I wrote the following two weeks ago. At the time it was a horribly painful experience and only today have I been able to face my own words again. I hadn’t planned on sharing this particular blog entry and therefore it is unedited, left as it was first written in one streaming rush. I had decided that some things are too painful or personal to share. But isn’t that what being a writer is about? Sharing the unspeakable, exploring the darkest parts of ones mind and laying yourself bare. Like a huge canvas, splattered with life, ready to be torn apart by the endless eyes of others.
Where shall I begin? Two weeks in our life at the moment are comparable to a small eternity. There is too much to tell and no time for me to tell! But the news update in short is that Ollie is off all over the place at the moment with his work, staying in random places and getting used to asking for a ‘table for one’! Meanwhile I’m trying really hard at work and have passed two tests that have gained me two stars for my name badge (which isn’t really a name badge considering I don’t have my name printed on it yet!), and I was given a hug by one of the managers the other day after a busy shift and they thanked me for ‘working hard and doing really well today’. Things are improving!
The lesson I have been learning recently is on the subject of my life, how privileged it is and how many people’s are literally a world away from mine. Not necessarily in bad way, but in a way so totally different to mine that I seem to feel like a spoilt (self spoiled I add) little girl complaining that the sun has been behind a cloud for thirty seconds while others are drowning in rain that will last for days. I came travelling to have my eyes opened and right now I they have been tugged open, match sticks inserted and the pupils firmly fixed on looking outwards and not eternally and so selfishly inwards.
I thought I had things in my life that I was sad or upset about, that maybe I had some issues that needed dealing with and that I was in some way ‘in need’. But recently I have realised that my ‘plights’ pale into insignificance when brought against other people’s. Now I know everyone has their problems to deal with but I am fast learning that I should take a moment to realise just how fortunate I am before listing my woes. In fact, half my ‘issues’ are self inflicted and the horror of it all is that while I’m feeling sorry for myself between the lines of another self indulgent poem, really I should be tearing myself apart for not being thankful for my life. As it is.
I won’t go into details of the reason for my much needed revelation. It is not my story to tell, and although parts of it I would love to share because they are beautiful, heart wrenching, maddening and wonderful all at the same time, it is not my place. Perhaps at a later time I will be able to share the full story with a blessing and an understanding that my intentions would be solely to share the amazingness and strength of two people, but for now I will stay silent and only credit my own soul searching to them.
Everyone needs revelation, in whatever form it may take, but I never expected to be hit quite so hard whilst away. I wanted to meet people and gain new and exciting experiences, but I didn’t expect some of them to be so telling. I suppose what I’m really trying to say is that travelling is turning out to be the greatest experience of my life so far (be for everyone gasps...my marriage was a moment not an experience!) and all that it is throwing up gets more wondrous as each day passes!
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Just over a month ago I was feeling a bit flat, like I was just working and sleeping and that I wasn’t making the most of my time here in New Zealand. Obviously the days Ollie and I were able to go and do things were great but I was sure I could do more with the ‘in between’. So I did something about it. I gave up trying to be quiet and super well behaved at work and started being myself (not that I’m not ‘super well behaved’ but you know...). Although this resulted in odd looks when I did my chicken impression it also enabled me to start to get to know people better and to actually make some friends. And I’m so glad I did. Fast forward to now and I love my job, have had the privilege of meeting and spending time with tons of awesome people and to make memories that will stay with me long after I get home. O.k. so my sleeping pattern has taken a battering, I work almost every day and sometimes I forget to eat but it is so worth it. THIS is what travelling is. THIS is why I came away. And THIS is living!
Now don’t start worrying Mum I am absolutely fine! In fact I’m finer than I’ve been in a long time! Suddenly I am happy all the time. My reclusive nature has taken a back seat and I couldn’t be more pleased. And I’m taking Ollie with me. Time slips away too fast, and we’re still young, now is the time to make the most of everything. Basically I’m learning to say yes rather than no whilst using my upmost discretion...well Amy’s version of ‘upmost’ at least! It’s as if I’ve woken up from a massive sleep and have just re met myself.
One friend in particular gives me plenty of reasons to laugh, be happy, make works hilarious fun and provides a friendship I never expected to find. Her name is Nirvisha. She is a truly wonderful person and has burst into my life with such force that I can’t not wonder that I haven’t known her for longer. Without knowing she has already taught me so much and I will be forever grateful that we have met. Not only is she an inspiration to me, she is a very lovely person. And this blog wouldn’t be a true reflection of mine and Ollie’s experiences if I didn’t mention her because she has become such an important part of our time here.
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Last Sunday I found myself standing in a huge church, palms in the air, singing and standing between a Zambian Indian and three Fijian Indians. As I sang I thanked God right then for putting me there, for showing me what travelling had done. Actually no. What he had done. Now I am not being racist, I only mention my three friends’ and their parents race because it is so wonderfully different to mine and the fact that they are Christian and like me, which I think is pretty cool! And also because technically the Zambian shouldn’t be friends with the Fijians, but that gets really complicated and I don’t have the time nor the full understanding to get into all the technicalities that make up being an Indian of various descent!
Well I hope they like me! Nirvisha’s Mum in law let me try some of her homemade curry the other day and I almost spat it out, before politely turning to her and trying to make her believe that I thought it was delightful and the most marvelous thing I had ever tasted! To be fair to me it was made from the most bitter vegetable known to man but it was my fault for taking a big finger full when they had warned me. But I wanted to save face and not be the ‘ignorant white girl’!! Luckily they thought it was absolutely hilarious and the very lovely lady told me the next time I saw her that they had laughed about it for the next two days! Ah Amy, ever the fool...
Anyway where was I? Ah yes, in church. Now I don’t often, if ever, talk about my faith. And this isn’t because I’m shy or nervous of telling people, the real truth is that I’m not sure how strong I am and if the confused muddle I have is even by ‘faithful people’s’ standards a faith at all. When I was little we always went to church and I always thought of myself as someone who was good, in terms of the bible, and who would be happily bathing in the crystal sea when her time on earth came to an end (roughly around the age of 110!). But then a few years ago I stopped to have a think about things and I realised that I wasn’t a little girl anymore, many of the rules I thought I had been following I had actually broken and that my ‘faith’ was in tatters. Because you can’t just set up your ‘faith’ and then that’s it. I was naive enough to think this though and in turn had slipped into a place without realising that wasn’t very pleasant at all. Of course on the outside I was still me, and no one would ever have known how I felt, but I did and that meant God did too and I didn’t like that at all.
I am not doubting the existence of God. I firmly believe God exists. I also believe that anyone who has a faith, whatever religion, is essentially praying to the same God because I think there can only be one and so when we die we can never be disappointed because we were all believing in a God and we’ll meet him. To have a faith and believe in something you can only believe in and not see is an amazing, trusting thing so if someone is doing that I don’t think it matters what name they give to it, as long as they are becoming a better person because of it. It’s not about names, books, buildings, or rituals, it’s about believing, loving and being thankful and appreciative for all that is and will be.
But perhaps I am slightly biased towards a Christian belief. And the more I ask questions and the more I really look, the more answers are pushing me further in that direction. Recently I heard about someone who had converted from being a Hindu to becoming a Christian. It was the most remarkable story and perhaps I will be able to write about it in the future because it was another reassurance to me that Christians are definitely onto something!
But my first answer a while back was Dad. He is my reason for going back to Church when I was convinced God didn’t want me there anymore. My Dad is amazing. My Mum is also amazing but she’s another story for another time. He is what makes me believe in believing. At fifty two, after a life of questioning and not believing he stepped waist deep into a pool, put his head beneath the freezing water and gave his life to God. He gave his heart over and he acknowledged Jesus Christ. How amazing is that? And that was my proof that surely God does exist. Because if my Dad had it so right before why on earth would he suddenly decide to become a Christian and to follow God? Why did he need to? He was doing fine before. But something in him changed and that will always be so special to me. And he is a different person now. Of course he still looks the same, still tells the most over exaggerated stories ever, still can’t watch the end of an intense footie match and forgets to make Phoebe’s drink almost every time he makes a cup of tea for us all, but it is obvious that inside, his heart has changed. He is now an even better person than he was before.
But there is a flip side to this magnificent story. I couldn’t be at Dad and Phoebe’s Baptism. And I don’t think anyone ever knew how sad I was that I couldn’t be there. But over time the sadness turned to a convinced notion that it wasn’t work that stopped me being there it was because I wasn’t part of my families ever growing strength in faith anymore. That I had fallen off a bridge somewhere along the track and while they were heading for greatness I was swimming beneath, further and further out of reach. And so I locked up my shrinking faith, stopped going to church, ‘cos I’d break down in tears every time I went refused to go to the places in my heart that God was trying to take me. Until last Sunday.
I was really looking forward to going to the church when Nirvisha invited me and it wasn’t until I reached the doors to the centre that my legs started to shake. Even though I hadn’t been to service since I left England, in which I had broken down in tears in front of my Mum and Dad, I still talked and do talk to God everyday. Not praying so much (although I do try) as just chatting really. Which I know sounds odd and some might think that I’m just talking to myself, but I know I’m not ‘cos when I talk to myself I don’t feel like someone is listening, but when I talk to God it feels totally different. Like my mind is cramped for space and it’s suddenly warm and my thoughts don’t echo back.
When we reached the doors God spoke to me. Again I know that sounds all burning bushy but it wasn’t like that at all! It was me talking but I know it was his sentiments. He told me ‘Cut the crap now Amy and just go in.’ I know God isn’t supposed to use bad language but I think he tells it like it is and will always level with people. So he was leveling with me. He was telling me to drop my act, bring out the scared young woman and find a seat ‘cos I needed this. So I did. And within minutes I was trying not to cry and also trying not to run back out the door. Because when I’m in church it’s like I can’t lie. As if all my sadness, worries and mistakes and thoughts are being pulled from deep within me and I can’t push them down. I have to confront them head on. And that’s too hard.
The service was great and was all about our hearts and how we store things up. About the way the way our past effects us and comes out in the things we say and do, about confronting our most locked away things. Exactly how I feel every time I go to church! It reminded me of the joke about the guy stuck on an island asking God to save him and he ignores the boat and the plane. Whenever I go to church God is trying to get me to confront the things I am confused about, my worries and troubles I have and every time I ignore him and continue along my path thinking that I am not worth his time. But as is with everything, the service came to an end. I left my seat, walked out through the door and stitched my heart back up as fast as I could, put my shell back on and tore my mind away. Why? Because I can’t do it. I can’t seem to let God help me.
Everyone struggles with temptation and from what I’ve heard the bible says that if you believe in God you can trust in him and say no to it and he’ll look after you. This is great. Except with me, not only do I struggle with the temptation of doing things I know I shouldn’t (and I’m not talking about eating a whole pack of Hobnobs I’m talking about doing stuff I know I shouldn’t from lying to Ollie about petty things to more serious stuff), I actually, and this is so hard to admit, like the very thing of it. I like temptation. I find it fascinating, alluring, exciting, and uncontrollably addictive. It’s not actually the doing of the thing it’s the being tempted. It’s the temptation of the temptation that gets me. I fully well know this makes me a not very good person and someone who needs to seriously take a long hard look at themselves, but they say admission is the first stage to going straight. Right? At least I know myself. Even if sometimes I don’t like me.
So I know my problem but I enjoy the feeling too much to let it go. And before I can let God help me I have to want him to help me let it go. But there’s something deep inside me telling me not to. Telling me to put it off. Saying ‘When you get home to England, when you have children, when you’re 40, when you find your first grey hair, then you can quit your current state, then you can give your life to God.’ I can go long periods of time battling and ignoring this ever present whisper but just when I think I’m rid of it and I stop trying so hard and let my guard down a bit, suddenly it’s back louder than ever and I have to start all over again!
I know the owner of this voice. But I won’t give the credit and write it here. And to write it would be to admit it as well and that scares me too much. Just writing all this out makes me want to fall to my knees right now, to go and ask questions, to find out more about making my faith something more than a conversation and to become the person I know I should be. But I also know that in the morning when I wake up I’ll be back to ‘normal’ and brushing off my internal tug of war for another day. But like I said before, my childhood church days won’t keep me ‘safe’ forever. There will be a day soon when I will have to make a choice. That while I’m meddling in my own dramas, other people are dealing with problems that are not self inflicted, are beyond their control and that I should be being thankful for not having myself. I have been given the chance to live an amazing life but if I don’t work on some parts of me soon I may lose it. And after all it is all down to choices.
30/4/12
