Partly to share this version with you, but mostly so I can find it again easily when I want to listen to it.
Friday, 28 June 2019
Sunday, 9 June 2019
More About Friendship
I overheard a bit of conversation at church one day; someone was talking about how a group of girls were talking about ... something ... not deep enough, evidently, because they had been asked how their conversation was edifying (and I don't actually remember the something, only that it was just normal conversation). And there was a book that basically said that any conversation that wasn't about God (or didn't include Him) was a wasted conversation.
Both of those ideas bothered me. Granted, there is a time for deep conversations about deep topics, and granted, God should be such a part of our lives that it shapes our conversations. And we shouldn't keep all friendships surface-level.
If we never talk about deeper ideas, I'm not going to trust you for the big stuff in life, but if all we talk about are the big theological topics, I'm also not going to trust you when I need someone to help with the big thing. Either way, you don't really know me and I don't really know you.
Friendships are not build solely on the big conversations; they're also build on the little things. They're built on conversations over coffee that range from deep and insightful to silly and nonsensical. They're built on tears and laughter, on trust and inside jokes. They're built over building puzzles and watching movies and playing games. They're built on stories and silly texts and late-night conversations. There's a lot of little bits that make up friendships.
The thing is, some surface-level conversations aren't edifying and might not help. On the other hand, a lot of them are useful at building friendships and helping people. Someone might need the conversation to feel out whether they can trust this person, or because it's been a really bad day (week, month, whatever) and big conversations are too big to deal with right then, but the smaller conversations are helpful to keep some perspective and focus, or just to be part of a group without any great demands just now. So yes, those conversations that don't seem edifying enough because they're not spiritual enough just might be edifying someone and you just can't see it.
Both of those ideas bothered me. Granted, there is a time for deep conversations about deep topics, and granted, God should be such a part of our lives that it shapes our conversations. And we shouldn't keep all friendships surface-level.
If we never talk about deeper ideas, I'm not going to trust you for the big stuff in life, but if all we talk about are the big theological topics, I'm also not going to trust you when I need someone to help with the big thing. Either way, you don't really know me and I don't really know you.
Friendships are not build solely on the big conversations; they're also build on the little things. They're built on conversations over coffee that range from deep and insightful to silly and nonsensical. They're built on tears and laughter, on trust and inside jokes. They're built over building puzzles and watching movies and playing games. They're built on stories and silly texts and late-night conversations. There's a lot of little bits that make up friendships.
The thing is, some surface-level conversations aren't edifying and might not help. On the other hand, a lot of them are useful at building friendships and helping people. Someone might need the conversation to feel out whether they can trust this person, or because it's been a really bad day (week, month, whatever) and big conversations are too big to deal with right then, but the smaller conversations are helpful to keep some perspective and focus, or just to be part of a group without any great demands just now. So yes, those conversations that don't seem edifying enough because they're not spiritual enough just might be edifying someone and you just can't see it.
Wednesday, 5 June 2019
My Life
I've likely written about this before, and I may write about it again, and that's the way it's going to be. Every now and then you'll get reruns of a sort as the same thoughts run through my head.
This is not the life I had planned.
I was going to grow up, go to university, become a teacher, get married, and raise a family. I was supposed to have children (many children).
So I got part of it: I grew up (mostly), went to university (for 3 degrees, so that was more than I had planned) and became a teacher.
The rest went off-script. Somehow I found my self in my mid-forties, still single, still childless.
Most of the time, I really, really love my life. I have a good job, I have family, I have a church family that fills in the spaces. I do really well living alone (I often wonder how I would cope with having people around all the time).
I have children, of course. Aside from the work kids (who come and go), I have all of my church kids. There are so many of them, and I claim all of them as my lambs. I teach them and play with them and boss them around (and when they're very young, they're pretty sure I run the church since I'm the grown up who takes care of children's ministries and also children). They come to visit me and I go to visit them. I have pictures that they've drawn on my fridge and little crafts that they've done for me scattered here and there. There are Lego creations that in the living room that I agree to leave together at least for a time, and since I have books and bins of toys for when they visit, it might almost look like children belong here.
Sometimes, though, it's hard and a bit lonely. I wonder what I've missed by not getting the traditional, expected life. I look at families and realize that I'm just a bit on the outside (or on the edge, where I belong, but not quite completely).
I don't regret my life, please understand that. I know that God has a plan for everyone, and this is His plan for me, and it's the best plan for me. I can even see the incredible rightness of His plan, how it fits my personality and my gifts (also part of His plan), and I rejoice in all that He has given me, including families (the psalmist says that He puts the homeless in families, and I realize how true that is when I see how many families claim me).
I think I'll always wonder sometimes, a bit, why this is what God chose for me. I'm not fighting His will, and I'm not wishing away that life that I have; as I said, it's a really good life.
On the hard days, when I'm not sure why things are the way they are, I listen to music that reminds me that it's all the way it's meant to be. This is my latest favourite (mostly for the chorus):
This is not the life I had planned.
I was going to grow up, go to university, become a teacher, get married, and raise a family. I was supposed to have children (many children).
So I got part of it: I grew up (mostly), went to university (for 3 degrees, so that was more than I had planned) and became a teacher.
The rest went off-script. Somehow I found my self in my mid-forties, still single, still childless.
Most of the time, I really, really love my life. I have a good job, I have family, I have a church family that fills in the spaces. I do really well living alone (I often wonder how I would cope with having people around all the time).
I have children, of course. Aside from the work kids (who come and go), I have all of my church kids. There are so many of them, and I claim all of them as my lambs. I teach them and play with them and boss them around (and when they're very young, they're pretty sure I run the church since I'm the grown up who takes care of children's ministries and also children). They come to visit me and I go to visit them. I have pictures that they've drawn on my fridge and little crafts that they've done for me scattered here and there. There are Lego creations that in the living room that I agree to leave together at least for a time, and since I have books and bins of toys for when they visit, it might almost look like children belong here.
Sometimes, though, it's hard and a bit lonely. I wonder what I've missed by not getting the traditional, expected life. I look at families and realize that I'm just a bit on the outside (or on the edge, where I belong, but not quite completely).
I don't regret my life, please understand that. I know that God has a plan for everyone, and this is His plan for me, and it's the best plan for me. I can even see the incredible rightness of His plan, how it fits my personality and my gifts (also part of His plan), and I rejoice in all that He has given me, including families (the psalmist says that He puts the homeless in families, and I realize how true that is when I see how many families claim me).
I think I'll always wonder sometimes, a bit, why this is what God chose for me. I'm not fighting His will, and I'm not wishing away that life that I have; as I said, it's a really good life.
On the hard days, when I'm not sure why things are the way they are, I listen to music that reminds me that it's all the way it's meant to be. This is my latest favourite (mostly for the chorus):
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