SamaritanJune 5, 2016
The rain arrived in a flurry, huge heavy drops that hid the impending thunder and lightening. We were at Baba’s, within spitting distance of the city but with a 5 minute walk to the bus stop along a footpath-less main road. Swiftly we bundled our belongings and dashed along the track to the road. Umbrellas were more danger than help. Hurrying along, bags knocking, my raindrop smeared glasses showed the already soaked hair of my son as his father carried him a few meters ahead.
We dashed as fast as we were able until a car stopped on the other side of the road and beckoned us come. Puzzled we tried to explain we were walking back to the bus stop, we wanted to go the other way into the city. What we did not realise is that the car had already passed us, turned to collect us, and was now going our way. We knew nothing of the man behind the wheel, he knew nothing more than what he saw, a couple with a young child. I wondered if our damp bodies would mark his clean seats, but the course had been committed to. Not only did he take us the journey, but further, as far as the end of our road, half a minute from our door. It wasn’t until later the significance of this stranger hit me.
When I look back over my twenties I see years of drama, but when I look over my thirties there is a much more mundane air. It’s not that drama doesn’t arrive, only the other weekend we had a misunderstanding that resulted in someone threatening to burn our house to the ground – but that drama is not nurtured, dissected and pondered, it’s come and gone and life returns to it’s usual heartbeat. Our life is not storms and tempest, but swells and squall. Our needs and shortfalls have not been quenched, but out faith in the future’s provision has been solidified. This road less rocky is only found after going over the crags, it’s born of moments of helplessness when divine arms have carried so firmly, it breaths the reassurance of grace abundant and second chances unending.
As a new missionary Samaritan moments are common, we flail and fumble our way through a culture, needing God to provide crutches along the way. We risk doing something dangerously dumb (getting into a strangers car – with a baby + no car seat) because we trust that this ‘seat of our pants’ plan is the way into something more stable. And when we get to something more stable we cut out our risks. We gain our independence, we ponder less and lean into our routines. The Samaritans don’t disappear though, the crutches stand unused, the opportunities to experience grace are wandered past as we look the other way. At worst we can become the Levite, so busy helping God’s people with their work we no longer see the immediate prompting of grace to give as our issues to own.
As another week of routine starts I pray that I’ll be able to see the Samaritans and rise when the title is mine to take. For Jesus said, “Go and do the same.”
(Luke 10:25-37)
May’s projectsMay 26, 2016
We’ve discovered imaginative play and it’s changing the way we work with toys. It’s a stage of play that really distinguishes the toddler, representational and symbolic thinking begins to develop and there is a great need to imitate. With the days already getting hotter and my first sunburn of the year out of the way I’ve got back the home-maker bug and cracked out the dusty sewing machine to help this stage really flourish.
Firstly we’ve begun adding labels. Thanks to double sided tape and a colour printer big bold labels show Adam what’s inside a box before he dives in. Initially this was done in the hope of starting toy rotation… then I realised we don’t have enough storage, play-space, or toys to do this effectively – And I’m the first to admit Adam is not short on toys!
Toy Rotation: a method of rotating toys so the child becomes less bored, mostly advocated by parents who have huge basements for storage, dedicated playrooms or more toys than I ever owned in a lifetime?
However, boxes vaguely contain the mess, as well as making tidying up and selectively hiding much easier. While some are merely containers, others act as activity prompts – by clearing the floor of all but the box it invites Adam to delve inside.
The big project was to give Adam some role play space. While looking for play-space ideas I encountered the chair slip-covers that had been sewn into kitchens. These really suit our 2 room house set-up and replacing a couple of seams with zips allows me to fold every side flat.
Materials: white fabric, silver fabric (hobs), patterned fabric (back), t-shirt transfer paper (oven + shelves), thin card (hobs), acetate sheet (oven door), velcro (oven door), sticky back felt (dials), 2 zips, ribbon for back ties and an old oven glove.
Unable to find the bigger sized play pots and pans we bought or borrowed small versions that can get added to the kitchen cupboard (if they aren’t wrecked). There are quite a few measurements I got wrong, and bit’s I’d have done differently, but for a first try I’m rather happy. Adam has been having fun playing with it and loves eating his snack out of his saucepans.
Christianeese scarsMay 21, 2016
The question comes and my mind blurts out the glib answer, full of theological undertones that reassures my own particular way of living Christianity. Inside I squirm at my inability to break free from the words as I speak / type them. I wish I was the only one but I know I’m not.
My mind skims back over countless church encounters that moulded my responses, their wealth reduced down to glibness – because knowing the answer isn’t always best. No more acute is this need than when you encounter a belief system, one with nuance and gaps whose existence should shape us rather than be skimmed over.
I recognise those with similar scars. The struggle to explain grace without turning it into an acronym, the hollow “I’ll pray for you” that is (occasionally) followed by a failure to utter another word on the matter, when the sound-bite betrays their hurt and struggles into christianese vagueness. They speak in language that makes me shudder, everything becomes the mountain’s steepness or waters swell, if not phrases lifted from ‘encouragement cards’, their depth as flimsy as the paper they are lifted from.
These are not scars caused by pain but self-flagellation, from those little bible inserts and bouts of religiosity. They are not born of depth of desire nor study, they are as hard won as politicians sombre faces practised before the mirror. Over-thought and crafted words that reflect little glory to their maker and their maker in turn.
When life is tough and the mountain really does loom they have their place, but when life is good, when the doors are open and the plain lush before us, then we need to put aside the flimsy scaffold and start to work in stone. We need to put in the work to carve answers to those questions that are deep and solid, where we agonise over the cracks and pour our devotion into the decoration.
I pause, apologise and start again, delete that text, wrangle a little over the question.