As greens turn to golds and blazing reds I'm facing a new start in the city.
If you've been keeping up with my (not so frequent) blog entries, Facebook stalking me (you know who you are...), or perhaps, as one of my "real" friends, you've received the odd e-mail and old-fashioned letter from me then you'll know that I'm no longer working with UCCF. Once my Relay year finished, I left for what the Brits call "Europe" and have now been living in Germany for over a year working as a translator in Bavaria.
But times are a changin' and an autumn breeze is carrying me off to Munich. The rolling hills of the low country will soon be ironed out and a quiet, neighbourly village life will turn into a spaghetti of constant sound and anonymous bodies.
Because a new job means another move; a fairly welcome move, I might add, though not without a few tears before I actually up and leave. As I pack my life into a few boxes and a suitcase and scrounge around for odd bits of furniture, I'll no doubt have a few moments of panic swiftly followed by a little parental reassurance, albeit through What's App.
The change is a bit testing. I suppose change always is.Yet the way God has been teaching me patience over the last year as I've struggled to pray over the same things for several months has repeatedly shown me just how good and faithful He really is. And as He's rolled out surprise after surprise over the last few weeks during which I've joyfully witnessed His love (and His sense of humour) in clearly answering prayer, all I can do now is feel humbled and rejoice!
So stay tuned. You never know what might sneak its way onto this blog...
Wednesday, 8 October 2014
Sunday, 9 February 2014
From fractures to fashioning
Or, 'have I ceased to exist?'
A good friend asked me whether I felt I was fracturing myself in German. Whether, it was disingenuous to speak words in a foreign tongue whose meaning was highly similar, yet still different to your own. Whether I felt less like 'me', since she felt less like 'her'.
Jein. (Yes and no)
At first, yes, it is like fracturing. Or it feels like your splintering all over, though it's not purely the words and phrases themselves, that is, what they mean, which make you feel broken. Even the machinations and sounds of the words feel corrupting at first. (And by 'at first', I don't necessarily mean just at school. I mean that first taste of what it's really like to live in that language, breathe it, eat it, work in it, befriend in it, play in it, feel the rain in it. You don't really know what language does to your identity until you lose the ability to understand and be understood.)
We are present in our words. Our identity is conveyed and shared through them. So yes, when you stumble through the initial stages of real language learning, you are being pulled apart, piece by splintered piece. You're being humbled.
But anyone who has been living in a foreign language long enough will, I hope, also admit that there comes a point where you stop fracturing, at least for a while, and start fashioning.
Our identity is also mutually fashioned by words, by meaning, context, culture -they are the air we breath out as well as in. Only, we are unaware of the effect foreign words are having on our 'self' when we first enter the foreign stage.
I used to think I was creating a 'German' Vicky. A disingenuous alter-ego; a phoney.
Now, it's more like I am 'both', not 'either, or'. How I express who I am and who I think myself to be are inextricably linked to the language I am thinking in and speaking. And yes, there are the difficulties of translation where something is always lost. But there is also so much more to be gained as you learn more and more.
Identity is flexible because it is non-reductive. It is made of more than one facet, more than one colour or shape or tongue. Instead of resigning myself to frustration, my reaction rather should be to embrace the new facet and integrate it as far as is possible into my identity.
So, jein. There is a real fracturing. But there is also fashioning: expansion and inclusion. There is real creative power here, where instead of ceasing to exist, you exist differently. You exist as a flexible, fluxing 'both'. A constant growing process. Where, yes. There is sometimes a little pain involved.
A good friend asked me whether I felt I was fracturing myself in German. Whether, it was disingenuous to speak words in a foreign tongue whose meaning was highly similar, yet still different to your own. Whether I felt less like 'me', since she felt less like 'her'.
Jein. (Yes and no)
At first, yes, it is like fracturing. Or it feels like your splintering all over, though it's not purely the words and phrases themselves, that is, what they mean, which make you feel broken. Even the machinations and sounds of the words feel corrupting at first. (And by 'at first', I don't necessarily mean just at school. I mean that first taste of what it's really like to live in that language, breathe it, eat it, work in it, befriend in it, play in it, feel the rain in it. You don't really know what language does to your identity until you lose the ability to understand and be understood.)
We are present in our words. Our identity is conveyed and shared through them. So yes, when you stumble through the initial stages of real language learning, you are being pulled apart, piece by splintered piece. You're being humbled.
But anyone who has been living in a foreign language long enough will, I hope, also admit that there comes a point where you stop fracturing, at least for a while, and start fashioning.
Our identity is also mutually fashioned by words, by meaning, context, culture -they are the air we breath out as well as in. Only, we are unaware of the effect foreign words are having on our 'self' when we first enter the foreign stage.
I used to think I was creating a 'German' Vicky. A disingenuous alter-ego; a phoney.
Now, it's more like I am 'both', not 'either, or'. How I express who I am and who I think myself to be are inextricably linked to the language I am thinking in and speaking. And yes, there are the difficulties of translation where something is always lost. But there is also so much more to be gained as you learn more and more.
Identity is flexible because it is non-reductive. It is made of more than one facet, more than one colour or shape or tongue. Instead of resigning myself to frustration, my reaction rather should be to embrace the new facet and integrate it as far as is possible into my identity.
So, jein. There is a real fracturing. But there is also fashioning: expansion and inclusion. There is real creative power here, where instead of ceasing to exist, you exist differently. You exist as a flexible, fluxing 'both'. A constant growing process. Where, yes. There is sometimes a little pain involved.
Sunday, 16 June 2013
Needlework and the Tailor
I often detect a strange coldness in my heart which prefers to deal with the clothing of Christ's truth rather than His actual person. Of course, what we know about someone affects how we relate to them and what we think of them. But when we admire the clothes of shining knowledge more than the person who embodies truth, we are mere idolators of needlework, failing to see the stunning genius of the tailor who made and adorned them.
It's the domestic hazard of 'growing up Christian'. I can tick all the boxes and score high marks on a Bible comprehension exercise, but unless I am in love with the One who is Wisdom then it becomes a knowedge for the conceited.
I guess that's the problem with the Relay programme. It just cuts too much at the heart. If you haven't got the constant chiming of your supervisor ('so how does the gospel speak into that?') then you've got LG imploring you with his recurring 'don't you see?'. And they just won't leave me alone...
But I am glad. I am glad because my sick heart stutters and starts, chokes with rotten knowledge like uneaten food left out on the counter. Knowledge grows a plushy bacterial beard within days, and once it's taken root the fungi is there to stay. Still, knowledge was never meant to be stale, it was always embodied with spirit and truth and then with flesh and blood. A blood to gush away death and replenish us with life. Blood to whip up this old-man knowledge to a reinvigorated youth with strength to follow the drops to that gorey intersection between heaven and earth.
Because what I really need, but don't always want, is the Person not the clothing. Give me the tailor, the maker, the suitor. May I not stop at gold-threaded hems but instead meet His eyes in mine.
It's the domestic hazard of 'growing up Christian'. I can tick all the boxes and score high marks on a Bible comprehension exercise, but unless I am in love with the One who is Wisdom then it becomes a knowedge for the conceited.
I guess that's the problem with the Relay programme. It just cuts too much at the heart. If you haven't got the constant chiming of your supervisor ('so how does the gospel speak into that?') then you've got LG imploring you with his recurring 'don't you see?'. And they just won't leave me alone...
But I am glad. I am glad because my sick heart stutters and starts, chokes with rotten knowledge like uneaten food left out on the counter. Knowledge grows a plushy bacterial beard within days, and once it's taken root the fungi is there to stay. Still, knowledge was never meant to be stale, it was always embodied with spirit and truth and then with flesh and blood. A blood to gush away death and replenish us with life. Blood to whip up this old-man knowledge to a reinvigorated youth with strength to follow the drops to that gorey intersection between heaven and earth.
Because what I really need, but don't always want, is the Person not the clothing. Give me the tailor, the maker, the suitor. May I not stop at gold-threaded hems but instead meet His eyes in mine.
Saturday, 29 September 2012
Prayer Pressure
'I’m tempted to think that the act of praying is one thing, but on top of that there’s a pressure. A pressure to really mean my prayers. And so I leave prayer meetings with furrowed brows and sage nods and an intangible fear that I wasn’t ‘engaged’ enough. Perhaps – Oh dear – I was just ’going through the motions.’
But I wonder whether I’m labouring under a pretty serious misapprehension. Maybe I’m imagining that my prayers themselves establish a connection between myself and the Father. Perhaps I’ve been duped into thinking my prayers must make the journey to the throne of grace. In which case, they’d better be good! They better be sent up with a fair bit of impetus. What kind of thrust do rockets need to escape the earth’s gravitational pull? Well surely I need to match that intensity – emotionally speaking!
But what if my prayers don’t travel to the throne of grace. What if Christ has already made that journey? What if I’m not shouting up to heaven. What if I’m at the Father’s right hand – whispering in His ear? What if my prayers go, not in my name, but in Jesus’ name? What if their efficacy is not determined by my heart towards God, but Christ’s heart? What if the Spirit is Himself praying within me (Gal 4:6)? What if I genuinely have the Father’s ear before and apart from any of my “prayer-righteousness”?
Then I can just pray.'
Glen Scrivener, Christ the Truth.
Friday, 21 September 2012
The Hidden Life
And this is where I found myself yesterday, sitting in front of my computer attempting to figure out exactly how many hours of precious time I had redeemed, and how many, of course, I had frittered away. As part of my Relay year with UCCF I am accountable for my hours as well as my finances. Simple as it may seem though, the task turned out to be one that would illuminate the most subdued corners of my conscience. A little tweaking here, a little alteration there. Be sure to mellow the words 'wasted time' with 'time spent in contemplation', 'much needed coffee date', or even, 'fatigue left over from the many conferences you have sent me on lately meant that I forced my tired frame to rest in bed just a few more hours.' It's easy to manipulate facts.
Quite simply put, the temptation was to lie.
In its barest form lying is blatantly ugly. I think there are few people who actually revel in open lies, either in their telling or in their receiving. Many of us, however, just can't stop telling 'little' ones. We tell white lies, assuming they're not as bad as the ones in technicolour. When we make excuses we're more often telling twists on the truth, or, even worse, shifting the blame onto someone else. It's amazing, during all my years of being late for things I have become the master of excuses. At the end of the day, all I'm covering up are my failures and guilt by tricking myself into believing I am actually in the right.
Lies trip quite easily from our tongues almost like steam from the spout of an ever-boiling kettle. The problem is not the hot water vapour as much as the turbulence inside the pot. The boiling liquid is what we need to cool and contain.
So, how? Let's just say I carried on as normal trying to fill out my monthly time sheet, being as honest as I could but all the while seething at the prospect of divulging my life to a person I, as of yet, hardly know. In ten months time when I will have come to the end of Relay, I'll be the same as when I started. The same old Vicky who makes excuses and slants reality in her favour because she can't admit she was wrong.
So, say I go about it a different way. Every month from now when submitting my time sheets I pray beforehand, I remember that my time has only be given to me because Jesus paid for these precious hours by going to His appointed hour. I thank Him that even though I have frittered away some time, that I am not condemned for doing so, nor is the next day dependant upon the successes and failures of the previous. I trust Him that the errors I have made are a trait of the character He is gradually eroding in His work of transformation and that His grace means I will have the power to resist temptation daily. I believe the promises of His Word, that He will return one day though I know neither the day nor the time; I wait expectantly. I commend Him for His justice and for His mercy while pleading with Him to bring that soothing calm of the Spirit whenever my soul threatens to burst its banks.
Only a change of master results in a change of heart.
Wednesday, 19 September 2012
My Quinta Extravaganza
2012/13 Relay Workers- can you spot the doctoring?
After nearly 2 weeks of conferences, amazing fellowship with Christian brothers and sisters, profoundly convicting teaching on Colossians, 2 Timothy and Luke, I returned on Sunday 9th to what is now my home for the next 10 months, loaded with a rucksack of smelly washing and an expectant heart.
So now that I'm finally settled in it's time to start properly digesting the savouries of sermons and seminars with the sweet of song, experience and fellowship. What have I learned?
It may take me months to feel the full effects, but perhaps I can share just the tip of the iceberg. Relay 1 conference was a time for drinking in the power of God's grace. If there were a motto for the week, it would probably have been 'be rooted in and strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus', or even, 'continue how you started'. Remembering grace is the heartbeat of 2 Timothy and Colossians. Since we're prone to forget the basics and definitely prone to believe that there is something more to be had in the Christian life than possessing Christ in all His fulness, it is essential that we bathe in the glory of God's grace revealed to us in Jesus every single day. It's the only cure for legalism, discontent and Satan's deception.
Robert Murray McCheyne summed it up quite well: 'For every one look at yourself, take ten looks at Christ.'
Maybe we girls ought to stick that one to our mirrors.
Leading straight into UCCF's annual student conference, Forum, I swapped my warm abode for the more rustic canvas option. With over 1000 people (996 students to be exact!) attending, the campsite was so packed that it was difficult to hear anything remotely belonging to nature above the raucous chunnerings of closely pitched campers. Hearing one CU group rouse their spirits every morning with a war cry of 'ahhhh...WOLFPACK!' and to be assailed by torpedoed water balloons one afternoon meant the week was far from dull.
Above all it just seemed to me to be the most perfect time of fellowship with Warwick CU. Close quarters and campstove-cooked food drew us together every dew-filled morning. And as the warmth crept back into our frames through bacon butties and copious cups of steaming-hot tea, we laughed at the foolishness of what we were all doing in the middle of the countryside, humming songs and discussing yesterday's teaching. Shared experience soon led to shared adoration of our Lord.
And really, what I keep on finding is that the more I try to go it alone, the more God puts me with people I can't escape from! As we kept on hearing from Mike Reeves, community is in the very nature of God because He is triune. This perfect conversation, fellowship, submission and faithfulness between the three Persons of the trinity revolutionises how we see community. If even God is not an island, then what makes us think it is good for us to be alone? So, both Relay 1 and Forum chipped off pounds of pride from my weary individualism and I hope the Relay year will hack a little more both out of me and out of Warwick CU.
So as I round off this trip through the first two weeks of Relay, as I reflect on the lessons learned, I am once again beginning to realise just how much work God is going to have to do in me this year. Whether it's my eagerness to be legalistic, my insatiable desire to be utterly autonomous, or my reluctance to simply love those around me, I'm going to need to do more than look at Jesus. I must gaze. Ten times for every one look at self.
Saturday, 25 August 2012
Warning: graduate in transition.
Time lurches on and I'm just beginning to feel the effects of transition. No longer a student, I enter the graduate realm of unemployment and sarcastically-framed comments on the use of my degree. Well, almost.
No, it's 4 days until the first Relay conference and really I'm just kicking back and waiting for this new chapter in my life to get started. There's the usual practicalities of packing and how I'm going to get my stuff on the train on Tuesday without the aide of a packhorse (or two). And don't forget the 'study' I haven't quite finished but am weaving -though somewhat feebly- between my hours of looking for a new bicycle, enjoying my parents company and just doing things I've had no creative space to do since academia took over my life.
But really, all's well in the Parsons' land of ee-by-gum and guinea pigs (my Mum's). Warning--the accent has already taken multiple downward turns for the worse...
For those who know nothing about the Relay discipleship and training scheme, I suggest you look here because UCCF explains it with more brash, gusto and wholeness than I can at this hour. In short, I'm returning to the Warwick area (after a couple of conferences at the Quinta Christian Centre near Oswestry) to help out the Christian Union at my -sob- old university and to be equipped, through study, personal work and learning new skills, to better share my faith as a Christian with students around campus.
So, with no academic timetable in hand I'll be skipping the railroad tracks down to the Welsh border for fun and serious stuff with people I've never met before, at a place I've been to more times than I can count on fingers, with only a vague idea of what's actually going on. Nothing new there then.
Amazingly though, my anxiety levels are low. This time last year I was coming to the end of my stint in France and contemplating my return to university with utter dread. I remember that for at least the first six weeks of that first term I was constantly on edge.
While walking to lectures I couldn't help but feel deeply nervous, I think maybe because I felt incapable of tapping into those academic brain cells after my year abroad, which, in comparison to uni-life, felt like mental vegetation.
Getting stuck into CU again brushed me back hard against my self-elevated thoughts of being needed. I clearly wasn't.
Some of my closest friends had already left, some to other countries, and this made me cling to the friends I did have left. I am grateful to those who helped me settle back in to Warwick in ways they didn't even themselves perceive.
I came back to a country which spoke my language but where I felt I had no place, or at least one I had yet to discover.
It sounds like doom and gloom but I'm just being honest. I found it hard and for weeks I was constantly anxious.
But there was one passage of Scripture I had running through my mind daily.
'Do not be anxious about anything, but in all things, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.' Philippians 4:6-7
And it's to that passage that I turn now daily for strength, even though I am relatively calm compared to this time last year. Reading Jerry Bridges', The Discipline of Grace, has refired those apathetic spiritual nerve-endings to revive the great truth that no day is so good or so bad that I do not need God's grace in my life. So, anxious or not, coping with stress or going grey with the pressure, I have to turn to Jesus. Why? Because whether I perceive it or not, He is sustaining me.
Jesus is Lord.
No, it's 4 days until the first Relay conference and really I'm just kicking back and waiting for this new chapter in my life to get started. There's the usual practicalities of packing and how I'm going to get my stuff on the train on Tuesday without the aide of a packhorse (or two). And don't forget the 'study' I haven't quite finished but am weaving -though somewhat feebly- between my hours of looking for a new bicycle, enjoying my parents company and just doing things I've had no creative space to do since academia took over my life.
But really, all's well in the Parsons' land of ee-by-gum and guinea pigs (my Mum's). Warning--the accent has already taken multiple downward turns for the worse...
For those who know nothing about the Relay discipleship and training scheme, I suggest you look here because UCCF explains it with more brash, gusto and wholeness than I can at this hour. In short, I'm returning to the Warwick area (after a couple of conferences at the Quinta Christian Centre near Oswestry) to help out the Christian Union at my -sob- old university and to be equipped, through study, personal work and learning new skills, to better share my faith as a Christian with students around campus.
So, with no academic timetable in hand I'll be skipping the railroad tracks down to the Welsh border for fun and serious stuff with people I've never met before, at a place I've been to more times than I can count on fingers, with only a vague idea of what's actually going on. Nothing new there then.
Amazingly though, my anxiety levels are low. This time last year I was coming to the end of my stint in France and contemplating my return to university with utter dread. I remember that for at least the first six weeks of that first term I was constantly on edge.
While walking to lectures I couldn't help but feel deeply nervous, I think maybe because I felt incapable of tapping into those academic brain cells after my year abroad, which, in comparison to uni-life, felt like mental vegetation.
Getting stuck into CU again brushed me back hard against my self-elevated thoughts of being needed. I clearly wasn't.
Some of my closest friends had already left, some to other countries, and this made me cling to the friends I did have left. I am grateful to those who helped me settle back in to Warwick in ways they didn't even themselves perceive.
I came back to a country which spoke my language but where I felt I had no place, or at least one I had yet to discover.
It sounds like doom and gloom but I'm just being honest. I found it hard and for weeks I was constantly anxious.
But there was one passage of Scripture I had running through my mind daily.
'Do not be anxious about anything, but in all things, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God which surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.' Philippians 4:6-7
And it's to that passage that I turn now daily for strength, even though I am relatively calm compared to this time last year. Reading Jerry Bridges', The Discipline of Grace, has refired those apathetic spiritual nerve-endings to revive the great truth that no day is so good or so bad that I do not need God's grace in my life. So, anxious or not, coping with stress or going grey with the pressure, I have to turn to Jesus. Why? Because whether I perceive it or not, He is sustaining me.
Jesus is Lord.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)