Vulnerable

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one. Not even an animal. Wrap it carefully with hobbies and luxuries, avoid all entanglements and keep it safe in the casket of your selfishness. But in the casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." CS Lewis The Four Loves

I've given my heart to men. I've given it to family. I've given it to friends near and far. I've had it broken by infidelity, I've had it broken by shattered hopes and dreams, I've had it broken by unmet expectations of friendship. No doubt along the way I've shattered others' hopes and let down friends' expectations of close relationship. And yet I refuse to see heart break as a position of victimhood but instead view it as a consequence of love - not an easy state to understand, even harder to control but a proof, if you like, of an ability to love freely, to relinquish control for however fleeting the moment and be vulnerable. I remain resolute that to love is to live, inspite of the risk of heart break because to live without love is to live without God and that I cannot do.

Patience

I haven't blogged for a while. What I have done is practised a lot of patience. I heard this today which was both a great encouragement and an admonishment to a control-freak like me:

"To be faithful is to be patience. Patience is what reminds us that we’re not in control. When the Son of Man returns will he find faithfulness on earth? My prayer is that the answer will be yes."

And so I faithfully wait and I rest and I abide in the Lord.

Walking humbly with my God

Earlier this year I spent time in a city that wasn't my home. I walked it's streets every day with people who weren't home, yet I grew to love. Every day we would walk to our destination together and return to the place we made our temporary home together, in unison. Stepping out along sidewalks, crossing highways and breathing in deeply the musty air of a city that never slept, we cultivated relationship. As this journey embedded itself into our daily rhythm, I began to realise something. If I sped ahead, taking charge, leading the pack, I lost a connection with my fellow travellers. And if I dragged behind, distracted by a fleeting attempt to capture this great metropole one identical snap after another, I too disrupted that most tender of human rituals: the gentle questionning of two individuals getting to know each other's lives and loves. Only when we were travelling at the same pace, walking in tandem, talking in hushed tones, glancing in sympathy, empathy and laughter, could we truely relate.

The Old Testament prophet Micah set out a beautifully simple aid to our lives in a trinity of commands to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with our God. My daily journeys in a strange city resonated with this last command. Strutting out in front of God or being distracted by sights along the way both stop me from relating to my Father. I need to walk humbly alongside Him, sharing my day, listening to His tales of life and love and knowing that if I stick close to Him I'll remain on the right path that's ahead of us.

Stranger in our midst

I came to London to pursue myself. When my schooling finished I was off: out of the small town in Scotland where I had outgrown the system, the community and the culture. London offered limitless opportunities of self-improvement, education, anonymity, career and success. Yet I encountered loneliness, loss and self-doubt. I had hoped to find happiness in the achievement of academic prowess and purpose in a city paved with promise. Yet I found emptiness and shallow relationships in which conversations revolved around establishing tenuous links between people who neither cared nor engaged with the other. I was that Other: the Alien. My interactions were framed around this insistence that I was this Other, as if by identifying myself as different I could ease the pain of cultural misunderstanding. Instead of finding a commonality I focussed on the difference between us.

And now? London is my home. I have found fulfillment in the very things from my hometown that I shunned 7 years ago: community, family and a slower pace. I no longer feel or act like an Alien but instead enjoy encountering them in our midst. And yet, my eternal inheritance means I am not of this world, so in a way I remain a stranger, passing through. London is my mission field but it is also my home. Living here is my purpose but settling here is not. Encountering and celebrating difference is my lifeblood, even more as I do so from a place of experience of knowing that bewilderment at this city and her people.

The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world

I spent yesterday with a group of feminists. Most of them were strong, all of them were female. We were discussing the ways in which NGOs could encourage women to become politically active. Somehow the conversation traversed through gendered obstacles to the crux of the matter: mothers need to bring their sons up to respect women. And so we returned to that age old expectation that “the hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world”. Tails of choosing boys only schools for their sons were shared, each woman around the table nodding in agreement that their beloveds ought to complete their education in a girl-free environment, lest the girls tempt and distract their sons.

Eve’s curse haunts us still. Woman: the weak, the seductress, the vulnerable. Man: acts without taking responsibility. Where then does this leave our struggle with an unequal society? I would argue that in our efforts to create a level playing field, on which men and women can play and contribute to society, the perpetuation of the myth that men are superior to women has spoiled all our efforts. We strive not for equality, a thoroughly biblical concept, but instead for sameness. Women ought to have access to contraception and abortions because they must be able to be the same as men. Women must have an education so they can be the same as men. Women must rise to the top of business, academic and political structures so they can prove they are the same as men. However, I firmly believe men and women are different. Our bodies, our minds, our motivations are different. But our worth can be, and in God’s eyes is, the same. We should turn from perpetuating stereotypes of all women as temptresses (sure, some are) and men as weak victims in the battle of sexuality, for neither stereotype builds women and men into the pillars they can be within our families, communities and societies. Let us celebrate difference and affirm worth. Perhaps if we do this from a young age, our children might grow up to aspire to be the best women and men they can be and our society will accept that women and men and contribute in equal but different ways. Together: in community and in partnership.

Loving God enough to break the rules

On her departure from London, my best friend gave me a card picturing two women growing old disgracefully.

As much as I loved my friend’s beautiful words of love which filled the space inside, at the time I found this card’s message hard to swallow. I find breaking rules very difficult indeed. Rules of punctuation, the highway, etiquette and sport have always inspired me to be the best I can be within those set parameters. What then, of Jesus’ suggestion that those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, will be blessed with and by the Kingdom of God?

Am I brave enough to through caution to the wind, to take risks, to open myself up to the possibility of failure? How can I call myself a follower of Jesus when the consequences of following him might mean breaking some of my own rules, expectations and norms and encountering persecution in doing so?

Context is of course important to consider and risk-taking for risk-taking's sake is probably a bit daft really. But maybe, just maybe, on this adventure called life I will start to break my own rules and find freedom in doing so.

Love

Love isn't always a feeling. It's an act of the will.