THESE THINGS TAKE TIME - SANCTUS REAL

I wanna know why pain makes me stronger
I wanna know why good men die
Why am I so afraid of the dark ?
But I stray from the light

I wanna know why you gave me eyes
When faith is how I see
And tell me
Is it easier to doubt
Or harder to believe

Oh there’s so many questions stirring in me

And I wonder why
Sometimes the truth ain’t easy to find
I wanna know all the answers
But I’m learning that 
These things take time
Yeah, these things take time

How could success make us feel like failures?
And the harder we fall the harder we try
The more I have the more I need
Just to feel like I’m getting by

Oh, there’s so many questions and one short life

And I wonder why
Sometimes the truth ain’t easy to find
I wanna know all the answers
But I’m learning that 
These things take time
Yeah, these things take time

And we spend so much time
Chasing our tails, hoping to find
Every last answer
To everything in life

So many questions; Not enough time

But I’m still 
Wondering why
Sometimes the truth ain’t easy to find
I wanna know all the answers
But I’m learning that 
These things take time
Yeah, these things take time

We all wanna understand why
Evil lives and good men die
On the way to Heaven the truth unwinds
These things take time
These things take time
Yeah, these things take time

AWAKE

            Once upon a time a man lived in a town called Materiaville. The people who lived there were very sleepy all the time. In fact, a lot of the people hated being awake so much that they often drank special draughts to help them sleep. And after some time, most of the people didn't need to drink the draughts; they fell into a permanent sleep. The others spent their time either half awake, or dozing. It was rare to find anyone who was actually awake. The youngest ones were fully awake, and spent their time enjoying it, and accidentally waking up the dozing older ones, who grumbled against them, and gave them X-BOXs to help them sleep, too.

One day the little man went to a nearby town called Todefullia. And he was amazed to find that everyone who lived there was awake. “Join us!” They cried, “See what it’s like to be awake….there’s not much life in sleep.” On the town hall was an strange inscription that said:

Wake, O Sleeper. Rise From the Dead and Christ will Shine Upon You.

The little man observed how they were actually awake. He began to live with them, and realised that life awake was different to life asleep.  The food began to have taste….the wine was sweeter, and the music, laughter and love was flowing through the man’s veins for the first time in his life.  

But as time went on, he also saw why the people from Materiaville avoided being awake. The days seemed to go forever, and when there was pain, it seemed to sting more. Also, when people are awake they are forced to see each other in all their beauty and ugliness.

During his stay at Todefullia, the man learnt that soon an event called the Great Awakening would happen. When everyone would be shook to life. The scary thing, the man was told, was that when everyone was shaken, some would not wake up. And some would wake up, and hate being awake. They would spend their time searching for a way to go back to sleep.

The urgency of this event’s coming stirred the man into action.

The man stayed in Todefullia for a year, and then decided to go back to his home. He promised to try and wake the people up in Materiaville, so that they could also experience the Awakened Life. The Todefullians seemed reluctant as they watched him leave.

It turned out they had good reason, because within a small amount of time the man began to forget how good it was to be awake. Pain struck, and a full time job hit. Surrounded by sleeping people, it began to be too hard to stay awake.

The trouble is, once you have been awake, it’s very hard to go fully back to sleep. The man downed the sleeping draughts, but they didn’t last. Each time, he would surface back to reality, feel the sting of pain and quickly gulp more draughts.

After a while, the man discovered that he couldn’t easily wake up, that the moments of lucidity were few and far between. Desperately, he tried to stop drinking the draughts that seemed to have befogged him, and feel again the feelings of pain and love. It took a while, but eventually he could slap the feeling back into himself, open his eyes, and be awake again.

“Oh no!” He thought to himself, “So much time has gone by while I was sleeping.” And the man saw that to be awake with love and pain, was far better than being asleep with nothing.

Realising that the sleep was a curse, he began to frantically wake up his family. One opened their eyes hazily and grunted, “You shouldn’t eat sugar.” then turned over and went back to sleep.

His grandfather barely stirred. The most worrying ones were those who didn’t move. They couldn’t feel his urgent shaking. Their sleep was like that of the dead.

He received varying degrees of response. The younger ones still remembered what it was like to be awake, and most of them got up more easily.

Some others got angry at the shaking, and sleep walked over and beat the crap out of the man.

Eventually, the man gave way to the tempting pull of the sleep, and dozed off.

For God's Sake, Don't Delay

Have you ever seen one of those bad science fiction movies where people on-board a space-craft get thrust into an air lock, and then released into outer space? Then with panicked looks on their faces, they are sucked into outer space arms waving frantically, mouths gulping for a breath of air.

I have felt a bit like that lately. Except the outer space is a very bad bout of depression, sucking the life out of me slowly and steadily.

Such a stupid difficulty.

Work is getting me to go back and do jobs. This increases the pain, which increases the anxiety. I hate being at work, and my boss, and the whole bureaucratic cage of worker's compensation.

Have also been trying to reach desperately out for God. Begging him for some relief from the pain that comes on me, not only in my back but also my heart. Pain I cannot even identify the reason for.

Tonight, when reading through some of 1 Peter, this verse stuck out:


5:8-11 - Be self-controlled and vigilant always, for your enemy the devil is always about, prowling like a lion roaring for its prey. 
Resist him, standing firm in your faith and remember that the strain is the same for all your fellow-Christians in other parts of the world.
And after you have borne these sufferings a very little while, 
God himself (from whom we receive all grace 
and who has called you to share his eternal splendor through Christ) 
will make you whole and secure and strong. 
All power is his for ever and ever, amen!


So that's something to hold onto. 
And there's a verse that ends Psalm 40, where David says, "I need your help, I'm really struggling. For God's sake, don't delay."


So that is the current mantra of my heart:
"I need your help, God. I'm really struggling. For God's sake, don't delay."

All the Nutella I Can Eat

A friend of mine decided to ring tonight as I was glued to about the fiftieth episode of Scrubs.

I kinda have desperately been needing a friend to talk to, but at the same time, rejecting human contact, so I begrudgingly answered, and maybe hoped it wouldn't last long.

But it was really cool. After I admitted all the freak-outs contained in my synapses,  he calmly pointed out where my world-view has been pretty screwed, and told me in the nicest way possible how ungrateful I've been being.

So true. And slightly embarrassing to admit, but it's true.

Yeah, maybe I have had almost no money for a while. But neither have I had to miss out on anything. My friends take me out and flippin' pay for me to have tea with them, or coffee. How kind is that?

And yeah, my back has been so durn sore. But God gave me a Mum who patiently rubs it as many times a day as I need. And a pool to do exercises in. And a mini boom-box, so I can dogpaddle to a bit of Taio Cruz. And maybe all the Nutella I can eat.

So whilst I've been feeling so deserted and empty, maybe God has been moving all around me. You know, patiently demonstrating:

"It's okay, we'll get through this. One thing at a time. I'm not going anywhere."

My friend quoted Luke 11, where Jesus says:

^10-13"Don't bargain with God. Be direct. Ask for what you need. 
This is not a cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek game we're in. 


If your little boy asks for a serving of fish, do you scare him with a live snake on his plate? If your little girl asks for an egg, do you trick her with a spider?


 As bad as you are, you wouldn't think of such a thing—you're at least decent to your own children. 
And don't you think the Father who conceived you in love will give the Holy Spirit when you ask him?"


So it was an encouraging phone call. 


I guess I do have to still go over this wave of stress, busyness and hard work. But I guess also, I have a dad who is lifting me up when the waves come, so I don't drown 
(though I may get a mouthful of salt).


Come to think of it, even though I haven't asked for an egg, I have been tricked with a spider recently....

The Dwarfs are for the Dwarfs

Most mornings lately, I wake up, and flinch with the twinging of my back.

I headed to the specialist, who took compassion on me, and wrote out a new set of exercises to do.

Lots of good stuff is happening in the world. But the bad stuff is acting like a set of weights, so depression forms a big part of my world.

A nasty thing about depression is that it steals the joy of simple things, like eating gingerbread with your friends. Or lying on a warm path under a blue sky. The joy simply vanishes.

I have been thinking about this, and how I do not want to loose the joy and gratefulness of life. Otherwise, it becomes a matter of waking up and realising, "Uhhh....it's another stinking day."

An anecdote of this comes from The Last Battle, and I found a article by a guy called Chris Erdman, talking about the anecdote:
==========================

 The trouble of the dwarfs

Do you, who know Lewis’ story, remember the tragic case of the Dwarfs?  Dear God may they not be us!  The Dwarfs were Narnians once loyal to Aslan, but in the midst of the battle they became so disillusioned with everything that they turned in upon themselves, became embittered and blind, caring much for themselves and little for others.  In the end, they too, by the grace of Aslan, wind up inside the Stable and the world that’s bigger and better and more beautiful than anything they could have imagined.  You’d think they’d see it.  But they don’t; they’re too accustomed to trouble, too in love with the battle, and too attached to the cramped little world they think they must hold on to.  If we’re not careful and prayerful, it’s us Presbyterians Lewis could have been writing about. 

“Aslan,” said Lucy through her tears, “could you—will you—do something for these poor Dwarfs?”

            “Dearest,” said Aslan, “I will show you both what I can, and what I cannot do.”  He came close to the Dwarfs and gave a low growl: low, but it set all the air shaking.  But the Dwarfs said to one another, “Hear that?  That’s the gang at the other end of the Stable. Trying to frighten us.  They do it with a machine of some kind.  Don’t take any notice.  They won’t take us in again!”

            Aslan raised his head and shook his mane.  Instantly a glorious feast appeared on the Dwarf’s knees: pies and tongues and pigeons and trifles and ices, and each Dwarf had a goblet of good wine in his right hand.  But it wasn’t much use.  They began eating and drinking greedily enough, but it was clear that they couldn’t taste it properly.  They thought they were eating and drinking only the sort of things you might find in a Stable.  One said he was trying to eat hay and another said he had got a bit of an old turnip and a third said he’d found a raw cabbage leaf.  And they raised golden goblets of rich red wine to their lips and said “Ugh!  Fancy drinking dirty water out of a trough that a donkey’s been at!  Never thought we’d come to this.”

            But very soon every Dwarf began suspecting that every other Dwarf had found something nicer than he had, and they started grabbing and snatching, and went on to quarrelling, till in a few minutes there was a free fight and all the good food was smeared on their faces and clothes or trodden under foot.

            But when at last they sat down to nurse their black eyes and their bleeding noses, they all said: “Well, at any rate there’s no Humbug here.   We haven’t let anyone take us in.  The Dwarfs are for the Dwarfs.”

            “You see,” said Aslan.  “They will not let us help them.  They have chosen cunning instead of belief.  Their prison is only in their own minds, yet they are in that prison; and so afraid of being taken in that they cannot be taken out.  But come, children.  I have other work to do” (181-3).

If we’re not careful, Dwarfs are exactly what we could be, and if that’s what we become then we’ll get nothing more than what they got—when all around us is gold and goodness, bounty and beauty.

            The best years of the church are not behind us; they are before us.  If we don’t believe that, we’re Dwarfs, not disciples of Jesus Christ.  If we worry about the future we deny Christ’s Lordship, we dismiss his Word, we betray his command, and we fail to respond to the call of our hearts to enter fully the Kingdom of Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Probably irrelevant to my situation, but a good excuse to put that picture of  a Lego Dwarf up.

What do I do with the pieces of a broken heart?

My friend Dave has a pretty amazing blog, and today he wrote a really good piece in it:

http://muhnlaven.blogspot.com/2010/12/what-do-i-do-with-pieces-of-broken.html

Check it out if you get a minute!

Quotes from the Phantom Tollboth

A curiously comical read.

...........................

Whether or not you find your own way, you're bound to find some way. If you happen to find my way, please return it, as it was lost years ago. I imagine by now it's quite rusty.

There are no wrong roads to anywhere.

The way you see things depends a great deal on where you look at them from.

If you want sense, you'll have to make it yourself.

Many of the things which can never be, often are.

You know that it's there, but you just don't know where - but just because you can never reach it doesn't mean that it's not worth looking for.

Whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else.

What you can do is often simply a matter of what you will do.

So many things are possible just as long as you don't know they're impossible.

 

Indiana Haase and the Huntsmen of Doom

Had a rather horrifying moment driving home not long ago.

I'm driving along the highway...after having dinner with some of my awesome older friends, Anne and Bill.

Suddenly, the Sinister and Threatening Silhouette of an Ultra-Large Huntsmen creeps across my vision... and to my absolute Horror, I realize it's jutting towards me...That Spider is INSIDE my car!!!

Hurriedly, and only 27% safely, I jerk the car onto the side of the road, and quickly extricate myself, all the while making high pitched squeaks of Horror.
It's funny how absolutely one's psyche demands personal removal from Spider Surrounds...as if the little buggers are just going to bare their fangs, and leap for the Jugular, and begin to: "NOM NOM NOM!"

Removing my shoe, and darting my eyes around like a Trained Killer, I jog the dashboard, and get the Invader into position. With an almighty THUMP, I whip my shoe onto the top of it's bare, hairy head. But this is no ordinary spider. This is obviously some kind of well-trained Kamikazee Spider.

Because when I hit the durn thing, it Dropped to the floor of my car...and no matter how gingerly I searched, I couldn't locate it.
I wanted to give it another THUMP, because upon examination of my shoe, the complete lack of Spider Guts convinced me that it was alive, and only slightly wounded, inside my car....just waiting to take revenge.

Realizing with an unreasonable shiver that I had pulled over in front of the Juvenile Justice Centre, I knew I had to return to my Spider-infested car and get home somehow.
This was not easily achieved, as I was afraid to touch the floor....petrified of the Creeping Legs that were bound to return when I was least prepared....

Laugh Not, Cruel Arachnid! I Will Have my Revenge, and you Will Die!

And as Colin Buchanan so aptly puts it:

Don't help a spider out of his troubles
Cause he won't listen to you
You'll soon find yourself on the wrong side
 of A Stomping Foot or Insecticide....

A Dart to the Heart

Very good weekend. One of those hill-top moments, when the clouds clear, and you can see the view again. Loved it.

We had our Cornerstone Gathering on, which means endless catchups, challenges and joy.

At the end of it all, my bestie Hanwen and I sat on the muddy pavement, watching the Giant Rainbow that arched across the sky right in front of us.

We talked about God and how he works, and struggles, and everything a good D+M consists of.

After a while, Hanwen's man-friend, Gil, came and sat down beside us.

In the course of discussion, while pestering them with some question or other, trying to grasp the meaning of what they were saying, Gil suddenly spoke up,

"This may sound kinda weird but, maybe it's not something you can grasp. Maybe you have to realize that God actually loves you."

I did not, of course, get an eyeful of tears at this moment or anything *cough*.

I guess Gil had a Holy Spirit brainwave, cause his words sent a Dart to my Heart.

When I look at my life for the past while, I see the opposite of love: AKA Fear is the dominating factor. And being so fearful of torment. And being afraid of being tormented actually is Torment...

And the scary thing about torment is that it blinds you to the LOVE that fills your life. As I began to raise my eyes beyond my own fearful heart, I saw that all through the weekend, and the past weeks, gifts from God have come in so many different shapes, blessing me endlessly.
My sister made me milkshakes and myriad cuddles, friends sat by me when I was insecure. They have built me up with their words, and served me with their possessions. I am so truly amazingly blessed...!

So why is it so damn hard to translate all this blessing and love to God, He who loves me.

It's no wonder the future can look so grim, because the long lanes of something devoid of the sunshine of God's Love is as bleak and creepy as:
 

instead of this.


I don't want my life to be ruled by this stinking Fear!
-------------------------------------------------------------
No fear exists where his love is. Rather, perfect love gets rid of fear, because fear involves punishment. The person who lives in fear doesn't have perfect love.
I John 4:18
-------------------------------------------------------------------------


I'd like to learn something of this Perfect Love....

Apology

Sorry if I sound like a cow in my previous post.
It was not my Mootivation.

The Horrible Fan Club?

My friend Pete has a Bible study of sorts at his house every Thursday night.


Ten o'clock is his bed time, however. When the clock strikes, we see him inserting his ear-plugs into his ear canals, and firmly shutting his bedroom door.


It's good of him to host the study, however, and he hasn't branded me as a heretic yet, and thrown me out.


Most of the kids in the group (of which I am second eldest), have been bought up in the church. And when we answer questions from our Study Guide, they dutifully recite the correct answers and move on to the next one.


You know these answers; they sound like this:


- By reading the Bible
- Telling others about God.
- Going to church


Well, Bible studies can really annoy me. So I possibly annoy my study group. When we split up into our smaller four or five girls, I spread my subversion, and prove my point.Just tossing in little mental confusions....so we have to think.


I just hate when Christians become Drones. Because it's so easy to create a Christian Highway that we all travel on, we make sense to each other, and no one else; and we hide who we really are, because no Christian wants to admit what they really do when no one is looking do they?


 No Christian wants to admit that they yelled at their spouse every day last week, that they deeply despise a co-worker, or that they have an addiction to Gossip Girl.


I think we have a reputation of hypocrisy for a reason. 


Urban Dictionary has a funny definition of God's Son:

Jesus:

A pretty cool guy whose reputation has been run down by his horrible fan-club.  I just  want us to be different. To show God's love, because we actually really know God's love.  His real love; not his I-secretly-have-an-agenda-in-which-I-may-kill-you-love.... I want to do more than pay Lip-Service to this love.  I leave you with a parable, slightly re-told by Adrian Plass....any thoughts? The Prodigal Son At last he cometh to his senses and saith, ‘All my father’s hired workers have more than they can eat, and here I am about to starve!  I will arise and go to my father and say, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee.  I am no longer worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.”’  So he arose and came to his father.  But when he was still a long way off his father seeth him and runneth to him and falleth on his neck and pulleth his hair and smacketh his backside and clumpeth him on the ear and saith, “Where the devil do you think you’ve been, Scumbag?  And the prodigal replieth, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee.  I am no longer worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thine hired servants.’  The father saith, “Too right I’ll make thee as one of my hired servants, Master Dirty-stop-out-inheritance-spending-stinker-pinker-prodigal!  I suppose thou believest that thou canst waltz back in here without so much as an by thine leave, and conneth me with thine dramatic little speech? Thinkest thou that this is “Little House on the Prairie”?  Or mayhap thou reckoneth that I was born yestere’en?  Oh, no.  Third assistant bog-cleaner, unpaid, for thee, mine odorous ex-relative.’  Then the prodigal saith dismally unto him, ‘Oh, right, right - fair enough.  So, er, just to get it straight, there existeth no question of lots of nice presents and instant forgiveness and an large celebratory meal involving the fatted calf, or anything of that nature?  ‘In thy dreams, son!’ replieth the father.  “The only gift thou art likely to see is the personalized lavatory-brush with which thou shalt shortly be presented.’  And the father taketh the prodigal by the ear which previously he clumpeth, and hauleth him back to the farm.  And lo, the fatted calf beholdeth them approach from an long way off, and, summing up the situation perfectly, throweth an big party.  And the fatted calf’s family and guests rejoiceth and doeth an bit of discow-dancing, and mooeth sarcastically over the fence at the prodigal as he passeth by in his tribulation.  And behold, as nightfall approacheth, the prodigal’s elder brother heareth distant sounds as of an bog-brush being applied, and strolleth out to the edge of the cess-pit after supper holding an large brandy, and he stretcheth luxuriously and picketh his teeth and lighteth an enormous cigar and looketh down and saith, ‘Evenin’, Rambo.  I see thou hast returned, then?  Likest thou thine rapid progress from affluent to effluent?’   And the prodigal looketh up and saith, ‘Verily, thou rebukest me justly with thine clever barb.  When I had great wealth I shared it not with thee, but now I freely offer thee an good share of  what is mine.’  And he flicketh at the elder brother with his brush, so that an weighty portion of something exceeding unpleasant ploppeth into his brother’s brandy glass, and his brother retireth, threatening to tell on him.  And the prodigal findeth his father and saith unto him, ‘Behold, all these years during which I was in an far country, mine smug, pie-faced, hypocritical, dipstick of an brother must have caused thee to gnash thine teeth on an daily basis, so how come he getteth all the perks like brandy, cigars and suchlike, while I remaineth up to mine elbows in other people’s poo?’  But his father replieth, ‘Thine brother is boring but biddable.  Get on with thine work, thou less than Baldrick, and think thyself lucky.’  The father departeth and the prodigal saith to himself, ‘Blow this for an game of centurions.  I wisheth I hadn’t come home now.  Behold I am just as hungry, twice as guilty and four times as smelly.  Verily, if, by an miracle, any time off ever presenteth itself, there existeth in my mind no doubt about how I shall seek to occupieth it.  Definitely - it’s an day-trip to the pigs for me…’