amazing grace…

In a moment of quiet after what seems like (and perhaps in fact has been) months of noise and business, working and missioning and examming and travelling and greenbelting, I’m listening to music, reflecting, relaxing… and feeling a strange sense of nervousness. More than nervousness, fear. For I’m aware that I’m on the brink of yet more change and challenge. Lots of things in life seem to be in upheaval, to be uncertain.

One of the concepts which was focussed on at Greenbelt this year was living in the ‘long now’. My understanding of this is that it’s not living for the moment- but it’s not living in the past, either. It’s about knowing that now is all we have- but trying to look at ‘now’ in a bigger sense. Accepting that we must live now, do what we can now, even if we don’t know or won’t see results. About not demanding immediacy, trying to take a ‘God’s eye view’, to whatever extent such a view is possible. Moses never set foot in the promised land- but still he continued. Maybe our generation won’t see peace in that land- but still we must work for it tirelessly. Just because things don’t happen as we want them to instantly doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, shouldn’t give the best, should put things off til later, later, later.

So what is MY story in the long now? It’s a story touched by the people of the Holy Land and of Scotland, a story drawn to church, drawn back again and again to a sense of call. It’s a story tinged by sadness, and painted in laughter. It’s a story whose ending is yet unknown- but in this now, with which I have been given, I must give everything I can to do what I must. Change is part of the now, hard though that is to deal with. Change, shift, perhaps even breaking. But in the long now there will be healing, too. And discovery, and transformation. And even if I only look upon the promised land, that ought to be enough.

I wonder why it is that people (myself included) are often so eager to make it on their own.
Why are we afraid to ask for help? Why can’t we be vulnerable even with those we love the most?
I was talking to a pal yesterday and he was talking about how he reckons being loved is more important than loving. I’m not sure that that’s the case; but often it seems to me that it is much, much more difficult to be loved than to love. Accepting the love of friends, family, even God, means a certain level of acceptance of who I am… which is scary. I wonder, though… is it possible to really love if you can’t BE loved? And by that, i don’t mean love must always be reciprocated or that the popular people are also the people who love the most. What I mean, I think, is that our calling is not only to love God, but to BE loved by Him- it’s in accepting that astounding divine love that we can learn what it is to love on a human level. And we’re called to love our neighbour as ourselves- which necessarily entails a love of the self. Not in an arrogant, self-aggrandising way but in an acceptance of ourselves as beloved children of the Father-and as beloved friend, daughter, sister…

I don’t as such know where I’m going with this.

I’m just very aware of a general reluctance to open the self to the other- whether that other be friend or “enemy”, and I wonder what the world, our relationships, our politics even, might look like if we as individuals and as the church were more open- more willing to be loved and to love, more willing to be vulnerable and to live as community rather than in isolation.

Tell me stories.

That phrase caught my eye this morning, on a Museum poster. Made in Scotland, from stories. How true of all of us that is. That, and, from another ad campaign, ‘i am who i am, because of everyone.’ I’ve been thinking all day about what it is that makes me me… and it is stories. It’s reality, it’s life lived, people loved, relationships built up and broken down.

I am who I am because I went to primary school in a bubble and because of the shock I got at Firrhill, because i was awful at CDT and because i couldn’t play hockey to save myself. I am who I am because I got a B in higher maths. I am who I am because of Barnesy, and Mr T. I am who I am because so many people gave up their time so I could make movies, or go to New York, or paint, or talk, or study the Bible. I am who i am because I was valued and trusted. I am who I am because people at school believed in me. I am who I am because people threw food at me and shouted abuse, and I am who I am because of incredible friends.

I am who I am because of Colinton Parish Church, because I hated Sunday school, because Angela taught me to sing, because of the times i cried, because Jo opened crazy doors in my mind, because of headbanging to The Darkness at Sanctuary, toasties in the swing, weddings and funerals, thousands of cans of irn bru, doughnuts on the communion table, trips abroad, crazy children and old folk, because of burns’ supper and ‘take your daughter (neice) to work day’, because of being shouted at, because of being cared for and hugged, because of Santa hats and candles, profound experience, laughter, acceptance and learning.

I am who I am because of hard times at uni and finding where I fit. I am who I am because i’m scared of my calling. I am who i am because i’m also very excited. I am who I am because of soup and a roll, trying to find books in the stacks and crying over yet another essay. I am who I am because i hiccup through tutorial and because i can talk to my NT lecturer about boys.

 I am who I am because of Rev, because of being scared of Lucy and finding actually I could cry. I am who I am because of the aims and values, rambles on weekend away, hloholonofatsa and crying when Claire drove away from the wedding. I am who I am because of busking in my bedroom. I am who I am because of the absolute joy of a concert, and because of the fear of conducting. I’m me, because I wanted desperately to be on committee, and because of who i’m on committee with. I am who I am because of long chats in the pub, and that time Morven made me do tequila shots. I am who i am because of soprano dancing and errrrrrrrrrrythema chat.

 I am who I am because my heart was broken and because it’s mending. I am who I am someone likes me for me.

I am who I am because of that summer that i watched my gran fade away, because of the years before that when she taught me what it is to be a Christian and an independent woman, when she cooked me awful food but always, always had a sweetie in the box for me. I am who i am because of Granda’s drawings and putting £1 away every week.  I am who I am because he knew which of us came in despite being blind.

I am who I am because my big cousins treated me like a boy, and because my wee cousin looks up to me.

I am who I am because of hundreds, no thousands of books, and because of my English teachers nurturing my love of them. I am who I am because of music- because of the feeling of making a peice soar, because of lyrics that speak into your heart, because of scary teachers who make you want to quit.

I am who I am because of new pyjamas on Christmas eve, because KJ knows my thoughts without me saying a word, because of the thousands of times i’ve laughed til it hurt. I am who i am because when i was in 2nd year an amazing circle of friends was formed. I am who I am because of staying up all night drinking pink wine with emma, because of lying hugging and talking, because Margaret completes some part of me. I am who i am because of scrubbing graffiti in Paisley and because of eating pancakes in montrose. I am who I am because Pauline asked me to be her bridesmaid.

I am who i am because of the times i’ve been made to feel worthless, the times i’ve wanted just not to BE at all. I am who I am because I still am.

I am who I am because of General Assembly and Youth Assembly- because they feel like home. I am who i am because of Marjory, and because of a long line of moderators. I am who I am because of youth reps, and because of the people who work themselves too hard to give us chances. I am who I am because these people show me who i wish to be. I am who I am because of times in Sweden, teaching me about my own identity and playing crazy games. I am who I am because of healing services, congas to LCGC and whistling choirs. I am who I am because I’m constantly challenged about my theology. I am who I am because i’ve journeyed with people through hard times and happiness.

I am who I am because of working with children, because of coming of age alongside Lynsey, because of crinkle-cut pancakes and sack-races and banter in the paddock at Barmyhill. I am who I am because of chatting about God in the sea in Spain with Sarah, because of that beautiful champagne, curry and sunsetty day in April, because of my inability to focus, because i’m a perfectionist who can’t be perfect.

I am who I am because of Eurocamping and because of sunny days and barbeques, family fall-outs and trips to castle after castle after castle. I am who I am because mum ALWAYS made us read the signs. I am who I am because Dad wrote songs about us, and because of watching newsnight whilst mum snores.  I am who I am because of guide camp and midgies, singing campfire songs and bivouacing, meeting friends who were so close for a week and never seen again, climbing harnesses and camp blankets and making up my bedding roll. I am who I am because of primary school history lessons, and really, really hoping Scotland would win each battle.

I am who I am because I could type forever about the past, and because I could dream forever about the future.

I am who I am because of discovering God in all of this and more. I am who I am because sometimes I feel like I’ve lost him. I am who I am because he made me.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
Say ‘em loud say ‘em clear
For the whole wide world to hearI wish I could share
All the love that’s in my heart
Remove all the bars that keep us apart
And I wish you could know how feels to be me
Then you’d see and agree that every man should be free

(Lighthouse Family- Free)

It’s not that life’s not good.

It’s really not… because I love my God and my friends and my course and rev and my brownies. Because nothing is particularly bad, or hard… or nothing ought to be, anyway. Perhaps I’m just preoccupied and selfish…

But I just feel trapped by something. Or by lots of things… Something’s holding me back- that thing which makes me hate myself, be scared of people, and which in turn stops me from really seeing people, really listening, really loving- as I was talking about in my blog entry after Youth Assembly.

I wonder, still, what it really means to be free. I’m under no illusions, I’m not expecting a constant high, I’m not expecting to never be frightened, to think I’m great all the time… But I want so desperately to be free to love truly… and i think that to do that I need to learn to live with myself- the question is, how on earth does one go about doing that? How do I liberate myself? Or perhaps more appropriate, how can I be liberated? Or perhaps it’s a combination of the two… Probably, I think. One day, I hope, I’ll be so free that I soar through the metaphorical skies. And perhaps in doing that I’ll be able to learn to be freeing- not that I’d presume to have ‘freeing power’ in the manner of God, that’d be ridiculous. But I’d like to learn to be a person who brings laughter and reconciliation, and who can suffer with the suffering, who can be realistic about pain and anguish and brokenness, who can be honest and frank yet gracious, which I think are some of the marks of true freedom. I guess they’re some of the things I see in Jesus, the free-est and most freeing reality, and also in God-given friendship.

The song I quoted above is helpfully medley-ed with U2’s one. The lyrics go like this:
One love one blood
One life you’ve got to do what you should
One life with each other
Sisters, brothersOne love but we’re not the same
We got to carry each other, carry each other

My sisters and brothers and my Lord carry me daily. I think they’re carrying me toward freedom. I think that they know how it feels to be me and that one day i’ll be so free that i’ll be able to share all the love in my heart and more… I hope so, anyway. And I think that’s true of many people- people who have so much love but are scared to show it or who’re too trapped to know what it really feels like to live… I want to carry them and have them carry me- in one love- the love- Jesus.

How do you know if you’re too busy?

Is it when you can’t find enough minutes to see your friends or go food shopping? Is it when you’re so tired but you still have reading to do and so you have to force yourself to stay up?

And if you are too busy, how do you know what not to do? Is earning money so you can eat more important than serving people? Is doing well at uni more important than earning money? Is this committee more of an urgency than that committee? Is it more important to see your friends or to rest?

It’s not hard to know what I enjoy least. It’s not hard to know that also, maybe I’m a bit lazy and could be more productive with my time. It’s hard to know what God thinks. It’s hard to say no and it’s so hard not to let people down.

Hmmm….

… that sometimes, life is hard.

That actually, sometimes it hurts.

That sometimes it feels like it ONLY hurts. And that it’s dark and you can’t find the lightswitch. And that sometimes life’s demands get too much, the burden too heavy, your limbs too achey.

Illness is frustrating. It’s a vicious circle of physical and mental pain- you’re tired and you hurt, and you do everything slowly and it’s hard, and you’re stressed and you can’t sleep, and then before you know it your immune system appears to have had a meltdown and you’re coughing and sneezing and can’t stay awake.

And as this continues, you start to become this shadow of yourself, weary and negative and moany, and you’re a burden on your friends and your family. And all you want is to find the lightswitch and find who you really are again. Or who you think you might be, anyway. You get glimmers, when you’re with that friend who completes a part of you, or when you have a burst of energy, or are inspired by words or images or songs. These things are like little prods from God… a reminder that he’s there, I guess. Even in the mess and the brokenness and the grieving and the helplessness.

And with the help of these prods I’ll keep praying…

beauty for brokenness

hope for despair

peace for confusion, hope for the mourners

a gentle hand to wipe away our tears.