Learning the Hard Way
A Lesson on Legalism
She knew that it was important to read the Bible and pray every day. She’d known this since she was young. After all, you can’t have a relationship with someone you don’t talk to! Nor can you know someone you don’t listen to. So, she worked hard at creating a daily habit which grew into a morning ritual. Up with the birds, coffee in hand, Bible in front. It was quiet, serene even. It was calm, meditative. It was enriching, impactful.
She learned the hard way, however, that although there was great benefit to this discipline, it was dangerous. The feeling of doing something well was encouraging but there was also a feeling of pride and self-satisfaction—as if it meant she was a ‘good’ Christian. The danger was the temptation to believe that God loved her more because she was succeeding at reading her Bible. But if that was true would he love her less if she missed a day? What about a week? Or longer? Best to just keep pushing on. Try not to slip.
She learned that habits were healthy, but the danger of them was losing sight of grace.
On the Willingness to be Inconvenienced
I’ve often wondered whether I’m an introvert or an extrovert. In certain phases of my life, I’ve retreated to books. I hide with a pen and journal in my room when I’m stressed. Ticks all round for introvert. But I remember doing some personality testing that said I was an ENFJ. The E stands for extroverted, and at the time, I was surprised.
In the last year or so, I’ve taken to noting down the things each week that energise me and drain me. Topping the energy list every single week are moments of connection. Phone calls, a spontaneous coffee with a friend I ran into at the shop, interviewing for the podcast, collaborating with someone on a new project, debriefing a friend’s depression, making friends at the park, cracking jokes around the campfire, or eating dinner with a mob of adults and children once a fortnight. In my twenties, in charge of my own calendar, I would go out almost every single day and night to socialise, sometimes multiple events in a day, much to the chagrin of the chores. Suffice to say, my husband has been a wonderful, peaceful influence in my life.
Under the Sun
Round and round the water does flow,
From rain to river to sea.
And yet the ocean can never be filled,
It’s all in vanity.
The man wants to know all he can know
But the more he learns, he grieves.
He finds no profit here under the sun,
Ashes in the breeze.
When a Stranger in a Niqab Rescued Me
I was stuck. Not on the Wordle word of the day. Not on how to escape from a boring conversation at a party. Not even on how to complete my tax return. I was a white girl with about five words of Arabic, stuck with nowhere to go and no-one to help me, in a big city in Yemen.
I was at the tail end of a fascinating six weeks travelling around that beautiful country. It was the kind of place where you felt you’d stepped back a thousand years into something like Arabian Nights. It was thrilling. I’d been travelling from city to city, visiting friends of friends, using the local bus service and in public, always wearing a hijab and abaya (a long black overdress). I’d gained confidence in managing by myself, felt very safe and was treated very respectfully. Putting on a hijab is an artform which I’d nailed. Getting the right amount of tension in the wrapping so that it doesn’t slip off, let a strand of hair peek out, and declare you to be immodest!
Alone in the Expanse
Expanse: a large, open area of land, water or sky. (Cambridge Dictionary)
Something happens to me when I visit my family’s farm in the Wheatbelt. As we drive away from the outskirts of Perth and into the beautiful green of the Chittering Valley, my shoulders slowly, incrementally begin to release their seemingly boundless tension. We may or may not stop at the Bindoon Bakehaus for a predictably delicious afternoon tea. As we drive further along the Great Northern Highway the scenery tends to become more dominated by the red brown dust I grew up with. The eucalyptus trees frame the highway, as do the endless reflectors guiding the nighttime traveller. Usually there is a sense of relief when we arrive; it is, after all, a drive with small children (let the reader understand). Hugs from Mum and Dad; excitement from the kids; dinner is already cooked for us to eat. Sweet relaxation for me. For a few brief days, the weight of caregiving is partially taken from me and happily lifted by the grandparents who do breakfast, who read Bible stories, who listen to the stories and the requests and cuddle the baby.
The Garden
In my heart you planted a seed,
Save it from the thorns and weeds.
Make it grow, make it grow.
The First Six Years of a Sisterhood
Sometimes there is gregarious giggling and peaceful playing, Lego or markers strewn between the two of you, and I can picture you growing up to be friends who call each other up to hang out.
Sometimes there is pushing and yelling STOP IT! because the two of you are so very different but with the same stubborn determination, and I raise my hands to plead with the Lord that these will be your worst fights.
Everyday I look at the two of you and see the toddler and baby you once were and imagine the women you might be. And I want to remind you both that the sisterhood you have is a precious gem that must be taken care of, polished and shined, so that it will add sparkle and vibrant colour to your entire lives.
The Witnesses
The pot plant sits quietly on the kitchen bench. It’s a cactus, chosen because it is more likely to survive my “care”. It looks like an otherworldly observer. It bears witness to the fresh early light, coffee grounds spilling from the aeropress and me humming cheerfully while fighting with rebellious bits of egg shell in the frying pan. But this cactus also witnesses things which I do not want documented; bench clutter, unwashed dishes, the midnight microwave whirr for insomnia popcorn, the bored opening and closing of the fridge, a frustrated tirade and hot tears. But it doesn’t judge. It’s just there, a silent witness.
My iPhone feels more judgy. I think it knows me better than anyone. It witnesses my slide into anxiety or restless boredom, as I search for a distraction. It witnesses how many beautiful moments I’ve experienced and photographed, yet never returned to dwell on with thankfulness. It witnesses who I reply to. It also witnesses who I complain about and delay replying to. Please don’t put it on the witness list!
Defining Word: Community
Defining Word: Community
Community: people living in one particular area or people who are considered a unit because of their common interests, social group or nationality
I used to work as a Clinical Psychologist Registrar in private practice. My bio on the website said, “Rebecca has an interest in perinatal mental health.” I don’t have specific training in perinatal mental health, but I do have training in trauma, and the two seemed to go hand in hand. Week after week, postpartum women wept on my couch. They recited litanies of traumatic childhoods, traumatic births, romantic relationships fraying under strain, feeding difficulties, sleep deprivation, and colicky babies. I asked, “Who are the people you can call on? Who came to the hospital with you? Who can hold your baby while you take a nap?” Week after week, weeping women looked at me blankly. Their looks communicated, What do you mean, other people? There is no village. I am alone. What kind of psychologist are you? Don’t you listen? I need strategies! Week after week, I told them, “I’m not surprised you are depressed.”
I Come Before the Great I Am
I come before the great I Am
When I am insecure
He is the Rock, his works are perfect,
And of this I am sure
He is the one who holds me
And truly, deeply knows me
He made me and He loves me
What should I doubt him for?
Settling and Scrabble
It was the word ‘homey’ that did it. Lately, my husband and I have taken to playing Scrabble on our phones. Relaxing on the sofa with his feet up, I couldn’t quite believe that he had beaten me three games in a row. I started to investigate. Do you know what “ragees” means? The skepticism in my voice was unmistakable. Do you know what “gnar” means? What about “homey”? Granted, I was being cheeky and possibly a poor loser, but I was confused by how he could find top-scoring words when English is his third language.
The first two words were a fortuitous stab in the dark, but I was wrong on the third word, “homey.” It turns out my husband did know what it meant. From his vantage point on the sofa, he looked around our living area, freshly reorganised, and he said, “This… this is homey.”
Sorry, What Was Your Name Again?
I have a terrible memory. Or at least, that’s my excuse. Don’t ask me the plot of the book I’ve just read, or what I did on the weekend. Each season I plant seeds in my garden, confident I’ll remember what’s planted in each bed. It feels so simple, how could I forget? Too lazy to make notes, I find myself perplexed when plants emerge. I don’t know if that’s broccoli or cauliflower. I’ll tell you when it reveals itself.
Recently, while meeting the other guests at a friend’s birthday dinner, a woman said to me, “I know you. You were my teacher.” I hadn’t recognised her. When she told me her name there was a whisper of a memory. Just a whisper. Yes, it was 15 years ago, but it’s surprising and a bit troubling to me that I don’t remember her.
An Introvert Peg in an Extrovert Hole
I’ve heard the question, “Is church for extroverts?” asked a few times, and I have to say a hearty YES! I often feel misunderstood as an introvert. This article was born from many frustrating conversations with my more extroverted husband concerning chatting after church and at Christian conferences.
I don’t always fit the stereotype of quiet, shy, stuck up, or awkward. I am a former librarian, but I don’t live alone, surrounded by a hoard of cats. Sometimes, like many introverts, I can be loud and social, the life of the party and up for a good time. The key difference between introverts and extroverts is how they recharge.
When you finish a long day of work, or come home after an epic party, what do you feel like doing? If you need time alone, you’re probably an introvert. If you need more ‘people time’ to give you a pick-me-up, then you most likely fall into the extrovert camp. Some people swing between the two.
So, what’s it like for an introvert at church?
Winter Holidays: A Photo Essay
Winter holidays means games and puzzles, learning new skills, chasing the sunlight around the house, grumpy chickens, the garden reaching new depths of green, reading endless books, spending mornings crafting, picking flowers, and drinking mugs of tea to survive the chilly days. It means a whole lot of slowing down, being in our space, all together; our favourite place to be
Who Should I Invite to My Birthday Party?
Who should I invite to my birthday party? A decades-old question that is harder to answer than it is to decide on the right outfit for the occasion. Harder than pulling off the trickiest cake recipe, and harder to work out than what to do to celebrate! I’d like it to be small. I’d prefer it if people knew each other. I don’t want to offend anyone by not inviting them. It’s just too complicated and I’d really, genuinely, prefer not to do anything anyway.
As a Christian, I know God wants me to love others. And I want to do that widely and openly, without favouritism or exclusivity. But I also crave deep friendship. And I feel real tension about doing both of those things well. A tension that is brought home to me every year when I briefly contemplate the idea of getting a few people together to ‘celebrate’ my gradual aging.
How to Worry More in 21 Easy Steps
My fellow ruminators, worriers, and 3am spirallers, welcome!
The world may not understand your anxiety, but never fear, I’ve got you. Throughout history, there have been those who are super chill, and yeah, they may have a better time than us, but they’re also the ones who get eaten by crocodiles… Right? Anxiety helps us survive. The world will tell you to worry less, but I want us to lift our game! To that end, here are 21 easy steps to worry more. Happy spiralling!
When faced with an unexpected difficulty or hard thing, don’t stay in the present and wonder, “Do I need to deal with this today?” Instead, ask yourself, “What if?” and ponder all the terrible possibilities.
Tablecloth; a photo essay
candles are lit
lamps are warm
fire is on
floor is swept
table is set
wine is poured
Joy Rides a Harley Davidson
I have been married for 6 weeks!
As we say in Arabic, thousands of congratulations to us!!!
الف الف الف مبروك !!!!!!!
Five days before the wedding, I was struck down with gastro and subsequently had a panic attack, ‘How will I cope? How will I look after our overseas guests? How will I enjoy this?’. I had prayed for a joyful wedding, for guests to taste the kingdom and for community to be built. But how could I pull this off? Then the night before the wedding I cried, because I felt anxious, inadequate about being a good hostess and unsure if I ‘deserved’ this gift of marriage? But through the comfort of tears, friends and prayer, Jesus invited me to turn up and receive his good gifts.
Heroes With Clay Feet
As we walk through our front gate, the kids on the street swarm around us. We have been visiting the place where we got married, a dusty Middle Eastern town where the children stay up late and play football on the vacant plot next to our house. We pause to chat with them; “Messi or Ronaldo?”, they ask, knowing full well that my husband is Argentine. They tease him and several loudly claim that Ronaldo is the better player. We laugh with them but beg to disagree. “For sure, it is Messi!”. The World Cup is underway, and these kids are rallying around their football heroes, excited to watch each match unfold.
I have been thinking about what it means to have a hero. At the beginning of the year, I decided to do a deep dive into a hero of the faith. Perhaps I could do this every year, I thought. Pick a hero and do my research; read their books, learn from their convictions and watch how they lived them out in weakness and in crisis.
From Barren Ground
The fields lie in slumber, the vine cut back to root,
her branches are a memory, no sign of leaf or fruit.
The winter sets in cold, with sheets of glistening frost,
all is still and quiet, the summer sun long lost.