guys, i said, 'yes'.
it's been five days, fourteen hours and thirty nine minutes since i was face-masked and pyjamafied asked to marry him - and i said 'yes'.
we are already one set of tears and a migraine in but i am praying we are quick to recall that the real prize God is calling us to is heavenward and slow to forget the width and length and height and depth of Love.
i will keep readying my heart for Zion, more than 'i do'.
i'm not sure how we got here
to these tents we call our own
but I'm glad for our direction,
for the time we have to loan
to one another,
every grace and patient word -
they chime, a choir of reminders,
of the home we head toward.
there are tunes when hearts be heavy
even when the load be light,
though we know the day is dawning
and that soon means no more night
or grief or pain or tears -
for the broken that we bear
will lift and, like the dawn of spring,
pave steps to summer air.
but the melodies most precious,
tucked away when volunteered,
are the joyful, holy keepsakes
from the days with little fear
of want, distraction,
insecurity of soul -
songs are sweetest, fullest, loudest
when they quietly sing you whole.
to these tents we call our own
but I'm glad for our direction,
for the time we have to loan
to one another,
every grace and patient word -
they chime, a choir of reminders,
of the home we head toward.
there are tunes when hearts be heavy
even when the load be light,
though we know the day is dawning
and that soon means no more night
or grief or pain or tears -
for the broken that we bear
will lift and, like the dawn of spring,
pave steps to summer air.
but the melodies most precious,
tucked away when volunteered,
are the joyful, holy keepsakes
from the days with little fear
of want, distraction,
insecurity of soul -
songs are sweetest, fullest, loudest
when they quietly sing you whole.
fog
yesterday, one of my favourite people was in a car accident.
the car was totalled, but by the grace of God she is completely fine.
more than completely fine, even.
because in the awful chaos and fog of writing a car off and spilled oil all over the road in the middle of the night, the Lord answered so many prayers. just like when that weight lifts from grieving the last person you lost or you begin to forget the first person you ever fell in love with, he lifted the haze and delivered her.
eventually, we will stop forgetting the lesson we are taught over and over, that we are not very good at knowing what is good for us and that the Lord is much better.
it will probably take a lot more of falling on our knees, and crying out through tears, and waiting and waiting and waiting on the Lord to answer in the wonderful way we least expect.
i am thankful for the counter-intuitive intervention of the Lord in each and every one of our days.
i am glad to be growing up together.
the car was totalled, but by the grace of God she is completely fine.
more than completely fine, even.
because in the awful chaos and fog of writing a car off and spilled oil all over the road in the middle of the night, the Lord answered so many prayers. just like when that weight lifts from grieving the last person you lost or you begin to forget the first person you ever fell in love with, he lifted the haze and delivered her.
eventually, we will stop forgetting the lesson we are taught over and over, that we are not very good at knowing what is good for us and that the Lord is much better.
it will probably take a lot more of falling on our knees, and crying out through tears, and waiting and waiting and waiting on the Lord to answer in the wonderful way we least expect.
i am thankful for the counter-intuitive intervention of the Lord in each and every one of our days.
i am glad to be growing up together.
a wrecking ball
i am not very good at this thing they call affection. my instinct is to try and fast us forward to a point where comfort is our genre of choice, bypassing all the steps it takes to get there, rather than relishing the variations of the themes that build toward amity.
when playing truth or dare as a child, i managed to maneuver each and every turn to truth. i am not one for thrills or the spilling out of adrenaline into my bloodstream, heart racing, lips pursed, ready to burst with a scream or shout of fear or freedom.
and right now, it's as though i've somehow drawn the dare card from the pile. the little girl in me would like to trade it back for a truth because i can feel my stomach falling and the pace of my pulse picking up.
but this is where they all begin, the development of the first recurring motif; a twenty-something melange of terror, joy, panic and daydreaming. all i can do is clutch my tiny card that reads, 'i dare you not to stumble as you maybe fall' and double dare you in my head to do the same.
when playing truth or dare as a child, i managed to maneuver each and every turn to truth. i am not one for thrills or the spilling out of adrenaline into my bloodstream, heart racing, lips pursed, ready to burst with a scream or shout of fear or freedom.
and right now, it's as though i've somehow drawn the dare card from the pile. the little girl in me would like to trade it back for a truth because i can feel my stomach falling and the pace of my pulse picking up.
but this is where they all begin, the development of the first recurring motif; a twenty-something melange of terror, joy, panic and daydreaming. all i can do is clutch my tiny card that reads, 'i dare you not to stumble as you maybe fall' and double dare you in my head to do the same.
the difference
i don’t know how or why we started to think that caring is weak and nonchalance is strong but it hardly seems right to have to console friends and remind them it’s actually alright to be sad about things that are broken.
it’s a dangerous lie to believe that joy is being ok all the time and that easy is better than perseverance.
an apology
lately,
i’m sorry that
by the time i’m with you
i always seem to have
run out
of the words
to love you with.
redefine prerogative
i promise -
to be kind to you
with all the words i speak;
to turn away
from bitterness,
from blame,
instead,
to seek to hold you up
in high regard
in all my thoughts;
to try to treat you as you are,
not were or could or ought;
to trace with care
our fault lines that
we both are scared to tread;
to put your good
before my own
and love you best instead.
it's raining, it's pouring
i’m sorry that i so often take the big things into my tiny hands and cry from having them so full my arms get tired and all sorts slip through my fingers from trying to grasp hold of this and that and the other when each of them is so much happier being held by you in hands that encompass land and sea and sky and the hearts of billions from beginning until end.
when i remember what tiny hands were made for it’s easier to try and fill them with nothing but your words which ooze like sweet honeycomb into my palms for me to eat and crumble to the ground at my feet to light my path and fill me from top to bottom so that my eyes can see and my soul can sing and my arms can at last let go and rest.
all that is required then is to watch and wait, because you will not give me a stone and you will not give me a snake, and all the big that tiny could not carry will be ok.
the heart of the law is love
sometimes it takes a small bit of awful to set in motion a whole lot of good. i'm glad that, amongst my friends, i am surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who are willing to persevere through those little bits of awful and to work hard to spur one another on to love and good deeds.
it can be tiring to pour yourself out, day by day, but i am glad that in doing so we are seeking to leave no debt remaining, except the continual debt to love one another.
dear girl
i had planned to write this note to your broken heart a while ago now. i'm sorry it's taken me so long to get here. there are only a few things i wanted to say, with the limited number of years i have to my name and the even more limited experience i have with functional relationships.
the closest i've come to falling in love is coming close to falling into something like what i imagine fallen-into-love would feel like. it's only happened a couple of times, thank goodness. one boy used to sign off his letters with 'something,' followed by his name and i guess that captures it pretty well. when it's not nothing yet it seems misplaced to call it love, 'something' is kind of all there is left.
the short of it is, i have some understanding of what it is to have a deep affection for someone and for that to be appropriate for a season and then rendered inappropriate for whatever reason. maybe you called yours a boyfriend, and though i've never done that, i don't think that makes me less qualified to say what i'm about to.
first, don't run away from people you care about who care about you because they remind you of him. or because you think there's a timeline of friendships which somehow gives him the rights to those he knew first and you the the rights to others now that you're not together. or because you think you might jeopardise longstanding history. we are all grown ups - let people decide which bridges will be burned and which will not. some bridges faltered a long time ago and while the cracks may be in the spotlight now, the buckling is probably more a result of once upon a time and a set of completely different circumstances. give people the benefit of the doubt when relationships shift. trust people's words when they're coupled with action. don't try to bring yourself a sense of accomplishment by getting your hands dirty manoeuvring networks to fit the way you feel they ought to. just be. let things settle. observe the lay of the land. push on from there. if there seems to be change between people, it is not your fault. it's a good rule of thumb to remember that the things happening around you are always less about you than you think they are.
second, please don't believe the lie that to be ok, you must no longer have a single shred of affection left for him. it is as much a misunderstanding to believe that, if there is still feeling there, it is false to have affection for another as it is to believe that, just because there is still feeling there, you have any prerogative to pursue once more what once was. for a long time, you can use normality in the presence of past entanglements as a litmus test to 'recovery'. you can frustrate yourself over and over that months or years later it still hurts to see them, that you still get angry with them when they say kind words to you in passing or when there is awkwardness in conversation when once there had been nothing but comfort. please do not be disheartened by the fear that persistent care will weigh you down forever. even in these situations you are more ok than you think and you can still make rational decisions that aren't enslaved by lingering affection. coming to terms with the fact that there will probably always be a small part of you that has affection for anyone you cared for deeply will always be more helpful than seeking to 'move on'. it does not mean that something is wrong with you when you remember his favourite band as they play on the radio or his emotional instability as you watch that film when he first held your hand or the way he walked away as you drive down the street where there were tears and a good bye. you will forget, don't worry. in the same way we often stumble into affection and cannot trace our steps backward, you will fall into forgetting in time. try less to do things to mend your heart as you count the days. make the most of just doing them wonderfully - as you lose count something magical will happen in the mending.
third, and finally, that saying that 'it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all' is only a little bit helpful. it could be twice as useful in less than half as many words. 'it is better to have loved' would suffice. please don't sully these words by only using them as a comfort to counsel you through your past when you're curled up on your couch eating ice cream out of the tub. i want you to look back in five years and be able to yell, 'it is better to have loved!' loudly and proudly, not just about the one that tore you in two, but about anyone you laughed with, dined with, cried with, prayed with, walked with, lived with. let those six words do the transforming work they are capable of as they guide you in your yet-to-be-made decisions and daily calls to sacrifice, care, patience, kindness, and sweet mercy. they will catapult you into new worlds, by setting your eyes not on the one ship that sailed but on an ocean's horizon teeming with the galleys and gullets you are yet to learn the names of. in each and every circumstance it is better to have loved than to have not, whether you win or lose. and while living this may not make your days easy, it will make them rich and deep and a messy sort of beautiful.
girl, there's no need to run.
you are ok.
it is better to have loved.
xo
the closest i've come to falling in love is coming close to falling into something like what i imagine fallen-into-love would feel like. it's only happened a couple of times, thank goodness. one boy used to sign off his letters with 'something,' followed by his name and i guess that captures it pretty well. when it's not nothing yet it seems misplaced to call it love, 'something' is kind of all there is left.
the short of it is, i have some understanding of what it is to have a deep affection for someone and for that to be appropriate for a season and then rendered inappropriate for whatever reason. maybe you called yours a boyfriend, and though i've never done that, i don't think that makes me less qualified to say what i'm about to.
first, don't run away from people you care about who care about you because they remind you of him. or because you think there's a timeline of friendships which somehow gives him the rights to those he knew first and you the the rights to others now that you're not together. or because you think you might jeopardise longstanding history. we are all grown ups - let people decide which bridges will be burned and which will not. some bridges faltered a long time ago and while the cracks may be in the spotlight now, the buckling is probably more a result of once upon a time and a set of completely different circumstances. give people the benefit of the doubt when relationships shift. trust people's words when they're coupled with action. don't try to bring yourself a sense of accomplishment by getting your hands dirty manoeuvring networks to fit the way you feel they ought to. just be. let things settle. observe the lay of the land. push on from there. if there seems to be change between people, it is not your fault. it's a good rule of thumb to remember that the things happening around you are always less about you than you think they are.
second, please don't believe the lie that to be ok, you must no longer have a single shred of affection left for him. it is as much a misunderstanding to believe that, if there is still feeling there, it is false to have affection for another as it is to believe that, just because there is still feeling there, you have any prerogative to pursue once more what once was. for a long time, you can use normality in the presence of past entanglements as a litmus test to 'recovery'. you can frustrate yourself over and over that months or years later it still hurts to see them, that you still get angry with them when they say kind words to you in passing or when there is awkwardness in conversation when once there had been nothing but comfort. please do not be disheartened by the fear that persistent care will weigh you down forever. even in these situations you are more ok than you think and you can still make rational decisions that aren't enslaved by lingering affection. coming to terms with the fact that there will probably always be a small part of you that has affection for anyone you cared for deeply will always be more helpful than seeking to 'move on'. it does not mean that something is wrong with you when you remember his favourite band as they play on the radio or his emotional instability as you watch that film when he first held your hand or the way he walked away as you drive down the street where there were tears and a good bye. you will forget, don't worry. in the same way we often stumble into affection and cannot trace our steps backward, you will fall into forgetting in time. try less to do things to mend your heart as you count the days. make the most of just doing them wonderfully - as you lose count something magical will happen in the mending.
third, and finally, that saying that 'it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all' is only a little bit helpful. it could be twice as useful in less than half as many words. 'it is better to have loved' would suffice. please don't sully these words by only using them as a comfort to counsel you through your past when you're curled up on your couch eating ice cream out of the tub. i want you to look back in five years and be able to yell, 'it is better to have loved!' loudly and proudly, not just about the one that tore you in two, but about anyone you laughed with, dined with, cried with, prayed with, walked with, lived with. let those six words do the transforming work they are capable of as they guide you in your yet-to-be-made decisions and daily calls to sacrifice, care, patience, kindness, and sweet mercy. they will catapult you into new worlds, by setting your eyes not on the one ship that sailed but on an ocean's horizon teeming with the galleys and gullets you are yet to learn the names of. in each and every circumstance it is better to have loved than to have not, whether you win or lose. and while living this may not make your days easy, it will make them rich and deep and a messy sort of beautiful.
girl, there's no need to run.
you are ok.
it is better to have loved.
xo
just another manic monday
today i heard joy. it took me by surprise in a man's voice at about a quarter past two in the afternoon. he was twenty seven years old and i could hear it carried along in the words he spoke. it sounded a lot like having not very much at all yet having everything at the very same time. i realised i don't hear it all that often because a lot of people i know have a lot already and forget that having everything at the very same time is even better. it's sad that it happens that way. it shouldn't.
i'm praying for a voice that sounds like his - that when people read in between the lines of all the things i say, it will spell out hallelujah.
i'm praying for a voice that sounds like his - that when people read in between the lines of all the things i say, it will spell out hallelujah.
for your own good
it's been one of those weeks when you realise that the burden of waiting for your gun shot wound to heal all this time has served to keep you from the worst of the warfare.
and you breathe a sigh of relief.
and you breathe a sigh of relief.
a gap six weeks #3
small. i feel small and at ease. so much so that i can't remember when we arrived in turkey, what date it was or day, and nothing in me needs or wants to check.
whether its been standing in an underground city or in the carved out caves that christians called home two thousand years ago as they fled persecution - or lying in the middle of the mediterranean in the dark, still night staring at the freckled sky at stars whose sparkle comes from so far away they might already be dead except no one here will know that they are for another two thousand years or more - or reading about quantum mechanics in the royal gardens of an ancient dynasty - or arriving in a new city at half past midnight and being helped by a bus driver who pulls over, asks where it is you need to go and radios back to the head bus station to track down directions that he later explains to the taksi he has hailed down for you in turkish - or being awoken at four am every morning by the call to prayer of a religion and culture you ought to know more about - or spending time reading 1 samuel and for the first time in a long time loving reading the old testament - or spending four days on a boat with eighteen strangers who are more diverse than the million flavours of turkish delight that line the streets of every turkish bazaar - or being rebuked by philippians on hubris and humility on the worst smelling five-hour bus trip of your life - or being the only tourists on the shuttle built to seat fifteen that actually transports at least twenty one, including a toddler, from antalya to olympus daily (the plastic stools stored on the front seat which initially seemed incongruous quickly making sense) - or floating just below the air space of 747s and airbuses, almost two kilometres high and watching the sun rise over the anatolian rockscape - turkey has been filled with reminders of joyful incapacity, vulnerability and vincibility and glorious minuteness, by the grace of the Lord.
i'd forgotten that life is but a mist, a passing breath that itself, once you look out and up and make yourself the size you ought to be, can and will daily take your breath away. i prayed a lot before i left that i would be filled up and ready to come home to give more of myself away than i had been able to/desired to over the past few months. those prayers are being answered abundantly.
whether its been standing in an underground city or in the carved out caves that christians called home two thousand years ago as they fled persecution - or lying in the middle of the mediterranean in the dark, still night staring at the freckled sky at stars whose sparkle comes from so far away they might already be dead except no one here will know that they are for another two thousand years or more - or reading about quantum mechanics in the royal gardens of an ancient dynasty - or arriving in a new city at half past midnight and being helped by a bus driver who pulls over, asks where it is you need to go and radios back to the head bus station to track down directions that he later explains to the taksi he has hailed down for you in turkish - or being awoken at four am every morning by the call to prayer of a religion and culture you ought to know more about - or spending time reading 1 samuel and for the first time in a long time loving reading the old testament - or spending four days on a boat with eighteen strangers who are more diverse than the million flavours of turkish delight that line the streets of every turkish bazaar - or being rebuked by philippians on hubris and humility on the worst smelling five-hour bus trip of your life - or being the only tourists on the shuttle built to seat fifteen that actually transports at least twenty one, including a toddler, from antalya to olympus daily (the plastic stools stored on the front seat which initially seemed incongruous quickly making sense) - or floating just below the air space of 747s and airbuses, almost two kilometres high and watching the sun rise over the anatolian rockscape - turkey has been filled with reminders of joyful incapacity, vulnerability and vincibility and glorious minuteness, by the grace of the Lord.
i'd forgotten that life is but a mist, a passing breath that itself, once you look out and up and make yourself the size you ought to be, can and will daily take your breath away. i prayed a lot before i left that i would be filled up and ready to come home to give more of myself away than i had been able to/desired to over the past few months. those prayers are being answered abundantly.
a gap six weeks #2
if the last day is anything to go by, interest-wise, we certainly are not going to be let down in turkey. it was a travel day so antics were bound to ensue. antics love when you have a nineteen kilogram pack to lug around and absolutely no upper (or lower or any) body strength to maintain carrying it around on a foreign public transport system. the paris RER really cemented itself in my mind as the worst transport ever after getting stuck in the bicycle carriage on the forty minute trip to the airport with no air circulation and no windows and people squished in from all sides as tightly packed in as the six weeks of clothes packed into the bag on my back weighing me down and contributing only negatively to that feeling you get just before you pass out and vomit at the same time from a lack of oxygen and motion sickness. i was wearing jeans too which is always a mistake on travel days. always wear shorts. being cold is so much better than being hot. i missed the freedom of my havaianas, but of course, one had snapped that morning and i had wandered around the marais district of paris looking for any shoe shop that might be open to purchase a replacement pair of thongs from. but of course, it was sunday and everything was fermée. thank you, the rights of man, for establishing the roots of the thirty-five hour french working week.
by the time we got on the plane to istanbul at orly airport, eating crepes at five in the morning on our way home from rue oberkampf seemed like a distant dream world. the paris we had spent a week in seemed like a different place altogether to the one that was bidding us adieu with what seemed like a slap in the face. it reminded me uneasily of the parisian woman who had used the men's bathroom in charbon and then slapped all the men who were waiting in a queue outside the bathroom as she left. that is another story though.
we were thus, not in top form when we arrived in istanbul at 11pm. we had at least researched the best way to get to our hostel, but assumed a taxi driver would know the exact location. incorrect. he was a sweet, old man though and kept pointing out turkish points of interest to us as we drove and asking our permission to take a different bridge or do a u-turn. at least, from what i gleaned knowing no turkish whatsoever.
one hour and several detours later, we arrived near taksim square. if it weren't for a long stop-over on the side of the road asking some policemen for directions i don't think we'd have made it. the two policemen our sweet, old man asked at first did not know the exact address and called out two others for help. the only place we had the address for where we were going was on my phone, so out the taxi window it went, passed around between these four turkish policemen as they pulled out their phones in turn and started making phone calls to ask others for directions.
as we got out of the taxi, the fare was kindly calculated for me and patiently pointed to on a piece of paper so i would understand how much i owed. i wanted so much to say thank you for all the old man's help but had no idea how. it's a bizarre sensation being in a completely foreign place. i can't remember the last time i was in a city where i didn't know any of the language at all and was completely unable to communicate verbally. but here i am, in istanbul, and i don't even know how to pronounce the turkish for thank you. it's bizarrely debilitating being unable to be polite in the most basic way.
in my pre-flight-from-sydney-to-london freak out of changing money and washing clothes and packing bags a few hours before departure, a kind friend told me it would be ok and that it was good to do hard things. i have no idea what these next three turkish weeks are going to be like but i can already tell i'm going to be taught so many things about the world and the Lord and my heart.
by the time we got on the plane to istanbul at orly airport, eating crepes at five in the morning on our way home from rue oberkampf seemed like a distant dream world. the paris we had spent a week in seemed like a different place altogether to the one that was bidding us adieu with what seemed like a slap in the face. it reminded me uneasily of the parisian woman who had used the men's bathroom in charbon and then slapped all the men who were waiting in a queue outside the bathroom as she left. that is another story though.
we were thus, not in top form when we arrived in istanbul at 11pm. we had at least researched the best way to get to our hostel, but assumed a taxi driver would know the exact location. incorrect. he was a sweet, old man though and kept pointing out turkish points of interest to us as we drove and asking our permission to take a different bridge or do a u-turn. at least, from what i gleaned knowing no turkish whatsoever.
one hour and several detours later, we arrived near taksim square. if it weren't for a long stop-over on the side of the road asking some policemen for directions i don't think we'd have made it. the two policemen our sweet, old man asked at first did not know the exact address and called out two others for help. the only place we had the address for where we were going was on my phone, so out the taxi window it went, passed around between these four turkish policemen as they pulled out their phones in turn and started making phone calls to ask others for directions.
as we got out of the taxi, the fare was kindly calculated for me and patiently pointed to on a piece of paper so i would understand how much i owed. i wanted so much to say thank you for all the old man's help but had no idea how. it's a bizarre sensation being in a completely foreign place. i can't remember the last time i was in a city where i didn't know any of the language at all and was completely unable to communicate verbally. but here i am, in istanbul, and i don't even know how to pronounce the turkish for thank you. it's bizarrely debilitating being unable to be polite in the most basic way.
in my pre-flight-from-sydney-to-london freak out of changing money and washing clothes and packing bags a few hours before departure, a kind friend told me it would be ok and that it was good to do hard things. i have no idea what these next three turkish weeks are going to be like but i can already tell i'm going to be taught so many things about the world and the Lord and my heart.
a gap six weeks #1
as per the usual pattern of my life, my hopeless romanticism has been quashed by a stark and painful reality; paris may be the city of l'amour but it also does rail construction and traffic redirection terribly. all in all, this is not such a burden for parisians themselves to bear. they holiday in august anyway so changes to the metro and the RER at these times are but the niggling, loud chews of a lover at the dining table to them. transport inconveniences are not quite enough to make them throw in the towel and go and find a burly bruges or sweet-talking venice to replace their famous capital for. it's ok if your partner has a perennial bad habit so long as you can withstand the worst of it with patience or escape.
but to a foreigner, with her ear out of the french language and a TGV connection to make in an hour and a half, disruptions to the train system are akin to your husband planning a boys weekend over your wedding anniversary and then not returning your calls while he is away. it's hurtful, stressful and leaves you on the verge of tears with an anxiety headache to nurse.
so here I stand, the slighted lover. i have twenty-two minutes to make my connection now and i started my transit journey over an hour ago. it's approximately the temperature of a just-popped toaster in the underground and a multicultural mélange of body odour permeates the air. the train shows no sign of leaving the platform to châtelets les halles, which my last train expressed through without prior warning, which i have to change at to get to gare de lyon, which is normally only two stops away direct on the malesherbes line from gare du nord, the station i started at. unfortunately, that line is closed for maintenance today.
technically i should have been where i want to be right now forty- five minutes ago. instead i am further away from it than when i began.
the minutes pass excruciatingly quickly. should i get off and catch another train on a different line or maybe try the street for a taxi or perhaps just admit defeat and abandon my non-refundable ticket to lyon and book a room in paris for the night and try again tomorrow? my mind backs and forth between the 'your life is in your hands' optimism of a tony robbins self-help tape and the 'things can only get worse' anticipation of a george r.r. martin novel, only without an imp as a glimmer of hope. by the time the doors shut and the wheels start turning towards châtelets les halles, i have been standing on an unmoving train for sixteen minutes.
it seems i am not yet well equipped to plan overseas holidays. there are many decisions i made which lacked foresight. the fact that my single night in london was the closing ceremony of the olympic games resulting in exorbitantly priced accommodation all over london and an inability to find anywhere decent to stay, for example. traveling out of london to france the day after the closing ceremony, one of the busiest commuting days of the year europe has seen since the day before the opening ceremony of the olympic games, another key example.
saved by the kindness of a friend of a friend and a bed in a third floor bathroom near clapham junction on the former count, it seems i am at the mercy of sweet strangers through the stresses of the latter as well.
once i finally make it to gare de lyon, with eight minutes until my train leaves, and four train lines and twenty one platforms to navigate, i have never been more thankful for an old, french newspaper vendor. he very patiently explains to me how to decipher the maze of arrival and departure screens after i frantically ask him how to get to the TGV in broken french. i don't have to explain to him that my french is a bit rusty. he can tell from my pained expression of concentration as i listen intently to understand him when he asks where my train is headed in his natural tongue. (still, i understand his question AND respond in french. i'll take one small victory gold medal, please!)
'you will see on the screens two columns près de la destination of the train. the petit white box is to wait down here, the petit blue box, it flashes, le nombre, you must go,' he explains in gentle, broken english. i nod intently, storing away his clues. The fact that i'm in a rush gets lost in translation and i have to cut him off as he continues about how much he adores the movements of a busy train station. 'merci, monsieur!' i yell as i wave and madly dash through the peak hour crowds (another wonderful logistical travel plan on my part) to look for my flashing blue number, which i assume from monsieurs instructions will direct me to the correct platform.
six minutes to go. my eyes search for lyon on the screens. LYON PERRACHE! there it is, flashing, bright and beautiful. right below it, also flashing with the same departure time is lyon part dieu. good. four minutes to go. fumble through my bag for my ticket. scanning, scanning, scanning for any indication of which it is. part dieu! a quick back and forth between my eyes and the screen reveals my flashing blue number thirteen.
in the end, i make it with two minutes to spare, and settle into my seat feeling glad, but very unfresh.
i know i wouldn't have made it but for the sweet too advice of the attendant who issued my eurostar ticket at st pancras. the adventurer in me was about to go through with a ticket arrangement leaving thirty-five minutes transit time. being spoilt and pampered by my family in ditchling and canterbury for the past five days had whet my appetite for dwelling on the edge a little. and a potentially too short transit time in a city i haven't been to in seven years is exactly the kind of danger that pushes me to the max and stretches the limits of my comfort zone.
'perhaps we should rebook you onto the later train to lyon from paris? it's actually only £10 more and you'll be in the premier class so you'll get some food,' were his saving words. it's like he knew the only thing i would exchange my thrill seeker ways for would be a snack tray so he just went for it and dropped the f-bomb. my prioritisation of food over most things in my life has yet only saved me from the throws of hunger. even so, there had been little that had ever caused my affection to waver. now though, with more than ever gratitude in my heart, i can safely vow never to diet again. if it weren't for my desire to be fed, i would not have made it to my hotel room in lyon to alex, who had travelled 526 kilometres, on three trains, in eight and a half hours from toulouse. france is not the tiny hexagon it seems on the map.
s my train set in motion from gare de lyon, i chided myself for my novice travel plans and my adventurous finesse that had so quickly waned. i hope for the best in people and places for the most part, which often leaves me worse for wear. so, jilted by my first experience of paris in a little under a decade, i stared out the window for consolation.
france, i'm not sure if you're playing hard to get or just afraid to commit because you're not sure what the future holds but you should know that i'm not in the habit of being quick to let go. maybe you've never had a girl be so forthright with you but i think you should give me a chance. i'm not asking to live here or anything, but it might be nice just to get to know each other over the next two weeks. i promise I'll have affection for you, even in august, when you chew loudly and forget anniversaries because i can see good things in you that are worth fighting for.
and, as per the usual pattern of my life, my romanticism set back in, uninhibited by the reality of experience. i quickly forgot and forgave the emotional tumult as the train rolled on to lyon, past the pasture and the ponds, the fields of goats and sunflowers, and the little villages full of provençal brick, all cast in the warm gold of a french setting sun.
but to a foreigner, with her ear out of the french language and a TGV connection to make in an hour and a half, disruptions to the train system are akin to your husband planning a boys weekend over your wedding anniversary and then not returning your calls while he is away. it's hurtful, stressful and leaves you on the verge of tears with an anxiety headache to nurse.
so here I stand, the slighted lover. i have twenty-two minutes to make my connection now and i started my transit journey over an hour ago. it's approximately the temperature of a just-popped toaster in the underground and a multicultural mélange of body odour permeates the air. the train shows no sign of leaving the platform to châtelets les halles, which my last train expressed through without prior warning, which i have to change at to get to gare de lyon, which is normally only two stops away direct on the malesherbes line from gare du nord, the station i started at. unfortunately, that line is closed for maintenance today.
technically i should have been where i want to be right now forty- five minutes ago. instead i am further away from it than when i began.
the minutes pass excruciatingly quickly. should i get off and catch another train on a different line or maybe try the street for a taxi or perhaps just admit defeat and abandon my non-refundable ticket to lyon and book a room in paris for the night and try again tomorrow? my mind backs and forth between the 'your life is in your hands' optimism of a tony robbins self-help tape and the 'things can only get worse' anticipation of a george r.r. martin novel, only without an imp as a glimmer of hope. by the time the doors shut and the wheels start turning towards châtelets les halles, i have been standing on an unmoving train for sixteen minutes.
it seems i am not yet well equipped to plan overseas holidays. there are many decisions i made which lacked foresight. the fact that my single night in london was the closing ceremony of the olympic games resulting in exorbitantly priced accommodation all over london and an inability to find anywhere decent to stay, for example. traveling out of london to france the day after the closing ceremony, one of the busiest commuting days of the year europe has seen since the day before the opening ceremony of the olympic games, another key example.
saved by the kindness of a friend of a friend and a bed in a third floor bathroom near clapham junction on the former count, it seems i am at the mercy of sweet strangers through the stresses of the latter as well.
once i finally make it to gare de lyon, with eight minutes until my train leaves, and four train lines and twenty one platforms to navigate, i have never been more thankful for an old, french newspaper vendor. he very patiently explains to me how to decipher the maze of arrival and departure screens after i frantically ask him how to get to the TGV in broken french. i don't have to explain to him that my french is a bit rusty. he can tell from my pained expression of concentration as i listen intently to understand him when he asks where my train is headed in his natural tongue. (still, i understand his question AND respond in french. i'll take one small victory gold medal, please!)
'you will see on the screens two columns près de la destination of the train. the petit white box is to wait down here, the petit blue box, it flashes, le nombre, you must go,' he explains in gentle, broken english. i nod intently, storing away his clues. The fact that i'm in a rush gets lost in translation and i have to cut him off as he continues about how much he adores the movements of a busy train station. 'merci, monsieur!' i yell as i wave and madly dash through the peak hour crowds (another wonderful logistical travel plan on my part) to look for my flashing blue number, which i assume from monsieurs instructions will direct me to the correct platform.
six minutes to go. my eyes search for lyon on the screens. LYON PERRACHE! there it is, flashing, bright and beautiful. right below it, also flashing with the same departure time is lyon part dieu. good. four minutes to go. fumble through my bag for my ticket. scanning, scanning, scanning for any indication of which it is. part dieu! a quick back and forth between my eyes and the screen reveals my flashing blue number thirteen.
in the end, i make it with two minutes to spare, and settle into my seat feeling glad, but very unfresh.
i know i wouldn't have made it but for the sweet too advice of the attendant who issued my eurostar ticket at st pancras. the adventurer in me was about to go through with a ticket arrangement leaving thirty-five minutes transit time. being spoilt and pampered by my family in ditchling and canterbury for the past five days had whet my appetite for dwelling on the edge a little. and a potentially too short transit time in a city i haven't been to in seven years is exactly the kind of danger that pushes me to the max and stretches the limits of my comfort zone.
'perhaps we should rebook you onto the later train to lyon from paris? it's actually only £10 more and you'll be in the premier class so you'll get some food,' were his saving words. it's like he knew the only thing i would exchange my thrill seeker ways for would be a snack tray so he just went for it and dropped the f-bomb. my prioritisation of food over most things in my life has yet only saved me from the throws of hunger. even so, there had been little that had ever caused my affection to waver. now though, with more than ever gratitude in my heart, i can safely vow never to diet again. if it weren't for my desire to be fed, i would not have made it to my hotel room in lyon to alex, who had travelled 526 kilometres, on three trains, in eight and a half hours from toulouse. france is not the tiny hexagon it seems on the map.
s my train set in motion from gare de lyon, i chided myself for my novice travel plans and my adventurous finesse that had so quickly waned. i hope for the best in people and places for the most part, which often leaves me worse for wear. so, jilted by my first experience of paris in a little under a decade, i stared out the window for consolation.
france, i'm not sure if you're playing hard to get or just afraid to commit because you're not sure what the future holds but you should know that i'm not in the habit of being quick to let go. maybe you've never had a girl be so forthright with you but i think you should give me a chance. i'm not asking to live here or anything, but it might be nice just to get to know each other over the next two weeks. i promise I'll have affection for you, even in august, when you chew loudly and forget anniversaries because i can see good things in you that are worth fighting for.
and, as per the usual pattern of my life, my romanticism set back in, uninhibited by the reality of experience. i quickly forgot and forgave the emotional tumult as the train rolled on to lyon, past the pasture and the ponds, the fields of goats and sunflowers, and the little villages full of provençal brick, all cast in the warm gold of a french setting sun.
wounding is part of the walk
in the bending and the breaking
and the wrecking of this world,
there’s the peace and still descending
from your solitary word,
that no matter what confronts me
or how foul the bitter cold,
or how piercing is the tearing
of my heart from loving bold,
or how anger, lust, resentment come
uproot the lives of friends,
or how fierce the drought and fire
of the words that cut and blend
all the lies and shouts and voices
casting doubt in depth of mind,
that no matter all these things above
or any more i’ll find,
your love it will consume me
and a bed for me to rest
it will make, each day remind me,
from the heavens i’ve been blessed.
and in the bending and the breaking
and the wrecking of this day,
i will shut my eyes, in joyful lull,
and in Your love, i’ll lay.
and the wrecking of this world,
there’s the peace and still descending
from your solitary word,
that no matter what confronts me
or how foul the bitter cold,
or how piercing is the tearing
of my heart from loving bold,
or how anger, lust, resentment come
uproot the lives of friends,
or how fierce the drought and fire
of the words that cut and blend
all the lies and shouts and voices
casting doubt in depth of mind,
that no matter all these things above
or any more i’ll find,
your love it will consume me
and a bed for me to rest
it will make, each day remind me,
from the heavens i’ve been blessed.
and in the bending and the breaking
and the wrecking of this day,
i will shut my eyes, in joyful lull,
and in Your love, i’ll lay.
a bean curd heart
my mother scolds me for lacking a stiff upper lip. my reactions are too obvious. i don't have tough enough skin. she likens me to silken tofu that crumbles at the slightest touch of the wooden spoon in a wok. her index finger will point to and fro as she begins each of her sentences with, 'all i'm trying to say is...'
according to my mother, i am soft like tofu.
it's true in a sense. i feel with my gut and make decisions by instinct a lot of the time. if i'm afraid, i will hide. if you come too close, i will run away. if we fight, i will cry. if things break, i'll be the first to say sorry. if i'm tired, i won't cope. if i'm anxious, i will bite my nails. if i'm sad, i won't leave my bed. if i miss you, i will mope around waiting for you to call. if it's right, i'll not stop trying. if i love you, i know i'll never change my mind.
it's easy to call these the weaknesses of a girl who wears the heart of a romantic on her sleeve. but i'm not convinced they're all bad things all of the time. even if i am a mass of bean curd, i know i'm sometimes that rubbery, fried stuff you often find in pad thai - at the very least, can be a little bit hardy.
according to my mother, i am soft like tofu.
it's true in a sense. i feel with my gut and make decisions by instinct a lot of the time. if i'm afraid, i will hide. if you come too close, i will run away. if we fight, i will cry. if things break, i'll be the first to say sorry. if i'm tired, i won't cope. if i'm anxious, i will bite my nails. if i'm sad, i won't leave my bed. if i miss you, i will mope around waiting for you to call. if it's right, i'll not stop trying. if i love you, i know i'll never change my mind.
it's easy to call these the weaknesses of a girl who wears the heart of a romantic on her sleeve. but i'm not convinced they're all bad things all of the time. even if i am a mass of bean curd, i know i'm sometimes that rubbery, fried stuff you often find in pad thai - at the very least, can be a little bit hardy.
sometimes, the scariest thing is to stay put and not runaway
driving to tutor some of my favourite maths students on monday afternoon, i pulled out of the car-park after picking up my take-away chai. i had to wait to turn right onto pacific highway at a set of red lights and in front of a pedestrian crossing.
a little girl and her mother pushing a pram approached the road. the little girl can't have been more than six. she was sulking. her bottom lip was down-turned and her shoulders slumped. they stopped at the crossing to wait for the red man to turn green, and the mother tapped the little girl's shoulder to make sure the little girl didn't cross the road without her. at this point she was seemingly unaware of her daughter's pout, and so, the little girl turned to her mother, just enough to make her mood apparent.
i'm not sure what the little girl was upset about. it was windy and she didn't have a jumper on, which would have been a practical reason to pout. but her mother's response made me think otherwise.
the mother simply began to laugh.
the little girl obviously did not enjoy this and stamped her tiny, angry foot on the pavement. her mother chuckled again and gently placed her hand on her little girl's shoulder. another angry foot stamp followed and the little girl shrugged her mother's touch from her shoulder. at this point, i half-expected the mother to have had enough and to begin pointing her finger and scolding her offspring.
but, with a smile on her face, the mother crouched down and with what would have been her chiding finger, instead tickled the little girl's side. a grin broke out on her daughter's face for a split second. the little girl turned her face away to hide her toothy joy from her mother's view, using all her concentration to quickly return her face to its former grumpy state. a second tickle later though, and the little girl's grumpiness could not help but turn to glee. she turned to her mother, cheekily stuck her tongue out and turning to stand by the pram, snuck her little hand into her mother's.
the mother laughed again. the red man turned green. and they crossed the road. probably to the cafe where the mother had a babycino planned for her little miss.
the whole encounter lasted about a minute, but it was like watching the last six months of my life play out in simple motion. God has been so patient with my grumpiness and fussing and i've often been at a loss as to how to approach Him after having treated him like the stubborn little girl stamping her foot.
i guess it's been a bit of an unsettling six months. none of the plans i've made have really stuck and none of the ways in which i've tried to tackle the things that have come up have really worked, at all. i've learnt a lot about tricking myself into trust, while really being burdened by anxiety. but the Lord has been kind and tapped my shoulder and tickled my side and i'm finally starting to see that my prayers have hardly been left unanswered.
i finish my masters degree in ten days and yesterday i realised in telling a friend how i was that it had been four and a half years since i'd been in a position where i had no people or places really tying me down and opportunities to seek and decisions to make. it was simultaneously scary and exciting.
and then, today He walked me across the pedestrian crossing and i had no idea where i was going until He sat me down in the cafe and placed in front of me the large, hot, have-here teapot of earl grey with the side of banana bread i've been waiting for despite the fact that i'd forgotten i'd even asked for it.
and i am so thankful that i am loved by a sweetly kind Father who, even after all my tantrums, allows me to slip my small, small, small hand into His and walk by Him as he chuckles.
a little girl and her mother pushing a pram approached the road. the little girl can't have been more than six. she was sulking. her bottom lip was down-turned and her shoulders slumped. they stopped at the crossing to wait for the red man to turn green, and the mother tapped the little girl's shoulder to make sure the little girl didn't cross the road without her. at this point she was seemingly unaware of her daughter's pout, and so, the little girl turned to her mother, just enough to make her mood apparent.
i'm not sure what the little girl was upset about. it was windy and she didn't have a jumper on, which would have been a practical reason to pout. but her mother's response made me think otherwise.
the mother simply began to laugh.
the little girl obviously did not enjoy this and stamped her tiny, angry foot on the pavement. her mother chuckled again and gently placed her hand on her little girl's shoulder. another angry foot stamp followed and the little girl shrugged her mother's touch from her shoulder. at this point, i half-expected the mother to have had enough and to begin pointing her finger and scolding her offspring.
but, with a smile on her face, the mother crouched down and with what would have been her chiding finger, instead tickled the little girl's side. a grin broke out on her daughter's face for a split second. the little girl turned her face away to hide her toothy joy from her mother's view, using all her concentration to quickly return her face to its former grumpy state. a second tickle later though, and the little girl's grumpiness could not help but turn to glee. she turned to her mother, cheekily stuck her tongue out and turning to stand by the pram, snuck her little hand into her mother's.
the mother laughed again. the red man turned green. and they crossed the road. probably to the cafe where the mother had a babycino planned for her little miss.
the whole encounter lasted about a minute, but it was like watching the last six months of my life play out in simple motion. God has been so patient with my grumpiness and fussing and i've often been at a loss as to how to approach Him after having treated him like the stubborn little girl stamping her foot.
i guess it's been a bit of an unsettling six months. none of the plans i've made have really stuck and none of the ways in which i've tried to tackle the things that have come up have really worked, at all. i've learnt a lot about tricking myself into trust, while really being burdened by anxiety. but the Lord has been kind and tapped my shoulder and tickled my side and i'm finally starting to see that my prayers have hardly been left unanswered.
i finish my masters degree in ten days and yesterday i realised in telling a friend how i was that it had been four and a half years since i'd been in a position where i had no people or places really tying me down and opportunities to seek and decisions to make. it was simultaneously scary and exciting.
and then, today He walked me across the pedestrian crossing and i had no idea where i was going until He sat me down in the cafe and placed in front of me the large, hot, have-here teapot of earl grey with the side of banana bread i've been waiting for despite the fact that i'd forgotten i'd even asked for it.
and i am so thankful that i am loved by a sweetly kind Father who, even after all my tantrums, allows me to slip my small, small, small hand into His and walk by Him as he chuckles.
protect, trust, hope, persevere
it is a tough thing to love properly a person you know you love deeply and dearly.
it is easy to gush rosewater words. but what's to stop them swiftly getting left behind as time goes on? at best our phrases can be a fleeting evocation of sincere sentiment. at worst, they can be the false lull of security in an affection which is here today and gone tomorrow.
it is much more difficult to patiently bear a beloved's blunders, to kindly dress their wounds, to do away with all the little things that shake us and cause us to covet and puff ourselves up in their presence, to respect their whole person rather than a single dimension, to stow away personal desire and satisfaction for their sake, to not just keep frustration to yourself but to work through it prayerfully and humbly and without pointing fingers, and to be consistent and constant in freely granting amnesty.
a love that is all those things cannot be shaken. but sometimes, often even, a proper love that is all those things is silent.
and not saying a word is hard because you can't be certain anyone will ever hear even though you are loving at the top of your lungs.
it is easy to gush rosewater words. but what's to stop them swiftly getting left behind as time goes on? at best our phrases can be a fleeting evocation of sincere sentiment. at worst, they can be the false lull of security in an affection which is here today and gone tomorrow.
it is much more difficult to patiently bear a beloved's blunders, to kindly dress their wounds, to do away with all the little things that shake us and cause us to covet and puff ourselves up in their presence, to respect their whole person rather than a single dimension, to stow away personal desire and satisfaction for their sake, to not just keep frustration to yourself but to work through it prayerfully and humbly and without pointing fingers, and to be consistent and constant in freely granting amnesty.
a love that is all those things cannot be shaken. but sometimes, often even, a proper love that is all those things is silent.
and not saying a word is hard because you can't be certain anyone will ever hear even though you are loving at the top of your lungs.
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