Offspring

Offspring is one of those shows I always wanted to watch but never did. Somehow I will start watching it, but it must be just on at the wrong time and I need to shower, or attend to Luke, and somewhere in the midst of my good intentions we end up watching the SBS world news. That said, it has been one of those shows that you can follow just by watching the shorts for it on TV (and, yep, I say 'shorts' like my Grandma would).

Despite not watching, and half watching through the shorts, it would be impossible for you to not know that one of the main, obviously very loved, characters died in the series last week. My news feeds and radio were filled with Offspring Offspring Offspring, everywhere I turned.

And obviously it was on the radio this morning as I drove to MOPS. There was some really sad music, along with some pieces of audio from the show. Now I have friends who would absolutely lament over this show and the events of the past two weeks. But as I was driving, I had to turn it off for the fear of becoming a blubbering mess. And. I. Don't. Even. Watch. The. Show...

What I heard was something like this:

Nina (yes, I know the blonde girl is called Nina): "I can't do this! I'm scared! I'm scared I won't be able to love the baby!"
Other character in the show (who I have no idea the name of, nor can describe because it was on the radio): "I'll love the baby for you... until you can love the baby... I'll love it for you..."

(well, that was the general gist of what I heard, then I turned it off cos it was ... intense).

What made me emotional? Well, obviously it's really, really sad. And it's a sad story, and awful circumstance. This heavily pregnant lady has just lost someone who would be a rock for her in her new adventure in parenthood. Maybe it's because I could somewhat relate to the fear of not loving my baby because I loathed being pregnant (truth be known, I loved Luke the moment I set eyes on him).

I'll love for you...

This statement I think is what really got the floodgates going. When Nina was so weak and vulnerable, she had someone there, ready to stand in the gap.

I'll love for you, when you can't love.
I'll be strong for you, when you are weak.
I'll be there for you, when you feel alone.

Who can you love for today, who has lost hope? Who can you be strong for, who has nothing left to keep them going? And who can you be there for, who truly needs you.

Be the miracle.

Travelling buddy.

I'm slowly getting over my fear of flying.

The latest trip home required me to fly from Melbourne to Adelaide, then Mildura to Melbourne. It's safe to say that boarding calls are my weakness. While I'm nothing like I was, there is still an element of fear there. But instead of my mind going a thousand miles an hour, it's my body. My mind is sound, my body... speeds up it's metabolism.

While I went to Adelaide with Hendrik, the stretch home was just Luke and I. I have never flown with Luke solo before so I was a bit anxious about how I would cope. I think that of all my anxiety - I'm scared of being anxious and what the anxiety will cause me to do the most. (Can anybody relate? Please tell me I'm not alone here).

When we arrived at the airport, Mum took Luke in her arms while I dragged the case to the check-in counter. Checking-in at Mildura is so much less of a hassle because it is such a small airport. I think this helps with the anxiety. But then this happened...

The lady asked for my name, and then said, "Oh, that's right, I want to talk to you!" (that usually means something bad, right?). I had preselected seats for Luke and I in seat 5A up the front and next to the window. She proceeded to tell me that this was a pretty full flight and that in seat 5A there would undoubtedly be someone sitting next to me, but was happy to put me right up the back at 26A where I'd have two seats (small plane) to myself. I thought I'd cope better with the flight if I was closer to the front, but for the extra space and not fearing judgement because of travelling with Luke (did I mention a lady refused to sit next to us on the way to Adelaide because we had a 'baby' - who slept the whole way).

What a helpful and nice and thoughtful lady. Until..

"now, love, do you have proof of Luke's age?"

No. Nor had I ever been asked for it.

"Well you are getting him on for free!" She said in a really nice-yet-horribly-sarcastic tone of voice.

I explained to her that on previous occasions I had never needed ID for Luke (because we usually have the luxury of pre-check in or we're on a flight that requires a passport) and that I had just driven 3 hours, I repeat 3 hours so I could get to an airport to get home to Melbourne, where Luke's passport was, and that I'd have to come back on Tuesday so Hendrik could post it. Luckily after a bit of nice-arguing she let us off with a warning. Fun for an already anxious flyer.

When we finally said our fair-well's to Nanna and were on the flight and taxi-ing to the runway, I tried to engage Luke with car noises. As the plane roared down the runway Luke clung to me whimpering. The people looked at me with an "awwww" look.

When the seatbelt sign was off I removed Luke from the red infant seatbelt and let him look out the window.

"Waaaaow!"

I put him in the vacant seat next to me (winner!) and handed him a book. He read it almost copying me as I read the copy of Voyager in the seat pocket. We both finished the books and put them away. Luke sat in the seat and took my hand. Usually he takes my hand to use it as a teething ring. I waited for the bite, but instead he just sat there, drearily, with my hand in his. It was quite possibly one of the most special moments in my life.

You have fears, I have fears. But we're here together. I'm here for you Mum. We're in this together.

Country Kids

You probably already know this, but I grew up in the country. Many people assume that I was brought up in Bendigo because that's where I associate a lot of my fun times and friendship groups. Although Bendigo is country, think even more country. My home town is seven hours away from Melbourne. It's literally in the middle of nowhere. It's three hours from Adelaide, and three hours from Mildura - which are both the nearest airports making the little sleepy town feel incredibly isolated.

Leading up to this trip I wasn't really looking forward to going back in time (literally). Last time I was in Pinnaroo (the name of my home town, by the way, if you feel the need to google) I felt almost bored and did mainies (a South Australian term for driving up and down the same street - in Victoria I believe they call them blockies) looking for someone to talk to. I had planned this trip when there happened to be a lot happening back in Melbourne, and I was absolutely kicking myself about coming back to the sticks when there was so much I would be missing out on in the big smoke.

On Tuesday morning I drove down to the main street. Pinnaroo, like most small country towns in South Australia only has one street with most of the businesses on it. And when I say one street, there are only shops on ONE side of the street. And of these shops, most are empty now. As I turned the corner in my Mum's 4WD to see what I could find, I noticed that Pinnaroo was not the small bustle it once was. There weren't people joyfully walking up and down the street as though it was some cheesy musical. (Okay, that never happened, although the weather would be perfect for leaping from the Post Office to the Supermarket singing The Hills Are Alive). Pinnaroo wasn't the Pinnaroo I left in Year 12, in the midst of the rise of the Potato industry. Pinnaroo was... dead.

As I continued to cruise around the streets, disguised as my Mum in a car designed for scrub-bashing, I couldn't help but notice that nearly every third house was either empty, falling apart or for sale. Pinnaroo, although isolated and often cursed as a hole has, I believe, so much hidden potential. Someone needs to get a reality show like The Block to come and do up some houses, and show how the town can live. I know this is easier said than done coming from someone who even refuses to live in Adelaide.

The last time I was in Pinnaroo was easter. Luke had just started walking but only just. Now having a sixteen month old proved challenging, but also a lot of fun. Being in Pinnaroo for the last week made me relive my childhood, and reminded me how valuable living here was when I was growing up, and how much I would love to empart that for Luke. Pinnaroo is the type of place I would love to bring up my children, but not my teenagers.

There are things about Pinnaroo I miss. Firstly, I miss my Mum's warm log fire. I miss the fact that although it's the same temperature as Melbourne, the air is different. You can just put on a jacket and go and play outside. I miss doing mainies and seeing that somebody is home and dropping in for five minutes but staying for an hour. I miss the fact that nothing changes here.

I've realised that we are two worlds apart - Melbourne and Pinnaroo. Luke will forever have the fun contrast of where Daddy is from (Jakarta, 20 million people) and where Mummy is from (Pinnaroo, less than 600 people). Life is so different here. In Melbourne our life is indoor play and shopping centres. In Pinnaroo, life is making mud pies and visiting neighbours with a new lamb.

It has been an absolute delight watching Luke doing the things that I would have done at his age in the country. While Melbourne increases in population and rapidly changes, and people leave this little town, I am comforted by the fact that things don't change as rapidly here and that this lifestyle will still be here in years to come. I know that moving back isn't on the cards for us, nor do I really want it to be. But I need to remember where I've come from and grow from there. I believe that living in Melbourne is where I'm supposed to be for this season in my life - that season could be 2 years or 20. I want to endeavour to bring what I can of Pinnaroo back home. I want to endeavour to build friendships like you just do here. I want to endeavour to spend more time outside. I want community, a word so loosely thrown around in different circles I'm involved in, to 'come back' with me to Melbourne. Let's look after each other, and better yet, let's get messy.

Sweet Sixteen

My baby is sixteen months old today. My baby. 

It's such a wonder to watch him grow. Wonder as I'm sometimes confused as to how he comes up with some of the things he does.

Finger foods are the biggest thing at the moment. When I hand him a slice of apple he says "key". I've been at a loss to work out where he got this from, so I googled how to say thank you in all of the languages in the world. The closest I could find was in Afrikaans which is dankie.

Luke loves shoes more than his mother. I am the most un-feminine woman in the world when it comes to elegant shoes, having a total collection of about five. I've never got the whole I'm-superficial-I-like-shoes-whatever movement. Luke however, has an obsession with shoes. It's his new favorite word. Shoes mean we are going out. Shoes mean better sounds when I run across the floorboards. The expressions he makes when he talks about shoes make me smile. Shoes! In a high pitched voice. Oh, shoes! In a voice of adoration.

At sixteen months I'm still breastfeeding. There's various reasons for this, one of the main ones being I can't be bothered going through the process of stopping. In Indonesian the children say "nen nen" for a feed (well, the ones old enough), so we have always associated nen nen with feeding. Often Seseme Street seems to be the queue for nen nen. Luke shouting nen nen in desperation and bringing me the purple U-shaped 'nursing' pillow.

Luke is learning to count. I blame this on Seseme Street, Play School and Hendrik. Okay, blame is a strong word, because it's wonderful. Except he only knows the number two. He counts everything. But it's just two, two, two... TWO! (How many is that, Luke?)

We are a bilingual household. Hendrik and I don't notice until someone comes over for dinner that we speak in two, sometimes three languages in one sentence. The main language is English due to us both being lazy. We have a lot of associations with Indonesian in our house, one being mandi which means bath/shower. While Luke doesn't say mandi, whenever I say it he runs to the bath and waits in anticipation for me to turn the tap on.

We love our mandi so much that we just can't wait to jump in!

This kid is the sweetest thing that has ever happened to me. I really struggled in the beginning, and that was based on the fact that I was worried about everybody else around me mothered, and that books told me that I was doing it wrong. One night Hendrik said something that changed everything. He came home after 7 to find me crying on the couch and Luke asleep in my lap after my failed attempts at the cry-it-out method. He said, in this house, it's our rules. And since I have done my own thing, and found my own standard to live up to, all of those strategies are just that. Strategies, not ways of life. He is growing up to be such a marvellous little boy, and many days it is he looking after me as much as it's the other way around.

We've noticed he is starting to do what we do. I think I must cross my arms a lot because he's started to do that a lot. But what I'm hoping is a reflection of how I treat him is found in the incident of the sore knee this morning.

This morning as I had just finished my cup of tea, I spun around on the chair to get up but knocked it really hard on the corner of the desk. I'm sure you can agree that in those first initial seconds the pain is worse than childbirth. I moaned in pain but tried not to make too much of a big deal as Luke was metres away watching Playschool. Seeing that I was distressed, Luke walked over to me and wrapped his arms around me. I can only hope that he did this because of how I treat him.

It's then I realised that our kids will reflect us, even at sixteen months. The truth is in the early days I would struggle to just love. I would let him cry and then have a meltdown coated in guilt. I felt like I'd given in to the un-mindset of if you don't let him cry he'll get too dependent on you. I look at myself on a personal level and see how much has changed in these sixteen months - not only in my own ideas about bringing up a little one, but in my character and attitude too.

So, even when I don't feel like it, I bite my lip and I show him love.

The time to start investing in his character is now. 

The Tree Diaries

When I was at uni studying teaching I was told If you fail to plan, plan to fail. As much as this became a mantra that I never seemed to play out when I was actually in my profession, I think that this just isn't true.

I've watched people have plans. More than two of my friends have gone on world trips, then came home and tried for a baby. It is sensible if that's your thing, actually. I had planned to go for a winter visit to see my inlaws which I cancelled because the additional cost of bringing Luke (who is still under 2, by the way) brought the cost up of a cheap airfare through the roof. But yes, if any of your married pals are jetsetting off soon, watch out for the bun-in-the-oven announcement shortly after!

I had plans. Luke wasn't in them. Well, he was, just after I had gone to Amsterdam to frolic in Tulips and gotten an ongoing teaching job and enough money for a holiday house in Bandung. And then I found myself pregnant before I really had anticipated. It wasn't in the plan so early in my marriage. I heard the words in my mind If you fail to plan, you plan to fail. These words resounded in my mind while I was under the impression I had just ruined my life (if anything, I have found it).

Perhaps if I felt amazing during pregnancy I would have felt better about having a baby. So, today I wanted to present to you, the Tree Diaries. These four trees played an important part in my pregnancy...

Exhibit A: Park near my house

I spent most of my spare time in the first timester sleeping. When I look back on it now, it not only was to help me cope with the exhaustion and morning sickness, but also to cope with the feelings that weighed me down.

One particular day, my husband, who has enough energy to climb Ayers Rock after walking there from Melbourne I swear, told me he was going for a walk to the local shopping centre if I would like to come. Although feeling a bit guilty, I declined. About 45 minutes later my phone woke me up - Hendrik telling me he had a surprise for me, and to meet him at the park.

From memory, I think I felt that awful I actually drove. He presented me with a punnet of strawberries and two of those chocolate frozen sundaes. In fact I clearly remember them being Weight Watchers brand. (I was pregnant, come on!)

After about two strawberries and and a spoon of sundae, I felt the sudden urge to vomit. I got up off the picnic rug I had taken out of my trusty Toyota Corolla and headed for the nearest tree to vomit on.

I then proceeded to eat the rest of the sundae and a few more strawberries.

Exhibit B: Fountain Gate Shopping Centre

We decided to head off to watch the sequel to the Johnny English movie starring Rowan Atkinson. I had convinced Hendrik to go after making him watch the first one. In the car I felt queezy and Hendrik asked if we should just go back home. I assured him I would be fine.

As we walked past the ever so classy Fountain Gate Hotel en route to the cinema, I couldn't hold back anymore. I let go of Hendrik's hand and vomitted into the soil of the tree outside. Three women in mini skirts looked at me in disguist. I think they thought I was drunk, although It wasn't even 8pm. Hendrik asked if it would be best if we just went home. I grabbed his hand and dragged him into the cinema to buy a ticket (vomitting makes you feel better!) and closed my eyes in every action scene in the movie.

Exhibit C: Knox 'O-Zone'

In the colder weather, we like to visit a Japanese restaurant for Ramen at this shopping centre. After finishing a big bowl, with it's salty goodness that I craved during pregnancy, I suddenly felt like I wanted to vomit. I looked at the ceiling with tears in my eyes as I fought back the urge. Without saying anything I bolted out of the door and went in search of the non existant toilets. I found a tree, it sufficed the purpose.

Meanwhile Hendrik was apologetically explaining to the owner of the restaurant that their ramen is the nicest in Melbourne, but his wife is pregnant and has been throwing up quite a bit and to not take it personally. I stumbled back into the restaurant as the waiter gave me a cup of warm water.

Exhibit D: My Mum's garden

Big kudos to my high-tech Mum who took this photo and then sent it via Whatsapp. Well done!

When I was pregnant I had the urge to be home a lot. I managed to get home for the local Agricultural Show (and I really hope to take Luke this year!). I bought some doughnuts and probably ate most of them myself. We were heading out at night to go and watch the fireworks that had already started (lucky it's a small town). And yet again, I felt as though I needed to vomit. I asked my Mum to open the house she just locked because I needed the toilet to vomit and quick. She grabbed my shoulders and ushered me in the way of the ground laden with hay and small shrubs as I chucked my guts up. Luke doesn't like doughnuts.

...

I learnt two things through throwing up on trees.

1) There is no room in the world for tree enthusiasts. Every time I was caught photographing these trees I would get funny looks or sly remarks. Although when I took the picture of the first tree a Lady asked me, "so.. you're into the river red gum, eh?" and I explained that I was writing this piece and she actually thought that was really lovely.

2) These trees are still alive today. In fact, what surprised me when I went in search of all four, is that they are in even better condition to what I remember them. My vomit may have even provided good fertiliser for them.

Fail to plan, plan to fail.

The point of sharing all of my tree stories, is that sometimes life doesn't go to plan, and sometimes it can feel like life is vomiting on us. But who knows, maybe it will be great fertiliser for us to flourish from and more than likely, we'll live through it. And like the trees in my photos, I'm surprised at how well they have grown, lucious and green.

So whoever came up with that silly statement about planning and failure, perhaps when things don't go to plan, we can discover something beautiful and unexpected. I know I did.

Stay tuned for the Toilet Diaries coming soon.

Baptism

I love my church. I love being involved there, and plunging myself into changing lives, and in the meantime seeing mine be changed all over again.

Today, I was baptised. And the story goes a little like this.

The idea of getting baptised came from when the pastor did a sermon on 'belong' and it was about becoming a member of the church. I was a bit cynical about it, as I always have been when it comes to anything 'church'. I would last in a church for about two years before I would find something that seriously annoyed me and off I'd go and find somewhere else. I'm done with this lifestyle.

Back to becoming a member - I became a bit cynical because a requirement of me being a member would be to get baptised. I don't have a problem with being baptised. I had a problem with me being baptised. Again.

See, I was baptised almost twelve years ago at the young age of 15. It was a gutsy decision and a scary one, because usually people at my church got baptised as babies, so it seemed a bit scary me getting up and doing that in a small town. I was more 'christened' than dunked. That experience is still as relevant today as it was back then.

So back to membership, I could tick the box on baptism, but not on full-immersion baptism (which is where you get dunked). I got angry. But for some reason I was still intrigued and sent an email to the church asking what the go was. Their website stated that there's no reason to get baptised again, and I grabbed that with two hands, but the issue remained, I hadn't been baptised through immersion.

Weeks went by and nobody replied to my email. In one of the ministries I help in one of the ladies was talking about baptism and I said how I-hadn't-kinda-but-had-been-baptised. And as she looked at me in shock I quickly explained that what I had done 15 years ago should suffice. Then one of the other ladies told me that she had been baptised twice in the same circumstance. Okay. I'm listening. But no, not now, Sammy. We're in a meeting. Stay on track. So I bounced some emails between said friend and I and I started to see myself wonder...

Finally a pastor from church replied to my email. All it said was that he would like to chat to me about it. I ignored the email, but chatted to one of my bestest friends in all time, who put it like this. Would it be that bad of a thing for you to put down your pride and just do it? It cut me in a good way. Like a gormet sandwhich showing all it's delicious fillings. Okay, not quite. But it revealed something deep within me. I was full of pride. I thought, hey, I don't need to do this. I've already done it. I'm too good to do it.

One day I was at church in the middle of the week and I emailed said pastor saying that I was at church if he wanted to talk to me then - but as I go to a church of 4,000, I expected him to be pretty busy (hence why I was gutsy enough to send the email!). He replied and said to meet him at 2:30pm. So I went and slept on the couch with Luke in the parents room (don't tell anybody) until 2:30 rolled around.

It's funny talking with someone who you know who they are, but they don't know you. It turns out chatting with Pastor A was definitely worthwhile. He shared a lot about his background and it turned out that it was scarily similar to mine. He talked about the significance of immersion-baptism and the bible and it all made sense. He also said that anybody could baptise me, it didn't have to be a pastor. I said that I'd think about it, but as I drove down the freeway the decision felt more and more right. I was going to get baptised. But when?

So I strategically broke the news about my baptism to my lifegroup. A select few decided to come down to my end of town for doughnuts at the fantastic Krispy Kreme factory. I told them I had exciting news to share, but wasn't going to share with them until the following day when we all met up for Life Group. It was fun to watch as they all expected the 'exciting news' to be the expectation of a sibling for Luke. Ha. Sorry.

I broke the news to my lifegroup the following day, and asked one of my best friends, Esther, to baptise me. She put her hand on her heart, then on her hand, and looked at the ceiling and gasped for air. I then said, "sorry, did you want me to get on one knee?". I'm not sure if Esther was happy or scared...

After this I started getting nightmares. The night after I asked Esther I had a dream she got too scared and ran away, making the musician lady having to baptise me. And when she did I almost drowned. Whenever I thought about getting baptised my heart would stop and I felt like I couldn't breathe. This, I think, meant that I should do it all the more.

I filled in the form and handed back to Pastor A. He asked me to write a 200 word testimony. No problem, I'm a blogger! We went to the Great Ocean Road because Hendrik had some time off, but I couldn't bring myself to write it.

On Saturday after having a nap on the couch due to being so sick, I got on my computer, opened Word and began to type. 200 words was not enough. I had such a story to tell. Typically people get baptised when they are new Christians, not when they had been one for 12 years. I struggled on whether I should write about my experience 12 years ago, or why I had come to that decision now. I decided to write more about the here and now.

Sunday came around quickly. I slept in until 8:35 and was supposed to leave home by 9. Good luck with a Luke! I raced around and we left the house closer to 9:35 and drove in silence. I was scared yet there was an overwhelming sense of peace.

I got to church and waded through the hundreds of people in the foyer and told the lady at the front desk that I was there to be baptised. If you would have taken one look at me in my long red polka dot shirt, black leggings and Hendrik's over sized Crocs that I definitely wasn't leading the worship team.

The lady at the front desk asked for my name. She looked at her piece of paper and then looked back at me.

"But you're not Indonesian! I was expecting someone Indonesian. Your surname is Indonesian!"

I really wanted to reply with, "I AM Indonesian" but instead was a good girl and told the truth that my husband was Indonesian. She made the connection because she was Indonesian, so we conversed a bit in Bahasa as she lead me to the backstage where I found Pastor A, Esther, and everybody geared up and ready to go.

I was getting nervous but still felt peace and excitement. Pastor A went through what Esther had to do, which reminded me of my wedding day when Rev F was telling my Dad which hand to place into Hendrik's after I had walked down the aisle.

We went out and sang some songs and I tried to concentrate but my mind wandered. I looked behind me to see the auditorium eerily empty (usually you have to fight for a seat). I then noticed that half of the congregation must be on the stage in the choir that isn't usually there.

I was last to be baptised. After the worship we went behind and went to the backstage. I watched as the five people before me whizzed through their paragraph testimonies and suddenly my time was coming up way too quick and the page of 250 disguised as 200 words suddenly seemed way too much.

As the boy before me read out his testimony I stood on the step of the baptismal pool and felt the nice, warm water. After he was baptised I went down into the pool, kneeled down in the oh so lovely warm water and read out my prewritten testimony.

Hello Church. My name is Samantha, however I am more commonly known around here as Sammy. And I'm really sorry, I'm getting over a cold and I hope my voice doesn't die. If you had told me a month ago that I would be standing here, I would have told you you were dreaming. I was baptised in 2001 through ‘sprinkling’ but have yet to experience water baptism. The truth is I am such a cynical person. When I was exploring the idea of this baptism, I actually came up with a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t.

After confiding in some friends, one in particular said, “would it be that bad of a thing to let go of your pride and do it?” (Yeah, ouch!), Eventually I let go of my cynical attitude and decided to take this step of faith, however the question was when. I am good at putting things off, and usually I would ignore this and hope it go away.

I was pondering the story about Paul and Silas in jail in Acts 16, when the prison guard comes to believe in Jesus. In verse 33 it says “At that hour of the night the jailer took them and washed their wounds; then immediately he and all his household were baptized.” AT THAT HOUR! Why wait for the perfect time, when obviously it is now. So here I stand, plunging into Jesus. I’m getting baptised today because of Jesus, and he is my reason I am humbling myself and laying down my pride and cynical attitude today.

And with that, I was dunked. And unlike my dream, Esther and Pastor A's wife (GIRL POWER!) baptised me and I didn't drown. 

I wouldn't say it was an overwhelming spiritual experience, it is one that is still sinking in and as time goes by I am really feeling the impact of it in my life.

After getting out of my wet clothes after failing to hug somebody and saturating them, I went into the back room where a nice scottish guy met with me and said, "so, you're the cynical one!" and prayed for me.

Later on I went and shared with friends who were really encouraged by the whole morning. Luke gave me a big smile and ran towards me. Hendrik and Luke's smiles were the best and most loving things ever. 

It was such a blessing, and really I'd love to do it all again, but I think twice is enough :) Now the real adventure begins as I live out what baptism is really about - being a Jesus follower and changing the world.

Thank you to so many people who have walked in this journey, and a special thanks to Esther for taking the plunge with me!

Are you interested in baptism - click here!

Bin Night

So I think I have a problem. I crave the approval of others. I want to be liked by every body. I don't know if it's just me being human, and that we all have this inmost desire. If that is the case, a lot of people I know are doing a good job of hiding it with their "I don't care what you think" attitude.

I try to please everybody. And when I feel like I am letting somebody down, I get a great deal of anxiety. It's something I am learning how to let go, particularly after a good conversation with a friend last night. I realise that I have let my guard down, and ended up getting hurt, because of my constant need to feel accepted and loved by everybody.

This morning as we were driving to Church this verse in the bible actually came to mind. It's found in Matthew 10:14, and I remember it from the book Madness by Jossy Chacko (read it, amazing book!). It says, If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet. 

(Disclaimer: I do not often blog about the bible because I am often scared I will make something out of context and somebody will come after me with a pitchfork)

How many times do I try so hard to please somebody, how many times have I wasted my energy, how many times have I just wanted so much to want the approval of somebody, only to be let down, hurt and jealous. I know the answer is simple. Dust my feet, and move on.

And when I say that, I do not mean I completely write people out of my life. I don't mean I stop being a light. I don't mean I stop loving. I don't mean I be a complete cow to that party. No. In fact I still need to act like a decent human being. Undoubtedly there are going to be people in life who let me down, that I don't get along with, or can't get the approval of. No. Matter. What. If I am in a workplace and this happens I still need to be professional (oh, the perks of not working). It's not about being fake. It's about being human, and where applicable, professional.

I am loved. YOU are loved. Just not by everybody, and that's okay. Put your energy into loving where love is welcome, or where love has a chance. Don't waste time. Be wise. Guard your heart.

Once I actually got to church (late), we put Luke into Sunday School and waded through the crowd, knocking over a few people who were lost in a worship song as we scrambled for a seat. The pastor came up and quoted the message version of Galations 5:19-21

It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalising everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. 

Have you noticed what I have hi-lighted here? This all relates to my constant wanting to be accepted by everybody! I was mind blown at how relevant this was for me.

The pastor stood next to two wheelie bins. One said "Garbage", the other said "recycle". He then unpacked each of these things, having them on big bits of paper, explaining them briefly and then throwing them in the bin. He kept repetitively saying, "in the bin, in the bin!"... it was such a powerful illustration. Well, it was for me, anyway.

He then unpacked the characteristics that God loves and put them in the recycling bin, found in Galations 5:22-23 (MSG):

But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

And kind of like an orchard bearing fruit over and over, is the same concept recycling by reusing and reusing.

So, I guess today at church you could say I learnt that God loves recycling. I'm not going to chase after the constant need to feel loved anymore. Instead, I'll just love and see what happens. Peace.

(PS- if this post really floated your boat and you'd like to watch the sermon online, visit this website and eventually it will be put up online).