Where I am from...

This is the speech I gave at my 21st birthday, which was last week - you may have noticed I had to change my header quote from Elizabeth Bennet's "not yet one and twenty" because I now am! It is a sort of poem - I got the idea from Elizabeth at The Merry Rose, who published hers a few momths ago now. There is also a website which explains how to write your own here. There are some explanatory notes at the bottom.

I am from the warmth of a crotcheted blanket, from vegemite on Sao biscuits and from Cruskits smeared with honey, eaten with my grandmother, hearing stories during breakfast in bed.

I am from the fragrant lavender and gardenias along our front path, the heavenly scented wisteria that drooped overhead and the weeping cherry who sways gracefully in the wind and blossoms in the spring, outside my bedroom window. I am from the creek where tadpoles were captured and from the mint and tomato plants that grew intertwined in my grandfather’s garden, sweetening the sea air.

I am from Scotch pride and from stories reported differently with every telling, some tales older than the hills and maybe a little overgrown with fiction. I am from the farm at Harry’s Creek, the post office in Yackandandah and those lost buildings of Old Tallangatta. From the little house where Grace lived and read her Bible every night and the street where bones were broken riding into a parked truck in the dark.

I am from Elizabeth’s prejudice and Mr Darcy’s pride, from Anne at Green Gables and her diamond bursts and marble halls, from Rebecca and her fairy story of Sunnybrook Farm. I am from worlds inhabited by dragons and dryads, where fey moons rise over emerald forests and epic quests for magic lions and magic rings unfold through the unlikeliest of heroes.

I am from long conversations on instant messenger programs and hours spent viewing the world through a computer screen. I am from a life with many cables attached, that yearns for the simplicity of the hand-written and the handmade.

I am from the sherry trifle for every special occasion, always with that extra dash of sherry for good measure, and from rich warm casseroles on the coldest of nights, straight out of the oven and soaking into toast.

I am from my father’s answers for a child never satisfied with not knowing why or how or when or what; from my mother’s arms around me, sacrificing her sleep when I could not, holding my hand through each time of stress or sickness or pain. I am from the games I played with my sister, the songs that we would sing, jumping of beds in our pyjamas and those old clothes we would dress up in when we were princesses or witches, nurses or brides.

I am from a second birth, a new creation of God, changed by grace and love, given yet wholly undeserved; from the Potter’s hand, which took an uncertain and unwilling heart - claimed it, reworked it and gave it purpose.

I am from a past of plenty – many smiles and tears, memories and photographs and stories. And I am from a future that will be far richer, in joy and in suffering, in wonder and in sadness and in hope, and always in love, as I discover who He made me be...


Notes:

Stanza 1: My maternal grandmother passed away when I was in Year 8. I miss her greatly, though I have strong and treasured memories of sitting up in bed with her each morning. My aunt would always bring Grandma her morning tea and the decribed biscuits (with extra ones for the little intruders) and Grandma would tell us stories of when she or her daughters were little. All the time there would be much fussing as to whether my sister and I were bundled up warm enough.

Stanza 3: The places listed as of historical significance to my mother's family. Grace was my dad's grandmother, and was something of a family matriarch. She was also the last 'born-again' Christian in my family before me. It seems doubly ironic to me that as well as inheriting her faith, I also inherited her name. (It's one of my middle names, for any one confused.) My dad broke his collarbone riding his bike down his street in the dark.

Stanza 4: Yes, in many ways, I am a 21st century girl - I love MSN, Blogger and my iPod! But I also love the satisfaction of knitting my own cushion covers, embroidering a brithday present for a friend and am looking forward to the challenge of learning to crochet this winter!

Stanza 8: A few people have questioned my use of suffering and sadness in my list of things I'm 'looking forward' to in the future. I'm not saying that I'm excited for the sad times or pain. I just know that God has a life planned for me that is going to challenge me as much as it is going to be joyful and beautiful.

How does she know?

From Disney's recent film "Enchanted", performed by Amy Adams...

Giselle: How does she know you love her?
How does she know she's yours?

Man: How does she know that you love her?

Giselle:How do you show her you love her?

Both: How does she know that you really, really, truly love her?

Giselle:It's not enough to take the one you love for granted
You must remind her, or she'll be inclined to say... "How do I know he loves me?"
"How do I know he's mine?"

Well does he leave a little note to tell you you are on his mind?
Send you yellow flowers when the sky is grey?
Heyy! He'll find a new way to show you, a little bit everyday
That's how you know, that's how you know!
He's your love...

Man: You've got to show her you need her
Don't treat her like a mind reader
Each day do something to need her
To believe you love her

Giselle:Everybody wants to live happily ever after
Everybody wants to know their true love is true...

Well does he take you out dancin' just so he can hold you close?
Dedicate a song with words in
Just for you? Ohhh!

All:He'll find his own way to tell you
With the little things he'll do
That's how you know
That's how you know!

Because he'll wear your favorite color
Just so he can match your eyes
Rent a private picnic
By the fires glow-oohh!

All:His heart will be yours forever
Something everyday will show
That's how you know
He's your love...

[I've edited it a bit, to remove all the pointless repeated lines, but I've kept any 'new' ideas]

I put this song in, because it in some ways reflects my struggles as a modern day young woman, and in others is the cause of those same struggles.

Before I became a Christian, I did think a guy's opinion was the be all and end all of my existence. I was head over heels for a guy, who probably had only one thing on his mind, and it wasn't discussing literature and music over coffee. It sounds harsh, but umm... Let's just say he moved on very quickly when I ran away scared of jumping in too fast. Because like most girls at the moment, I was torn between wanting the fairytale romance as described above to some degree and wanting everything "now", becuase that would make me whole.

Through a whole series of wonderful events, I finally got to know Jesus as my Lord and Saviour, and I forgot about most guys for a while (save one :P) - particularly because my youth group tends to seperate girls and guys in their younger years. But recently, it's been popping into my head more and more how much I would like to be in love and get married. Not because I need a guy to make whole - there's only one who can do that, and I've already fallen for Him - but because I would love to be a wife and mother. Yes, I want to have a career too (but pharmacy is a great profssion for working part time as a mother :P )

Now comes the crux of the issue. I had a crush on a guy last year, and of course it all came to nothing, once I was away from him for the summer. It was merely an attraction based on shared interests and a desire on my part to be "crossed in love" as Mr Bennet puts it in Pride and Prejudice. But this time it's a bit more serious. The guy I like is a very good friend to me, and I'm so confused as to whether I'm liked in return, or if I'm just a friend to him. Hence the song. How does one know if they are loved?

Now the song lists a whole stack of signs, most of which are very silly but the problem is that I find I start to look out for such ridiculous things. We take normal gentlemanly behaviour and think we're being singled out, or perceive a normal hug or kind word meant for affection or comfort to have romantic undercurrents attached to it. We begin to look for hidden meanings in things that didn't have any meaning in the first place.

But this friendship is too special for me to betray like that. So I'm going to be praying about this, but I'd love any thoughts or advice anyone out there has.

Whatever you do?

I was really challenged last night on what I do each day and the way I use my time.

"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him." (Colossians 3:17)

I spend my week doing many things, some of which are dedicated to the glory of God, but much of which is not. I am not saying I go out and intentionally sin in this time, or at least I try not to. Rather, I tend to think of the time as being neutral, and as being my own.

But we are told "You are not your own; you were bought at a price" (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). And what a price it was. But what this means, is that my time is not my own, but rather, all God's, and everytime I go off to do my own thing, I'm stealing that time from Him. And I think we can all agree that theft is a crime, or a sin if you like.

God cares about everything we do, like the watchful parent of a young child. And we are commanded in Col. 3:17, that whatever we do is to be done in the name of Jesus. I'm not sure I want to place the beautiful name of Jesus up against all the deeds I do in my day. It doesn't give thanks to Jesus when I stand around doing nothing at work when I could be serving my patients and co-workers, or when I put off uni group assignments because I "have more important things to do" that I usually don't do anyway. Or when I lie in bed whining about the cold and refusing to get up. It's an enormous and scary challenge, but I want to be saying to myself, with each thing that I do, "How is this serving God and giving Him thanks and glory?"

Any thoughts, people?

Tears for this world

I can't watch the news, you know? It's not just that I won't, which wold be far more typical of people of my generation. But that I can't. Because more than half the time when I do, I end up in tears. Sometimes it's just a few tears rolling down my cheek - leaking out of the corner of my eye. But other times, the surging sobs I feel welling up in me mean I have to get away from the television immediately, or completely breakdown.

You don't have to be Albert Einstein to realise it probably shouldn't be like this.

No, you may say that I am obviously some overwrought, emotionally delicate child. That may in part be true. But that doesn't take away the fact that something is causing my tears.

Or you might say, most other people can watch this and not cry. But then I would have to say, is that a flaw in them or a flaw in me? If there is violence on our television screens, shouldn't it be making us scared and angry and sick? Or are we now completely desensitized to it, that it simply washes over us like water in the shower, but instead of taking away the dirt, it is stealing the feeling of our souls?

I am not claiming innocence in this desensitization process by any means. I have watched violent movies, and enjoyed them. I have seen images of people shot dead in cold blood and regarded it as entertainment. But when this nonchalance about sin in the fictional world begins to bleed intohow we see the real world, I have a problem. That is where I want to say stop, and look at what you seeing. Think about the implications of what you're seeing.

I started crying last time because of a story about modifying ambulances with stronger restraints. I think most adults would think "Good" and move on. But I kept thinking - what has brought us to this stage, where we have to be so concerned about the safety of our emergency workers, because the very people they are trying to help are wanting to kill them, in the mania of their methamphetamine induced psychosis. Who are these people, who are causing this massive damage to themselves and others? Did I go to school with them? Are they some of the people I see in class now? What do their families think? And how do the ambulence officers keep coming to work each day in the face of all this?

Commitment to Loveliness

This is an idea from... I can't really say a friend, cause I don't know her ( I haven't even commented on her blog!)... let's say a fellow blogger, whose journalling I have been following for a while, and which may have inspired me to take up the practice myself. Anyway, she has this thing - I don't know what you'd call it - called A Commitment to Loveliness, where you choose 5 things to make your life and that of those around a little bit more beautiful, and complete them during the week. Here is her list below:


http://charmingthebirdsfromthetrees.blogspot.com/2008/05/may-18th.html

So, here are my five things to make life that little bit more beautiful:

1. Clean up my bedroom - to the degree that I can vacuum and there is no clothing not in a drawer or the wardrobe!
2. Make fairy bread for the exec team and for my university friends!
3. Do the ironing this weekend, so my mum doesn't have to do it.
4. Catch up with the friends I haven't seen all week, and treat them to coffee/hot chocolate/any kind of chocolate.
5. Find old cross stitch projects and start finishing them off.

Hopefully those things will contribute to making life that bit better for us all. After all, what's life without a few glimpses of beauty and loveliness?

A Fairy Story

This is an extract from Kate Douglas Wiggin's novel, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. This is one of my favourite children's books, and I hope one day to read it to my own daughter (or son, but I tend to picture a daughter). While I love the whole book because of the beauty of the story and the charm of the characters, this 'story' written by Rebecca as her entry for her school essay contest touches my heart and my spirit. It's beautiful analogy of the earth bound princess having her burdens lifted by the command of "the King" (God) and her growing awareness of Him, and the joyful return of the "Fairy Godmother" (a servant of God - a believer) to His presence. When I go to God's presence, I hope that He will say to me that He heard me on the road to doing His work and be pleased.

A FAIRY STORY

There was once a tired and rather poverty-stricken Princess who dwelt in a cottage on the great highway between two cities. She was not as unhappy as thousands of others; indeed, she had much to be grateful for, but the life she lived and the work she did were full hard for one who was fashioned slenderly.

Now the cottage stood by the edge of a great green forest where the wind was always singing in the branches and the sunshine filtering through the leaves.

And one day when the Princess was sitting by the wayside quite spent by her labor in the fields, she saw a golden chariot rolling down the King's Highway, and in it a person who could be none other than somebody's Fairy Godmother on her way to the Court. The chariot halted at her door, and though the Princess had read of such beneficent personages, she never dreamed for an instant that one of them could ever alight at her cottage.

"If you are tired, poor little Princess, why do you not go into the cool green forest and rest?" asked the Fairy Godmother.
"Because I have no time," she answered.
"I must go back to my plough."
"Is that your plough leaning by the tree, and is it not too heavy?"
"It is heavy," answered the Princess, "but I love to turn the hard earth into soft furrows and know that I am making good soil wherein my seeds may grow. When I feel the weight too much, I try to think of the harvest."

The golden chariot passed on, and the two talked no more together that day; nevertheless the King's messengers were busy, for they whispered one word into the ear of the Fairy Godmother and another into the ear of the Princess, though so faintly that neither of them realized that the King had spoken.

The next morning a strong man knocked at the cottage door, and doffing his hat to the Princess said: "A golden chariot passed me yesterday,and one within it flung me a purse of ducats, saying: 'Go out into the King's Highway and search until you find a cottage and a heavy plough leaning against a tree near by. Enter and say to the Princess whom you will find there: "I will guide the plough and you must go and rest, or walk in the cool green forest; for this is the command of your Fairy Godmother." ' "

And the same thing happened every day, and every day the tired Princess walked in the green wood. Many times she caught the glitter of the chariot and ran into the Highway to give thanks to the Fairy Godmother; but she was never fleet enough to reach the spot. She could only stand with eager eyes and longing heart as the chariot passed by.Yet she never failed to catch a smile, and sometimes a word or two floated back to her, words that sounded like: "I would not be thanked.We are all children of the same King, and I am only his messenger."

Now as the Princess walked daily in the green forest, hearing the wind singing in the branches and seeing the sunlight filter through the lattice-work of green leaves, there came unto her thoughts that had lain asleep in the stifling air of the cottage and the weariness of guiding the plough. And by and by she took a needle from her girdle and pricked the thoughts on the leaves of the trees and sent them into the air to float hither and thither. And it came to pass that people began to pick them up, and holding them against the sun, to read what was written on them, and this was because the simple little words on the leaves were only, after all, a part of one of the King's messages, such as the Fairy Godmother dropped continually from her golden chariot.

But the miracle of the story lies deeper than all this.

Whenever the Princess pricked the words upon the leaves she added a thought of her Fairy Godmother, and folding it close within, sent the leaf out on the breeze to float hither and thither and fall where it would. And many other little Princesses felt the same impulse and did the same thing. And as nothing is ever lost in the King's Dominion, so these thoughts and wishes and hopes, being full of love and gratitude,had no power to die, but took unto themselves other shapes and lived on forever. They cannot be seen, our vision is too weak; nor heard,our hearing is too dull; but they can sometimes be felt, and we know not what force is stirring our hearts to nobler aims.

The end of the story is not come, but it may be that some day when the Fairy Godmother has a message to deliver in person straight to the King, he will say: "Your face I know; your voice, your thoughts, and your heart. I have heard the rumble of your chariot wheels on the great Highway, and I knew that you were on the King's business. Herein my hand is a sheaf of messages from every quarter of my kingdom.They were delivered by weary and footsore travelers, who said that they could never have reached the gate in safety had it not been for your help and inspiration. Read them, that you may know when and where and how you sped the King's service."

And when the Fairy Godmother reads them, it may be that sweet odors will rise from the pages, and half-forgotten memories will stir the air; but in the gladness of the moment nothing will be half so lovely as the voice of the King when he said: "Read, and know how you sped the King's service."

Rebecca Rowena Randall

Text copied from Project Gutenberg. You can read the whole book free there (or copy it to wherever you like), as this work is now out-of-copyright.

Semi-Charmed Kind of Life

I've just been reminded tonight and this morning (it's very early morning here, believe me) about how truly blessed I am...

I've just come home from seeing the most fabulous production of Phantom of the Opera, held at the Lyric Theatre in Sydney. It was wonderful, the beautiful singing, the passion of the acting, the incredibly effects, and just the magic of the whole atmosphere - plus I got to share it with someone as dear to me as a sister, as well as 11 other awesome friends and acquaintances. We were talking about musicals afterward, and the comment of a friend made me realise how lucky and indulged I was as a child, that I have experienced so much of the theatre and its magic. How many kids nowadays get taken to at least 5 musicals before the age of 9? My parents have been very good to me, and it's only now I realise just how incredibly blessed I was.

The other thing, which is even more special, is knowing that I am blessed by God. I had an exam two weeks ago, that was incredibly hard. I was certain I was going to fail. And not just a "Oh, I don't think I did incredibly well and I don't want to lose face" but a "I had know idea what they were asking in that question, and I hadn't even studied that material" kind of fail. But God "saw me out of the corner of his eye" and He carried me through. I can only say that the wisdom that ended up on that paper must have been heaven sent, because I certainly didn't take it into the exam with me. So, here's to God, for carrying me through this exam and giving me another chance.