I feel remarkably happy. Sometimes I do, so for once I thought I'd tell you.
I have just been listening to music in my room. And "Jesus Freak" began. If you are a Christian of any repute whatsoever you will know of this as that relatively cheesy dc talk song that is loud.
And it is exactly that. So you people who aren't Christians know now, and any of no repute too.
The reason I tell you this is because I listened to it and it filled me with joy. Joy of the kind that is complete elation and freedom, but not the kind of freedom that allows you to do anything. The kind of freedom that allows you to be the best you can, which is almost the opposite but a thousand times better. Because doing anything could include murder and rape and other nasty things, and other not so nasty things like lying and some even worse things (maybe) like prejudice and oppression (maybe worse because they involve more people).
But being the best you can be allows you to simply be you in your complete fullness.
It's hard to explain. But that is how it made me feel.
And that is how the book Velvet Elvis made me feel. And EVERYBODY should read that book. It is utterly awesome. Whatever anyone else says. It is liberating.
Liberating in the way I just explained.
Oh, most of you are going to think I am spouting rubbish, and I apologise, but may I suggest you try to find this elating freedom? It may be in appreciating the stars, or the trees, or music, or grass or something entirely magnificent, but please try to find it so you can know I don't spout just rubbish.
Those of you who don't think I am, thank you.
Friday 26 September 2008
Wednesday 24 September 2008
Lost
Today I was sent on a course. You see, as I'm sure you all know, I now work in an EBD school and have a permanent position there. This means they would like me to increase on my complete lack of knowledge by going to places to learn. These places are really one place, which is about forty five minutes away on the motorway.
Not too far really, is it?
"Just up the road" I hear you cry.
Well, I had to complicate matters, beginning with yesterday afternoon.
I left work late because a child's taxi was late picking him up and some stuff had to be sorted. I worked with the child to sort it.
Then I went home, completely forgetting to pick up my parking permit for today from the Head.
I got home having realised my usual and predicted absent mindedness and phoned school. No answer. So I drove back there and retrieved my parking permit and the course information sheet so I had the post code to look up on Google Maps.
Obviously I left it until much later that evening to bother bringing in the sheets from the car and look up directions.
Unsurprisingly the route took me up the motorway as known by your clever little brains.
Me being me and hopeless at driving in places where lane changes are frequent I thought I'd go the back way and clicked and dragged the route accordingly.
All set and perfect, I memorised it as best I could, printed it out with three maps of the difficult bits and set it on the kitchen table ready to take tomorrow.
Since rush hour (or to be PC "busy period") is never a good time to drive Mum and Dad said I should begin what Google called a 54 minute journey at 7.15 to arrive for 9.00. They were sure I'd arrive before and recommended taking a book, which I was glad of because I was (just finished) reading "A Hat Full of Sky" by Terry Pratchett. This early set out time meant getting up at 6.30 which I VERY rarely do. I know loads of people do it all the time, but for me it is irritating.
I managed it though, and set off promptly at 7.10 (five minutes ahead of schedule because I needed to fill up on petrol). The journey was going swimmingly, and I was quite happy when I thought I'd quickly check the map again to make sure I had learnt it correctly. I looked to the passenger seat. It wasn't there. I looked to the back seat (it was more of a glance, I do try hard to be a safe driver and Dad would be most unhappy if I crashed; think of his reputation! (he used to be a driving instructor)), it wasn't there. I thought, "Oh poo, I have left it at home. Oh well, I'm pretty sure I'll remember it and I know which B road I need, I'll be fine." At that point I forgot about the parking permit sitting snugly on the bannister at home.
I continued, pleased with myself at my impressive memory, following the route well, even if I did miss a few signposts and have to turn round.
Then I got to the end of my B road. A T-junction with a small lane opposite! It was not supposed to end here! I was not happy. (Strictly speaking, the B road should have finished there, but there should have been a straight on that was not a dead end.) Generally speaking, not good.
I went straight on anyway, to find a turning point. And went back to where I had come from to see if that was the way. It wasn't. I found a little layby where they charge £50,000 for fly tipping. I thought, "How nice, I can be lost in a clean place!" I didn't really, but I did think it was a hefty amount, which proves they can't be bothered to monitor it so they make the punishment SO severe it isn't even worth leaving a sweet wrapper there.
At this little layby I tried to phone Mum. I was greeted with the welcome news that I have no credit.
Joy.
But I do have some free texts! So I used three to ask both sisters and Mum to phone me, to make sure it got through. In the end Dad phoned me, which I only just realised the beautiful irony of. It was on Mum's phone though. I informed him I was lost. We talked a short time. In the end it turned out after several texts and calls that I tried the straight on, found the signpost there to be more accurate than the screen at home and text Dad from the same place again.
This fiasco becan at ten to eight. At half eight I took a left (right from where I had been, but left from the dead end side) to find a village near the destination. Unsurprisingly this was unsuccessful.
I text again. I received a call and found a lane. I got to the end and text again. Confusion ensued. A flurry of texts and calls and texts and calls ended up with me back at the end of the lane texting and being called. By now Dad had grown impatient with me, and I with him, so Mum took over. Between us I got to the village, then the destination's Dunelm Mill! Then a text and a call. Then I am Oh so close. I can't find it. A text and a call. It is past 9.00.
I stumble upon (a good website I haven't used for AGES!) the library. Librarians either know what you want to, or have the resources to find out. Hence my inclination to go in. I asked and she knew! YES!
I followed her clear instruction and found the place.
I drove to the man at the gate (by now I had learnt about the lack of permit) and he said I was at the wrong car park and gave me more directions!
I found the car park, where the permit was not worried about (thank goodness), had a walk and arrived late. (40 minutes late, after a drive of over two hours!)
There I learnt very little but, as ever, talked too much.
Then the best bit of the day happened. I drove home without a single call or text!
Not too far really, is it?
"Just up the road" I hear you cry.
Well, I had to complicate matters, beginning with yesterday afternoon.
I left work late because a child's taxi was late picking him up and some stuff had to be sorted. I worked with the child to sort it.
Then I went home, completely forgetting to pick up my parking permit for today from the Head.
I got home having realised my usual and predicted absent mindedness and phoned school. No answer. So I drove back there and retrieved my parking permit and the course information sheet so I had the post code to look up on Google Maps.
Obviously I left it until much later that evening to bother bringing in the sheets from the car and look up directions.
Unsurprisingly the route took me up the motorway as known by your clever little brains.
Me being me and hopeless at driving in places where lane changes are frequent I thought I'd go the back way and clicked and dragged the route accordingly.
All set and perfect, I memorised it as best I could, printed it out with three maps of the difficult bits and set it on the kitchen table ready to take tomorrow.
Since rush hour (or to be PC "busy period") is never a good time to drive Mum and Dad said I should begin what Google called a 54 minute journey at 7.15 to arrive for 9.00. They were sure I'd arrive before and recommended taking a book, which I was glad of because I was (just finished) reading "A Hat Full of Sky" by Terry Pratchett. This early set out time meant getting up at 6.30 which I VERY rarely do. I know loads of people do it all the time, but for me it is irritating.
I managed it though, and set off promptly at 7.10 (five minutes ahead of schedule because I needed to fill up on petrol). The journey was going swimmingly, and I was quite happy when I thought I'd quickly check the map again to make sure I had learnt it correctly. I looked to the passenger seat. It wasn't there. I looked to the back seat (it was more of a glance, I do try hard to be a safe driver and Dad would be most unhappy if I crashed; think of his reputation! (he used to be a driving instructor)), it wasn't there. I thought, "Oh poo, I have left it at home. Oh well, I'm pretty sure I'll remember it and I know which B road I need, I'll be fine." At that point I forgot about the parking permit sitting snugly on the bannister at home.
I continued, pleased with myself at my impressive memory, following the route well, even if I did miss a few signposts and have to turn round.
Then I got to the end of my B road. A T-junction with a small lane opposite! It was not supposed to end here! I was not happy. (Strictly speaking, the B road should have finished there, but there should have been a straight on that was not a dead end.) Generally speaking, not good.
I went straight on anyway, to find a turning point. And went back to where I had come from to see if that was the way. It wasn't. I found a little layby where they charge £50,000 for fly tipping. I thought, "How nice, I can be lost in a clean place!" I didn't really, but I did think it was a hefty amount, which proves they can't be bothered to monitor it so they make the punishment SO severe it isn't even worth leaving a sweet wrapper there.
At this little layby I tried to phone Mum. I was greeted with the welcome news that I have no credit.
Joy.
But I do have some free texts! So I used three to ask both sisters and Mum to phone me, to make sure it got through. In the end Dad phoned me, which I only just realised the beautiful irony of. It was on Mum's phone though. I informed him I was lost. We talked a short time. In the end it turned out after several texts and calls that I tried the straight on, found the signpost there to be more accurate than the screen at home and text Dad from the same place again.
This fiasco becan at ten to eight. At half eight I took a left (right from where I had been, but left from the dead end side) to find a village near the destination. Unsurprisingly this was unsuccessful.
I text again. I received a call and found a lane. I got to the end and text again. Confusion ensued. A flurry of texts and calls and texts and calls ended up with me back at the end of the lane texting and being called. By now Dad had grown impatient with me, and I with him, so Mum took over. Between us I got to the village, then the destination's Dunelm Mill! Then a text and a call. Then I am Oh so close. I can't find it. A text and a call. It is past 9.00.
I stumble upon (a good website I haven't used for AGES!) the library. Librarians either know what you want to, or have the resources to find out. Hence my inclination to go in. I asked and she knew! YES!
I followed her clear instruction and found the place.
I drove to the man at the gate (by now I had learnt about the lack of permit) and he said I was at the wrong car park and gave me more directions!
I found the car park, where the permit was not worried about (thank goodness), had a walk and arrived late. (40 minutes late, after a drive of over two hours!)
There I learnt very little but, as ever, talked too much.
Then the best bit of the day happened. I drove home without a single call or text!
Friday 12 September 2008
The World is Askew
The world is askew.
First of all there are earthquakes and floods and hurricanes and storms everywhere.
Second, two supposedly fine examples of Christian men have been exposed as sinners.
Now, this may be a good thing, in that Christ came to save sinners and all that, but then these people are supposed to be living for him.
I don't understand.
Then on Sunday I was told I couldn't be contentious because Jesus isn't. I'm sorry. That is wrong.
A definition of contentious:
"involving or likely to cause controversy"
Anyone who knows anything at all about Jesus must notice that this is the very definition of the Messiah, the very reason he apparently came.
Some people think Jesus was lovey-dovey floodle woodle (a sissy). I don't think he was.
He argued with people and he knew what he was arguing about.
Sure, he was loving and compassionate but passionately so. So much so that he condemned those who chose to live differently despite knowing how they should live.
And now we have turned Jesus into an icon, a commodity, an asset. He was angry at some sellers in the temple, imagine his utter fury now! We have commercialised the one entity that shows commercialism to be a waste of our zealous energy.
Why not let us refind the Messiah who was passionate for love, for serving and for healing?
This blog sets out to search for truth, and I have not yet claimed to have found it, not all of it anyway, but I do think some can be found in a life that desires to love and serve, giving all that one can. Just look at those who have done it; Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Mandela. These are the people that are revered because they have given their all to make the world less askew. Today and onwards, I also intend to make the world less askew. Will you?
First of all there are earthquakes and floods and hurricanes and storms everywhere.
Second, two supposedly fine examples of Christian men have been exposed as sinners.
Now, this may be a good thing, in that Christ came to save sinners and all that, but then these people are supposed to be living for him.
I don't understand.
Then on Sunday I was told I couldn't be contentious because Jesus isn't. I'm sorry. That is wrong.
A definition of contentious:
"involving or likely to cause controversy"
Anyone who knows anything at all about Jesus must notice that this is the very definition of the Messiah, the very reason he apparently came.
Some people think Jesus was lovey-dovey floodle woodle (a sissy). I don't think he was.
He argued with people and he knew what he was arguing about.
Sure, he was loving and compassionate but passionately so. So much so that he condemned those who chose to live differently despite knowing how they should live.
And now we have turned Jesus into an icon, a commodity, an asset. He was angry at some sellers in the temple, imagine his utter fury now! We have commercialised the one entity that shows commercialism to be a waste of our zealous energy.
Why not let us refind the Messiah who was passionate for love, for serving and for healing?
This blog sets out to search for truth, and I have not yet claimed to have found it, not all of it anyway, but I do think some can be found in a life that desires to love and serve, giving all that one can. Just look at those who have done it; Mother Teresa, Gandhi, Mandela. These are the people that are revered because they have given their all to make the world less askew. Today and onwards, I also intend to make the world less askew. Will you?
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