has taught me again and again that Jesus is enough, Jesus is worth it, Jesus is all I need, Jesus is all there is. I remember making notes in a talk at my last Relay 1, thinking "THIS is what I'm doing wrong! This is the key to the Christian life!" and then realising that what was being taught once again was that old chestnut, grace. There really is nothing new to learn, and nothing else needed.

I am going to miss singing songs to God with a room full of people who really, really mean it. I am going to miss singing those songs around a bonfire in the dark with people who really, really mean it. I am going to miss getting deep into rich books like Ephesians, Colossians, Isaiah and Zephaniah in ways that I've never enjoyed so richly anywhere else. I am going to miss that feeling of hard-heartedness, cynicism and failure being washed away by truth. I am going to miss waking up each morning with my mates. I am going to miss baring my soul to the girls and seeing it change and free some of them. I am going to miss caring for my fellowship group and watching it grow and change from conference to conference. I am going to miss the staff meetings, mixing hilarious banter with real love and concern for the Relays and each other. I am going to miss the 'fun nights', the content of which I can't reveal on here in case future or present Relays read and have their surprises spoilt. I am going to miss crying almost the whole way through Relay 3 each year as I hear testimony after testimony of God holding on to Relay after Relay, even through pain and grief, but often through real joy and change. I am going to miss the secret Relay rituals. I am going to miss having best friends as colleagues. I miss it.

The word 'privilege' has become a cliche when describing ministry, but there is no other word to describe what it has been to be involved in something like Relay. It has been genuinely life changing, sanctifying and joy filling, and it has glorified Jesus in my life more than any other gift he has given me.

It's hard to see, this morning, what life will look like without Relay. I can remember writing a similarly gushing post about Anna moving out a year and a half or so ago, which was equally accompanied by sodden tissues and snot. It took a long time to learn to enjoy the change that that brought. As I'm in two jobs without colleagues, that don't quite make ends meet and don't really get me out of the flat much at the moment, I think it's going to be a long time before I enjoy the gap that's left from Relay. But there was a kind of mantra that we learnt at Relay conferences, and that is not going to expire.

God is still God, and the gospel is still true.