Obsessed with Shiny Things
Story and photography by Jill
It was a f-a-n-c-y bathroom.
It was very impressive, given the family was struggling financially. It was at the front of the house and particularly designed to impress guests. Everything was ‘gold’. The basin looked like marble. The lighting was soft and flattering. But the toilet didn’t flush and the taps didn’t work. When this experience was recounted to me I chuckled with understanding. All the money had been spent on the fittings and shiny things, and there was none left to connect a water supply and make the bathroom functional. Strange, yet not at all strange.
In Arab culture, it has to look good. Appearance is everything and brings honour. Even in a refugee’s home, where they can only afford stale bread, I no longer blink an eyelid when I see something fancy in the room where guests are hosted. Perhaps some ruffled, satin curtains? Or a gold (plastic) coffee pot? I am slowly growing to understand this Eastern worldview, reflected in so many Bible passages which describe wealth, jewels, beauty and abundance to communicate significance and honour.
In contrast, I come from a blue collar, rural Australian family that’s pretty low key on traditions and ‘making a fuss’. In my childhood we would be reusing wrapping paper from my parents’ engagement party in 1977 and repeatedly told to use the scissors to cut the sticky tape, not to rip the paper, so it could be reused for the next 77 years. However in the Arab world, there’s no point giving a gift if you’re just going to unceremoniously wrap it in something secondhand or hand it over in a plastic bag. It must be presented beautifully with lovely, new wrapping and in a shiny gift bag, whether it’s a $2 or a $200 gift. Whether you’re rich or poor. If it doesn’t look good, impressive, sparkly or shiny, then don’t bother.
Birthday cakes are similarly a big deal. I remember offering to make a cake to celebrate someone’s birthday. My Arab friend was horrified. A homemade cake? No, no, it had to be from a shop. Cheap, bad quality sponge (?) with fake cream and over-the-top chocolate decorating. This puzzled me, since in Australia the value of a good quality homemade cake, which you sacrificed your time to make, far exceeds the non-effort of buying something low quality from a shop. But again, if it doesn’t look good, impressive, sparkly or shiny, then don’t bother.
{One quiet confession. I am slowly becoming more enamoured with shiny things, more ‘Arab’. My friend recently got married. She’s an Australian but was living here in the Middle East. As we walked past Arab bridal shops, my eyes were quite drawn to the mannequins draped in dazzling princess dresses with giant over-skirts, layers of tulle and shimmering with excess sequins. “So beautiful, don’t you think?” My friend gave me a strange sideways look, “Ahhh, you’re joking, right?” But I wasn’t.}
Appearance also matters in much more significant ways. It determines your reputation and honour in the eyes of others, which in turn determines your future. If you can’t look impressive and honorable, simultaneously beautiful and modest, then stay at home. Especially if you’re a woman. My old neighbour’s grandma would defend my honour to her relatives, who were intent on converting this heathen Westerner. “She wears long sleeves. She’s an honourable girl. Leave her alone.” Years ago when I was still living in Australia, I met a completely veiled-in-black woman at a park in the Western suburbs. She had sparkly eyes. She was a Saudi woman with a PhD, studying at a Perth university with her husband. She told me her love story. One day, back in Saudi Arabia, she was sitting in a clinic waiting room fully veiled in a baggy black abaya (robe), hijab (headscarf) and niqab (face veil), with only her eyes showing. An older woman she’d never seen before, came over and handed her a piece of paper with a phone number. “Tell your mother to call me. We will arrange a visit to discuss your marriage to my son.”
Of course I pride myself on being above all this “you must be impressive and shiny” worldview, when it counts. But this week a confronting thought came to me.
It was one morning at the beginning of another week. I am sitting with a coffee and my Bible. I think about the coming week. My guts recoil. A deep belief surfaces. It accuses me. “Jill, if you aren’t impressive and shiny, then don’t bother. You’re a fake and you don’t qualify to be here.” I don’t mean to be impressive and shiny in my outfit and classy look. But to be impressive in hope and faith. Spiritually shiny with conviction, compassion and courage. This deep belief condemns me. Lassoes me. Traps me. Lately I’ve felt like I’m flinging seed out into a desert, with a hot wind blowing the seed and stinging sand back in my face. I’ve felt so discouraged, had no motivation, no spring in my step. I’ve run out of compassion for poor, broken, demanding people. There’s a heavy presence of doubt. I feel shame at my lack of conviction. I have to lead people, love people, hold out the love of God. But I’m not feeling any of it. I feel rubbish. I feel so fake. I can’t bear to get out that door. The tears roll down my face. “Jesus, have mercy on me.”
Gradually, I sense him. I have been noticing that when my attention shifts to the presence of Jesus, something shifts in me. I sense him inviting me to surrender this deep belief that I’m qualified by how convicted/compassionate/spiritually shiny I am.
I sense him inviting me to read Isaiah 53.
'There was nothing attractive about his (Jesus’) appearance. He was despised, he was rejected, he was a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief. We turned our backs on him, looked the other way and did not care. He carried our sorrows, was beaten, pierced and struck down as a criminal, all for our sake. Innocent, yet he never said a word.’
Who am I kidding? Jesus, you know very well that I’m nothing close to spiritually shiny. I’m so sorry. You are an unbelievably beautiful paradox. Neither impressive nor shiny, yet absolutely majestic. I feel invited to read on. Isaiah 54.
‘Childless woman, break into loud and joyful song! Enlarge your house because you will be bursting at the seams! Fear not, you will no longer live in shame!The mountains may move, and the hills disappear, but God’s faithful love will remain, his covenant of blessing will never be broken, says the Lord who has mercy on you. O storm-battered city, troubled and desolate! I will rebuild you with precious jewels!’
More tears roll down my cheeks. The Lord is faithful to me, he is tender towards his storm-battered city. I’m quite captivated and keep going, Isaiah 55.
‘Is anyone thirsty? Come and drink! For free! Come to me with your ears wide open, listen and find life! I send out my Word, and it always produces fruit, it will accomplish all I want it to. You will live in joy and peace, the mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands! Where once there were thorns, cypress trees will grow. All these things will bring great honour to the Lord’s name.’
This is wild. This is the stuff of Narnia. It is the glorious work of the Lord which will produce something … not merely impressive or shiny, but something gloriously splendid and unimaginable in its scope. I feel … relief and comfort. I feel a surge of hope. Grateful tears drip and splat onto my journal. A reminder.
I’m not shiny. And that’s ok. My God knocks shiny out of the park.
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Jill— Regular Contributor
Jill grew up in Albany, studied in Perth & Sydney but now lives with some friends and a baby tortoise (Turbo) in the Middle East. She helps lead a team doing community health programs and works as a GP with Syrian refugees. Learning Arabic was the hardest thing she’s undertaken. In her work she’s passionate about seeing the unseen people and helping Arab teenage boys learn emotional literacy and their God given identity. She enjoys textures, colours, photography and laughing at ridiculous ideas.