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The Screwtape Letters: Jesus Edition - by Ben Wilson

Dear Nero,

I'm delighted you wrote me. We've spent eras apart, but it's good to see the passing of time hasn't hindered the fellowship of angels. Indeed, this place has not been the same without you. I hope all that field-work hasn't carried your head too far into the clouds. With any providence - things are going well on your end.

I can tell from your letter that you've exercised much patience with your Child, but it's apparent you're getting frustrated. You mentioned he's never taken to books. That he spends most of his time in play or somatic strain. Such is the way leisure is spent these days. How I miss the breeze of pages turning, of words manifesting inspiration and ideas, the knowledge that gave rise to spirited discussion. Those were the foods that filled our bellies, that lavished our tables and blessed our banquets. In the meantime, we have little left to chew but the lesser meats of Hillsong.

How ironic that humans wish to know everything, understand and comprehend all, yet never visit the library. Ironic? Perhaps 'tragic' is bettered suited. Before you were even given a Child to nurture, He ordained learning as a sacred pursuit. To some it has become little more than classroom drudgery.

Already we've already identified part of the problem. A person is rigorously educated for the first twenty years of their time. Once that ends, they're so excited to be free of books and learning - the only reading  they get comes from advertisements. There are cases where a Child has never picked up a book again. They view learning as a period, not a lifestyle.

Who still knows the ancient classics? Who's witnessed the beauty of Dickens? Knows the pain that wrote Heart of Darkness? Remembers the ink of Marco Polo's journal? Heaven laments.

Our enemy is particularly adept at this. As well as the above, he takes joy in using the sacred texts against those who read it. He twists and pulls, convincing them that anything different or fantastic somehow dishonours Him. There is a wealth of literature that some Children refuse to read, believing it to be righteousness and in doing so miss 'The Great Conversation'. That global forum where we desperately need them - connecting with the dialogues taking place in dynamic culture.

I heard of a chap, Sam I believe, who set out to read the Twilight series for this very reason. I tell you if only one of those books were finished - the compensation he'd receive in Heaven would be abundantly more than his suffering.

I managed to catch up with Malachi last week - only took forty years to find him. He told me how he'd introduced himself to a freshman and asked the man if he'd read his book. Crickets could not chirp any louder. How awkward.

If you want your child to read, Nero, don't be forceful. Be suggestive - give him the idea. Start with the classics, the books that will captive his dormant motivation. The rest are dominoes.

May this letter find you well.

P.S Don't let them know we stole all the twinkies.

Your endearing flat-mate,

- Leon

Chloe Pryor: Tom Cruise, Katie Holmes and the F-word that comes to mind...

Before you get your knickers in a twist, no I am not writing an article about what you think I am...Just needed your attention. Thanks.

It was your usual Friday afternoon; I was standing in line at the supermarket buying treats for the weekend. Of course, I had chosen the line where there was a toddler throwing a high pitched temper tantrum. Screaming, yelling, throwing. Ugh. So, instead of being wise and changing lanes, I decided to avoid the unnerving embarrassing stare from the mother and stick it out.

And actually, the latest Women’s Day had caught my eye. More importantly than drowning out the horrendous noise, it was imperative that I knew the latest on Tom and Katie’s divorce. After all, it made headlines in our evening news, it was that important. Ha. So I read the article about the millions that is going down the drain in this divorce and the speculations of what Tom could have possibly done. It was all very epic and at the same time it was all very depressing. Confession: I bought the magazine.

After reading the whole article about five times I got thinking about forgiveness. I don’t know why forgiveness popped into my head, but for some reason I felt very sad. I started thinking (as if I knew them myself...) Could Tom and Katie forgive each other? Do they really need to go through what will only be immense pain and money? And that little girl? It all seemed so catastrophic. Disastrous. Okay, it is likely that I got caught in the hype, but maybe this pain could have been avoided if someone had embraced forgiveness and reconciliation? I try to be optimistic.

These words are big and scary. I don’t know a whole lot about these words. Forgiveness scares me. I think sometimes I try to be mature and understand forgiveness, but often this concept only makes it as a thought in my life. Sometimes it is just too hard.

When I think about forgiveness I ultimately think about Jesus

I think about an innocent man taking the weight of my wrongs and wiping it clean. I think about a man who loves me so much that he doesn’t look at my life counting up the wrongs but rather has shown me how those wrongs can teach, grow and heal me, all because of his forgiveness.

So then I take this concept of forgiveness and place it in my world. And it seems lost. I look around at the hurt and chaos and feel nauseous. Do people even forgive each other any more? Can we forgive? Will we ever ‘turn the other check’? Again, I’m optimistic.

I want to experience and know this forgiveness in my day to day life and in my relationships because I have seen the fruit that forgiving can produce. Unfortunately it seems so unattainable. It seems like an ideal that will never quite hit planet earth. It seems like an abstract concept that goes against every bone in my body, especially when someone has seriously wronged me. It seems like something I will never achieve.

And then I remember; the forgiveness that Jesus has shown me is perfect, I am not.

I realise that I will never ‘forgive and forget’ like Jesus, but I can only hope to do my best.

I want to learn to forgive well

Like many, I have watched people living in un-forgiveness.

It appears that bitterness seeps into every corner of their lives, the hurt hardens them. They lose touch of reality. In this state, we can lose touch of our humanness.
However, amongst the hurt and pain of being fallen, being human means we do have choice. We do have the choice to forgive and move forward.

Personally, I don’t want my hands to be tied by un-forgiveness. I don’t want to live in bitterness.

Someone once told me “Un-forgiveness is like living in a jail cell, only, your holding the key”. I can just picture it. I imagine sitting in there, cold, bruised, and banging against the walls yelling for someone to let me out. All the while, I’m holding the key... It’s that moment of realising, duh, I can let myself out.

To forgive, it starts with a choice. A commitment to forgiving. And then we need to ask Jesus to give us the strength on a daily basis to continue forgiving that person, because whether big or small, it’s going to be hard. It was painful (literally) for Jesus to forgive us, but the pain has made it worth it. And it will for us.

But the hope is this, we couldn’t ask for a better example, he’s the ultimate forgiver. He will show us how, everyday, through his own mercy and love.
It’s a challenge. It’s mighty hard. But personally, I don’t want to live life feeling like I’m trapped in a Jail cell when I could do something to get out.

I know I’m being idyllic, but one day I hope this “f word” can change the headlines in our news.

reasoning with spirituality

A friend of mine sent me this video a few months back and I've been waiting to stick it on the blog for some discussion. When you hear about spirituality talked about in these terms you can often feel rattled by the way in which our experiences are framed and placed into a different narrative.

Rather than simply labelling this as unsettling or deceptive, in order for us to be able to speak into the wider conversations that society is having about issues central to us as Christians we have to be able to engage well with stuff like this. It is uncomfortable, but if what we believe is true, then it is true in spite of views like this.

So as you watch it, think about what we mean by transcendence, about community and about "evolutionary truths". Is religion about losing ourselves? Simply just a means to give purpose? And what do we think about these assumptions around evolution, culture and the enlightenment? How is he using this rhetoric? And how do you feel when you hear this stuff?

Ben Wilson: The Problem With Christian Music

I discovered Life FM when I was fifteen. My Christian journey was starting to cement itself in the Jesus sub-culture; bible-reading, prayer and finally music. I had joined the God squad. It was exciting times - I did the Parachute thing and my brain became a neurological Ipod of worship songs and Christian rock.

Teenage enthusiasm doesn't stay long. The Christian music scene was getting dreary. My vigour for the 'Mumsdollars' and 'Hillsongs' declined as I realised Christian music can actually be quite crap. I started listening to The Rock and sure enough found the same to be true - but this was a different galaxy. The lyrics were raunchy, the emotions were raw and the suffering was real. We say we're to be honest and genuine as Christians. Our music should reflect this, so why are we still paraphrasing King David?

We're missing a crucial opportunity to connect with the world. Sometimes I look at the songs Christian (especially worship) bands write - and I've seen them a thousand times before. They use the same cliches, the same jargon we've whispered to God for thousands of years. Worship is an expression of love to God, but it seems we've limited what worship is allowed to be.

Something that continues to perplex me - is why we don't sing about sex. Ancient Greek writers were into it like swimwear and Songs of Solomon makes no apologies. Surely the most intimate act a person can engage in - created by God for a beautiful purpose deserves to be celebrated in another beautiful form of expression. It doesn't have to be rude, it doesn't have to be explicit. I've seen it done before. Why aren't we getting creative with our lyrics? Why aren't we exploring new and hard territory? I long for the day when Christians create their own Shit Town or Lightning Crashes.



Singing of a woman dying in child birth, her lost dreams, the baby's future. Doesn't that already honour God? Is that not close to His heart? There are so many harsh realities in life, so many things that aren't fair. So why don't we sing? Why does the secular scene do it so much better than us?

Perhaps it's because we try provide resolution when there isn't always. We give hope, saying God will pull through, that He's sovereign. God's truth is comforting, but it shouldn't be the way we tackle everything. Not every situation brings closure, nor should we. Sometimes grief and suffering need to be embraced, our emotions explored and life's problems acknowledged:



The inequity on this planet is overwhelming. In a perfect world there would be no poverty, women wouldn't need to sell their bodies, fathers wouldn't need to steal, orphanages wouldn't need to exist. In a perfect world I would be able to sing about these, but I can't, so I write instead.

The keyword in this article has been 'we'. I use it loosely as I'm not even a musician. Harping on about Christian music fells unfair when there's scarcely a thing I can do about it - but it's not just music. Our lives should reflect this kind of transparency and consideration to life and injustice - showing a people who engage with the crappy times.

I'm being mean - there are great Christian artists out there who already do this. Quite often it's ersatz, but when it's done right; the cadence is irresistible:

i talked about fight club. i know i know i know.

Fight Club was one of the first novels I truly loved. It was a compulsory text in 7th form English, but I was hooked straight away and loved the narrative style, dark musings and what Palahniuk did with his characters. The critique on Western materialism is prolific within the pages and is a sharp statement about our culture. The movie is pretty good too, and while not as good as the book, it has still commanded a cult following and displays the grit and brutality of the ideas well.

One of the best parts about the film and book are Tyler's rants and critiques about the way people in the West live. Here's what is possibly the most poignant of the lot:

"I see in Fight Club the strongest and smartest men who’ve ever lived. I see all this potential. And I see it squandered. Goddamn it, an entire generation pumping gas. Waiting tables. Slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes. Working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars. But we won’t. We’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off."

As I read this for a second time a couple of months ago, I began to see some parallels between the disillusionment towards that story of celebrity, candy culture, smiling billboards and images of the good life – parallels between that, and pop Christianity. The Sunday school flannel board Christianity. The "Jesus is Nice" Christianity that I have been fed at many points growing up in the christian subculture. I've grown to realise that this Christianity does not stand up to real life and needs to be called out for what it is.

So it inspired me to rewrite this speech of Tyler’s. This is my rant in the style of Tyler Durden:

"I see in churches some of the strongest men and woman in the world. I see the best of humanity. But I see many of these people squashed into ideals of niceness, compliance and shallow sentiment. I see greatness pushed into narratives of the good life that told us that becoming a Christian would mean we would be prosperous now that God had our backs. It told us that life with Jesus would always be an adventure, and that God’s great plan for our lives was to fulfil the desires of our hearts, like some cosmic genie. That when Jesus said that he wanted us to live life to the full it meant that we jumped from one exhilarating spiritual experience to the next. But now I don’t know what to do with moments of monotony. This message told us that we were able to achieve anything we wanted in God’s power and would walk in victory all the time. That we would know he is near because we would be in a heightened emotional state due to the fact that the Christian walk is always exciting, spontaneous and personally fulfilling. But it's not like this. And we who call ourselves Christians are slowly learning this fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

Too harsh? I think a critique is needed. Christian living is not like this. The way we do church cannot reflect an 'adventure gospel' and evangelism cannot operate under a message that following Jesus is an adventure. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it is the opposite.

you should totes come.

What is God's will for my life? How do I know if I'm doing what I'm called to do? How do I serve God in my career?

This year camp will be dedicated to questions and conversations around this thinking. We have great speakers lined up, including Sam Bloore from the Compass Foundation.

More details to come soon, but make sure you sign up and save the date! Everyone welcome!

http://www.facebook.com/messages/#!/events/277850335664691/?fref=ts

Belinda Stott: Depression

A few weeks ago we had the privilege of Belinda Stott coming to chat to us about depression - the different forms, causes and ways to manage it. Many people found it really useful and it was a good reminder of the damaging way we can sometimes set church culture up for inauthenticity. Well worth the listen, more than once even!

Belinda and her husband Matt will be running Soul Tour at the beginning of next year, a 'crash course in psychology, theology, philosophy and life skills from a Christian world view'. I'll be doing it! You can check out the website here: http://www.soultour.co.nz/

And here's the audio from the night:

Ben Wilson: Being Single

Okay, I admit; I'm quite the catch. Such a reality shouldn't be surprising for a stubble-scrumptious charismatic stallion. After a sentence like that it's going to be hard to explain why I'm still single. Do I not bother? Do I go for the wrong ones? 'Cause it's too difficult? Do I spend too much time in a gym that hardly has any women? Most of those are true but I'm more interested in taunting a greater question - what's wrong with being single? 

 

Should we agree with the Eleanor Rigbys and just say 'it sucks'?

I get a lot of crap for being single. Not for being single itself, but for how long I've been. I had my last (and only) girlfriend at fifteen, and she left me for another man - Australia. Since then everyone's been telling me I should find someone else - that it's silly for such a date-able man to stay single. But I've never been the kind of guy that's needed a relationship. Some people fear it, but I can confidently say I enjoy it (cheeky monkey; rolling your eyes).

Never in my life am I going to have such abundance of time, money...and genuine happiness. I do a lot of things now that I wouldn't have time for with a girlfriend - and that's probably the reason I am still single. Such a lifestyle makes me hesitant to join the relationship parade - but alas I know I must grow up someday and embrace the change.

My desire for intimacy has by no means been buried. There are times when I'll watch a movie by myself and wish there were a head resting on my shoulder apart from the dog's. I see the attraction in being with someone - having a best friend you can be honest and laugh with. Why else would I workout? 

Maybe the time is coming when I should get off my butt and do something, or maybe it isn't - either way I want to enjoy the 'now'.

Therein lies part of the problem - thinking a relationship will improve your life. Not necessarily. I've seen couples who wanted nothing more than to be single. I've seen people break up and wish they never got together in the first place. I've also seen people put all their hopes into finding someone, waiting patiently for a deus ex only to hear crickets. Each reality comes with its own delights and sufferings - the difference is learning to enjoy the one you're in.

Too much goes on in life to worry about where I could be. I know I can't stay single forever, nor is that my plan. Where I am now I wouldn't trade for anything in the world. Things haven't turned out how I expected - but they have turned out well. And someday, I'll share it with someone.

Until then I just need to break past the romantic politics, body language and elusiveness. The fun begins.

The Overstayer by Amanda Pilbrow

So I have this house guest that insists on dropping in unannounced, uninvited and at irregular times. Actually calling him a guest is being far to kind. He is intensely unwelcome and much more than just a ‘regular’ pain in the gluteus maximus. Not at all the kind you are pleased to see when opening the front door, standing there with ratty suitcase full, guilty tricks in hand, and with the full expectation of taking up residence for an undisclosed period of time.  Experience tells me he’ll stay anywhere from 24 hours to a week, or sometimes, sadly, longer. Once his foot is in the door, before I’ve had time to slam it shut, he’s pushed his way in and there’s not a lot I can do to dissuade him from staying. Believe me I’ve tried. I’ve tried ignoring him, yelling at him, being accommodating to him, I’ve asked others to talk to him and persuade him to be on his way, and yes I’ve tried to pray him away. But no, when he comes he intends to stay.  He is really a rather rude and formidable bully. He is as immoveable and offensive as the smell left on a shoe smeared with dog poo. Eventually it will go but until then… don’t sniff too deep.  Quite frankly no matter how many times I tell him “Now is not the best time”, “I’m too busy” or simply is “You’re not welcome”, he sneers his dirty vindictive smile at me, snubs his nose and gives me a look that that says “Tough #**t”.  So rude!

I’m learning to read the weather signs. I can get a foreboding sense, a ‘doom receptor’ if you like, that he might be on his way. My sixth sense kicks in and I know that he is likely to be just over the horizon, or closer, just around the corner and heading my way.  An irregular heartbeat escapes my chest just before it sinks into my stomach. Crap. Damn. Is he on his way?  So I’ll try to batten down the hatches, I’ll try to hide out of sight behind the couch, or under the bed covers wishing him to bypass me and simply move on the next sucker in his little black address book. I’ll try to remember to lock the front door but he usually catches me out and at times even manages to sneak in the back door while all my attention is focused on heading him off at the front door. Hate it when that happens… idiot! Me, not him.

Out of necessity I’ve given him a pet name, all be it rather a dramatic one… The Dark Cloud. Yeah I know, sounds like a character from Pokémon or Dragon Ball Z or worse, My Little Pony. But it’s the name that fits, and it’s stuck.

His time here drags like a stopped clock and I often can’t stop myself from falling into my default mode. Self-protection and preservation. I withdraw. Everything inside me reacts and my walls go up. Not surprising I guess, but also not ideal. I’ve learnt to keep my mouth shut when he’s around. He’s such an antagonist that everything inside me wants to spurt out negativity, accusations and bitching, not at my over stayer, though fully deserved, but at anyone else I come in contact with or to be brutally honest, those who love me best. It’s not their fault I didn’t manage to head him off at the pass but well really he doesn’t care if I verbalise my frustration at him, he’s not moving on till he moves on.

Should he decide it’s one of his longer stays, I’m a mess. My resolve is worn down. My energy drained. My skin grey. I feel like that unsuspecting water in the glass the teacher uses in sex ed. to show just how much a tampon can hold… sucked in and sucked dry. Oh God help me, not again.

Nothing gets done, not the basics and especially not the things I like to do and numbness invades the areas that would otherwise energise me. If the sun didn’t come up tomorrow, well, who cares? He’s such a kill joy. He’s such a leach. He’s such a #@%*.  He whispers in my ear at the most inopportune times … “Who do you think you are? You know you’re useless; you’re ineffective, irrelevant and just plain ugly all round”. And he’s so good at the whispers game, knows just how to throw me off balance, blindside me and knock my legs from under me and stupid me, I’m taken by surprise every time. He brings me to tears and offers no comfort or apology. There’s been times when he’s stayed so long and his words have cut me so deep that when I close my eyes I’m in a pit, a deep pit with oil up the sides and every time I try to climb out, to get a foot hold, I slide back down to the bottom. And he sniggers. Sigh. Heavy sigh.

You’ll be pleased to hear I’m getting better now at making his stays shorter when he comes. And lately he doesn’t come quite so often.  I’m learning. I can’t stop him from coming altogether but I’ve learnt that when he does show up I can make him feel uncomfortable enough to the point where he ‘wants’ to leave, all by himself. How? I make sure I rest, I be a little kinder to me, I allow myself to be quiet but not withdrawn, I take time to get outside and breathe deeply and soak in some Vit D, I take longer showers, I eat chocolate and liquorice accompanied by a good dark tipple, I drink less coffee(well not really), I’ll watch something that will make me laugh out loud like ‘Wipe Out’ or ‘Miranda’,  I’ll talk (cry sometimes) to God about how I’m feeling and how I hate this intruder in my home and that he makes me mad now rather than just sad. And God says “That’s good, I don’t like when he visits you either, let’s make him uncomfortable together.” I give those I love most the heads up that he’s coming (or arrived) so they too can make him uncomfortable. I know he will leave. I know how I react affects his resolve.

My aim is to make him think twice about knocking on my door at all. I don’t actually think that’s remotely possible but hey, it’s ok. Life without challenge would just be another shade of grey… predictable, without substance and lacking commitment.

Ben Wilson: Arkham World

 

 

I'll confess, I have a cupboard in my room just for masks. Even I'm impressed by how many I've collected - each one an art form in itself, with its own history and make. I'm never in need. I have them all. I have one I take to the gym, to work, church. I keep one for my family - for every friend. I'm somewhat of an actor.

I recently finished my second playthrough of Batman: Arkham City; a universe of colourful criminals and flawed heroes. A circus of miscreant performers.

Don't know if I'm finally losing it or I'm just getting soft, but I started seeing a real side to the game's characters. All their hurts and sufferings. The unfortunate reasons they're iconic in the first place. Each has their own visage where they (and we) find their identity; a former district attorney obsessed with duality who copes with the cruel misfortunes of life by tossing a coin; a narcissistic riddler who leaves clues of his deadly deeds because he wants attention; a homicidal jester who chose a life of madness and anarchy after enduring one unbearable day, and a playboy billionaire who adopted a dark persona to deal with his sadness and rage at the loss of his parents.

Perhaps I'm getting too soppy over fictional characters - but I see the same thing in our world. We disguise ourselves and make rash decisions that stem from things we've experienced. We live like thespians, carrying our wardrobes full of masks and expect people to understand where we're coming from - when they're just trying get by themselves.

I'll admit I'm a fairly apathetic man, but occasionally I have my moments of caring. It originates from past hurts and burns. Arguably I use to care too much, but more often that not it felt one-sided, so when I found an excuse not to care I rolled with it. It was refreshing to let people go and relax as I watched the world unwind, not bothering to attend to every immediate need. Stay somewhere too long though and you tire of it. I wanted to care again, to feel love and give love. That's where I find myself now.

I remember one day I was with a group of friends swimming. When I got out one of my mates gave me his hand to help me out. I didn't take it. I wasn't trying to be rude - I wanted to be independent. That came at a price. As I looked up, I could see the rejection in his face. Seems like such a trivial thing. I didn't even need his help, I was just getting out of a pool, but that wasn't the point. It mattered a lot to him, and it matters to me now - if only it did then. 'If only I saw it his way,' I say to myself. Nowadays when someone offers me help, I take it.

People often tell me stories of others who've wronged them. I try and imagine what the person on the other side is really saying amidst the jumble of emotions. In all my time (a very long time) I've found most people are just trying to do right. They're not inherently bad - just scarred. Such a call to love and see past peoples' personal attacks and meltdowns is...unrealistic at best. No doubt I'll get frustrated with someone tonight and completely forget what I've written and what situation they're in. But I'm a dreamer, so that's what I'll do.

I suppose in the end, we're trying to tell people we want to be appreciated and accepted. I mean why did I bother to write this article? Was it to genuinely explore the issue or to seek acknowledgment and praise? Probably the latter. What strange ways we have...

Casey's Awkward Confessions: #6

Sometimes I think my brain is missing the bit that usually fits somewhere between the thought generator and the communication station. I think I need to take my filter back and get a refund. There are so many times in my life where I’ve said something, then had to dwell in the awkward silence while everyone – including myself – wonders where the heck that thought came from.

One particularly glorious occasion was when I was out with my boyfriend and we happened to see his parents who were having dinner. He went over to say hi while I bought our food, then came back and told me how his Dad had made a joke that they were sitting at the ‘cool table’ so we couldn’t join them.

Before I continue this story, I must point out that his Dad scared the living daylights out of me. It wasn’t just that he was one of those quiet, mysterious, all-round-intimidating dudes. I was terrified he thought I wasn’t good enough for his one-and-only son.

Of course, it was only polite that I went over to say hello as well. As we were approaching the table I tried to come up with something funny to join in with the joke, something along the lines of‘sorry I’ve bought the uncool guy back to your table.’ *Cue cheesy recorded laughter* A million options whirred through my head as I desperately sought the one witty phrase that would both entertain and win the approval of my boyfriend’s scary Dad. Unfortunately I panicked, and in a last-ditch attempt to come up with something I accidentally blurted out:

“I’m sorry, are we not cool enough for you?!”

He didn’t look at me. He didn’t say a word. He continued to eat his meal, looked straight ahead and, presumably, imagined a better world where it never rained and I wasn’t dating his son (fortunately not long after that he got his wish).

Meanwhile I went bright red to the point where local bulls stormed Auckland’s CBD, eating cars and terrorising small children.

Thanks, brain filter. Really had my back there, didn’t you?

Awkward confession #6 : I was terrified of having these confessions posted online. Terrified. After our first discussion about potentially putting my thoughts into something resembling a piece of writing, it took Sam a good couple of months to actually wheedle it out of me. Even then I kept putting off the inevitable, combing through each post, trying to find any accidental faux-pas, making sure I didn’t come across as a complete tosser. I wanted to be real about my experiences, but I also hate being vulnerable. Even more so, I hate admitting my faults. Each new post was accompanied by gut-churning fear. What if people think I’m weird? What if people think I’m stupid?! What if I’m WRONG?!? What if NO-ONE LIKES ME?!?! WHAT IF EVERYONE THINKS I’M CRAZY?!?!? WHY AM I THINKING IN CAPSLOCK?!?!?! MAYBE I AM CRAZY!!!!!!! AAAAAAH *BRAIN EXPLOSION*

I never quite managed to nail the balance between humility and insecurity. Growing up I always tried to be modest and never, ever, ever compliment myself about anything at all ever. My humility strategy of never acknowledging anything good about myself quickly morphed into feeling like there was nothing worthwhile about me at all. My opinion of myself was solely based on the opinions of those around me. Even if I thought I was rubbish, as long as other people thought I was alright I could still get up in the morning.

Because of this I always sought the approval of others, in particular my parents. I quickly learnt that I got the most praise when I achieved something, so I pushed myself to do everything, be the best, get good grades, all the usual stuff you’ve heard a thousand times before. Woe is me. Unfortunately my parents had set the bar rather high – Head Boy and Head Girl at the same time (a bit cute), captains of the top rugby and netball teams, Dad was dux, Mum won the‘all-rounder’ trophy. They pretty much ticked all the over-achiever boxes. I, however, did not. I always hovered on the cusp of greatness, at the upper end of average but never quite crossing the threshold into true awesomeness. I made the logical-ish assumption that my parents would never be proud of me because I had achieved nothing compared to them. I was a disappointment, a failure.

My obsession with achievement meant I quickly became disillusioned with God. My somewhat skewed interpretation of Christianity led me to believe that anything I was good at I had to give all the credit to God, but all the bad stuff, all my faults were all me. The way I saw it, Christianity taught me that I was just a useless, sinful, unworthy shell and all I could do was hope that God might work in me to do something good. I hated Christianity for taking my achievements away from me. The only thing that gave me value was my achievements, if I couldn’t take credit for them I had nothing. I was nothing.

I hated going to church because I felt like I was surrounded by happy people who had it all together. From what I could see I was the only one who was a mess, so church was ironically where I felt the most lonely. I remember going to a sermon on insecurities where the pastor talked about this amazing girl he used to date. It was the usual story: beautiful girl, kind heart, drives a 2 hour round-trip to volunteer at a youth group every Wednesday, great at sport, sponsors 2 children, intelligent, hard-working, completely perfect in every way. And … dum dum dummm … she was insecure *shocked gasp*. I did NOT see that coming! I sat there thinking ‘I am none of those things… Does that mean I should feel insecure?’

I may or may not have taken things a little too far...

For a start, credit has nothing to do with it. God has given me gifts (at least I hope he has... I’ll have to get back to you on that one). He didn’t give them to me to rub it in that He’s better than me. He didn’t give them to me to make me feel guilty. He didn’t give them to me to make me feel useless. God has given me gifts because He wants me to have them. He gave them to me to make the most of them. My decision to embrace these gifts and pursue the path God wants for me is just as honourable as any achievement I might have along the way.

Humility also isn’t about giving credit. It isn’t about self-deprecation. Humility doesn’t ask us to feel depressed or unworthy. Humility doesn’t diminish our strengths, it merely acknowledges our weaknesses. Humility recognises that we have a need. Humility reminds us that maybe we aren’t the most important person in the universe. Humility is what reigns us in when we have arrogant jack-ass tendencies.

I would love to say I have grown and evolved and my insecurities are like, soooo totally high school. They’re not. From time to time I still have irrational freak-outs worrying that everyone thinks I’m a loser. I still have mornings where I look in the mirror and think I look like a dude. I am still very critical and self-deprecating (a side-effect of living in Australia. Every time I said something stupid I got into the habit of anticipating the response – ‘yes, I know, I suck and so does my country. Thanks guys.’). Saying something good about myself still makes me feel a bit sick. But I have been working very hard to re-train my thoughts to be confident in the person God made me to be.

I am smart-ish and capable and real and, so I’ve been told, “kind of” a babe (was going for“completely”, but what can you do…). I am also incredibly and irrevocably flawed. But it’s not my job to judge myself. When I reach the pearly gates I’m not going to find a note saying “If you really think you’re good enough, come on in. If not please take the door to your left, go down 3 flights of stairs, turn right, knock 3 times on the door saying ‘6H’ and enjoy an eternity in hell. Love, Big JC xoxo” At the end of the day, it’s just not my call. It is my responsibility to discern my sins and repent. I definitely have a lot of weaknesses and I acknowledge the need for God in my life. But it is not my job to punish myself. I punished myself for years and it was paralysing.

I think as a culture we tend towards bringing ourselves down, and quite often we bring others down to our level so that we don’t feel so bad hovering in the undergrowth. Whatever happened to encouragement? Encouragement is AWESOME! We should be encouraging each other all the time. Every time someone gives me a word of encouragement about my writing it makes me want to kiss them (in an on-the-cheek, totally cool and European kind of way). It builds me up and helps contain the cycle of fear that spirals around in the dark patches of my head. I appreciate knowing that I don’t just crack myself up. This is in no way a request for future compliments. Rather, it is a challenge. These blogs have been posted on a public forum so they pretty much automatically ask for a response. But my question to you is this: what are the little things the people around you have been doing that make your day just that little bit brighter? Who in your life could you be encouraging more?

My second, much more difficult question, is what should you be encouraging in YOU? What do you think God values in you? What do you like about yourself? Eeek, I know it’s a bit awkward. But there must be something. Encouragement is important but if you’re stuck in a rut of self-loathing the real change has to happen in you. It starts with whatever is going on inside your head. What are you telling yourself? Even with high-fives and positive affirmation from those around us, our self-talk can be remarkably different to the truth. My suggestion is to take out that ‘I suck’ cassette tape that you’ve been playing on loop and upgrade to the mental iPod of awesomeness. Welcome to the 21^st century, where technology is smarter than you but you’re cool anyway. It’s a world where confidence and arrogance are actually two different things – hence the two different words (a dead giveaway). You can believe in yourself without being excessively superior and self-involved. And let’s be honest, if you do turn into an arrogant prat I’m sure you have a friend who will slap you out of it. If not, I will gladly volunteer my services. I’m good like that.

Growing up is a bit scary, but as we get closer to dropping the ‘young’ and becoming real adults it’s time to make friends with ‘responsibility’. Take responsibility for your mistakes. But also take responsibility for acknowledging and developing your strengths. No matter what you think, they do exist – you just have to find them and believe in them.

Let me put it a different way. The Wright Brothers created the aeroplane. Even if you think they cause too much pollution and the seats in economy don’t have enough leg room, you have to admit that what they created is pretty amazing. When they are going in the right direction and are piloted in the right way they are truly incredible. The Wright Bros themselves were pretty cool dudes (plus Orville had a particularly snazzy moustache) and no-one would insult them by saying their creation is crap.

Well, God created you. Think about it.

Dick's Story

A couple of weeks ago we had the immense privilege of hearing Dick's story of losing his wife and hs response to that. What an inspiration!

Casey's Awkward Confessions: #5

I HATE IT when I’m driving home in the middle of the night from some outrageously awesome party because I’m so cool and popular (i.e. I fell asleep on my parents couch while watching my big fat gypsy wedding) and I get stuck at a red light. And there is not a single car in sight. But I stop at the red light anyway, because years ago some dick named Murphy made up a law that says the one time I drive through a red light at 3am in the morning on a completely empty road, a cop will appear out of nowhere and take all my money. If you ask me, Murphy should have got a hobby and a wife and left the law-making to the professionals.

So I’m sitting at this red light, waiting for no-one, twiddling my thumbs, writing incredibly rude letters in my head to local councils, town planners, the inventor of the traffic light’s grandchildren, President Obama and the Queen complaining about the sheer frustration of sitting at this traffic light. Then, of course, a car drives up. And the light they are driving towards is green. And instead of waiting patiently and gracefully for a red light, like I have been doing for what seems like the past six thousand years, they get to drive straight through. No stopping, no waiting. They don’t have to earn their green light. They just skip straight to the happy ending of reaching their destination in uninterrupted driving merriment.

Awkward confession #5 : sometimes I feel like this whole ‘God has a plan for you’ thing is a myth. All my life the next step has been obvious – finish year 1, move on to year 2; finish high school, go to uni. Everything has been nicely straight-forward and pre-planned. But now some foolish sucker decided it was a good idea to release me into the wild and forgot to give me a map. There are a bajillion jobs in the world and I am expected to find the one thing that I’m good at, that I enjoy and that I’m ‘meant to be doing’?! There are billions of men out there, and I’m supposed to find one that I am compatible with and that I want to marry (or the more difficult task of finding one that wants to marry me). My decisions have far greater impact on the rest of my life, and it’s so much harder to determine what the right decision is.

You know that old saying “man plans, God laughs.” Sometimes I feel like I am God’s personal comedy channel. The number of twists and turns my life has taken would give anyone whiplash, and I have a horrible feeling that I ain’t seen nothing yet. I like to be in control and know where I’m heading, but my picture of what my future is going to be has changed so many times over the years. I was supposed to be living in a different country right now. I was supposed to be a lawyer. I was supposed to be travelling. I was supposed to be a missionary in Cambodia. I was supposed to be famous. I was supposed to be changing the world. I was supposed to be married to a prince (OK, I’ll admit that last one was a long shot).

What gets me is that so many people around me seem to be getting things right. They have their dream jobs, they are marrying their dream boy/girl, they are living the elusive dream. In  a society of ‘do whatever YOU want to make YOU happy right NOW’, I often find myself wondering why is it that everyone else has the green light to skip ahead to their happy ending, while I’m still stuck at the red light wondering when I got left behind?

A little while ago my dream job became available. I was super excited to apply, until I realised I would need to drive for the job. I’ve just been diagnosed with epilepsy which means I’m not allowed to drive for a year. A bit of a fly in the ointment. I was furious. I felt so ripped off. Why couldn’t something just work out? Is it really too much to ask to have my dreams come true now? Why is it that I have to wait in amongst the crap while other people get to be happy? (I will admit, I have spoilt-brat tendencies when I am upset…)

I get so incredibly frustrated when things don’t work out, but at the end of the day who’s to say that if everything went the way I planned my life would actually be better. Or that I would be better for it. The happy ending I pine for wouldn’t be a happy ending at all, it would just be the beginning of a new chapter that would most likely bring with it just as many challenges as the last. When I’m at my most unreasonable I have to make a conscious effort to remind myself of this, to try and contain the spoilt-brat within.

The real challenge is to try and find the path God wants for me. I’ll be honest, I have no idea what that is and my discernment isn’t always trustworthy. There have been times where I’ve got it wrong. I’ve had a lot of road blocks that have sucked, but kept me on the right path in times when I wouldn’t have listened if God had tried to just tell me. So much good has come out of the unexpected. I’ve learnt so much, I’m so much stronger.

The truth is, I don’t know where I’m going. I can’t possibly know where I’m going. If there’s anything I’ve learnt it’s that life is FULL of surprises. Sometimes the surprises are awesome. Sometimes I’m disappointed. Life is a bit of a mixed bag. At times not knowing my future really scares me. The unknown scares me. The possibility that I might get it all wrong scares me. But in general, when I’ve got my head screwed on the right way I can trust that it will all work out one way or another. God’s got my back. Even if I go a mile off in the wrong direction, He will still welcome me home. My discernment will get better. I will get better.

One day, years from now I’m going to be chilling with my 20 cats, leaning on my Zimmer frame having a good old-fashioned LOL about how my life turned out. If the first 23 years are anything to go by, it’s certainly going to be an interesting ride.

In the meantime, I’ll try choosing streets that have roundabouts.

Hayley.

Hayley Langston is British. And hilarious. And talks really fast. She also has lots of good stuff to say. Check out her little talk from a few weeks back. We're lucky to have her!

Casey's Awkward Confessions: #4

Never do a statistics assignment at 4am.

You would think this would go without saying. Apparently not.

It was the last week of my second year at uni. We’d had a big dinner in honour of the third year residents who would shortly be leaving our hallowed halls for the sub-par cuisine and questionable hygiene of student-flat living. After dinner I went to bed while the party raged on. Unfortunately the party moved to a bonfire. Which happened to be right outside my room. No sleep for Casey.

At around 3:30am I gave up trying to catch some zzzz’s and decided I might as well be productive. So I dragged my semi-conscious body out of bed and decided to start my stats assignment (which, incidentally, was due in later that day). I’d been working for about half an hour when I heard a noise at my door. I got up to listen and was about to open the door, when suddenly the door was in my face. Literally. All up in my grill.

Let me explain. A few of the guys in college had a nasty habit of kicking in other people’s doors. With an almighty crack the door frame was ripped off the wall, my door swung into my head and I literally went flying back 2 meters and crashed into my desk. It’s a shame Jackass weren’t filming, it would have been quite spectacular. It’s strange how time slows down during those moments. I specifically remember careering backwards over my chair and as my feet lifted off the ground and my back smashed into my desk I suddenly realised I hadn’t breathed since I got hit. In an attempt to take a breath I let out the most awful, manly ‘aaargh’ which sounded suspiciously like a drowning sheep. Attractive.

Once I had processed what had happened I called my friend, who answered the phone with ‘who the f*** is calling me?!’ It took me three attempts to coherently ask him to come help. He found me with a giant lump on my forehead, a swollen purple lip, a gash on my back, crying hysterically. I had also made the unfortunate choice of wearing a warehouse polo shirt as pyjamas. Not a polo shirt purchased from the warehouse. The actual uniform. Great call.

There was a lot of fuss and bother and eventually it was decided that I probably wasn’t concussed so I could go to sleep, then go to the hospital in the morning (which was right next door. How handy). When my friend came back in the morning to take me to hospital I wouldn’t wake up. So he did what any resourceful person would do. He went and got me hashbrowns and pancakes and miraculously I woke up straight away. Fancy that.

So I went to the hospital and got my doctors certificate for a mild concussion (which also got me an extension on my stats assignment – win!). While dramatic, it didn’t really have any long-term impact on my brain functions. But that night was a turning point. Suddenly I didn’t want to do anything. I literally just didn’t have the energy or the desire to do life. I had never been so homesick. I didn’t even care enough to be miserable. I just had nothing. That night picked me up, spun me around 10 times, then dropped me onto a different path and dared me to walk. Dizzy and confused, I fell flat on my face.

Awkward confession #5 : I spent 10 years hating myself and, during a brief period of ‘relief’ I thought I was miraculously recovered. I thought once I’d reached the point where I actually felt like God loved me, I would stay that way and everything would just click into place. It didn’t. 2012 is PMSing all over my life and I didn’t see it coming. One minute I was all ‘crap God DOES love me and he CAN use me and it’s all going to be OK’, the next minute I was like ‘this is NOT how my life was supposed to be, it is UNFAIR and CRAPPY and I would like a refund please. Actually, I take back the ‘please’. Ha, take that.’ Why can’t we just reach a point where we are all fixed and happy and it stays that way? Yes, I know, it’s LIFE. It just makes my want to punch my own face a little bit.

The thing I don’t understand is why we are all so afraid to admit it. Why are we so ashamed? We are more than happy to have a whine and moan about the little things, but when it comes to the big life-changing stuff we think that being honest about the hurt and the fear means we are a terrible Christian. Because how could anything be bad when we have Jesus? Instead of being real we minimise our true feelings and cover it with a bunch of Christian clichés. If someone asks how you are, the correct answer is: ‘I’m great, Jesus loves me, He has a plan for me, His timing is perfect, He knows how I feel’ even though the real answer might be: ‘I’m devastated, everything hurts, I can’t see a way out.’

Many of you will know that I studied at Sydney University. The plan was to stay in Sydney for a couple of years after I graduated, save up money and head further abroad. Many of you will also know that instead I came home as soon as I graduated. Not all of you will know why. In a nut-shell, I came home for a boy. At the tender age of 21 I decided I wanted to get married more than I wanted to see the world. I am currently single. We can all join the dots on that one.

At the time, if you’d asked me how I was I would have said something like ‘it’s a bit of a bummer, but I know it’s for the best. I believe God wanted me back in New Zealand and He wanted me to be single because he has work to do in me that He couldn’t have done if I was in a relationship. I know God is going to use me and I’m looking forward to seeing where He is going to take me.’ While all of those are true, what I was really thinking was ‘!thi$%i$^f&*%in!^b%$#s@#$%^&*!’. I was devastated and I couldn’t see the bigger picture because all I could see was disappointment and heartbreak. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust God, it doesn’t mean I don’t have faith, it doesn’t mean I’m less of a Christian – it just means I’m human and have emotions.

Around that time we were given journals at church and were told to write pretty much whatever came to mind. I opened up that journal the other day and found my first entry:

‘I am tired. I’m sick of being in pain and trying to justify it by saying at least I learnt something. Sometimes the hurt can’t be rationalised away. Sometimes it just hurts.’

We’ve all been there, we’ve all been in that place where we feel like crap and can’t see a way out. We all reach a point where keeping it together is just too exhausting. But we only feel safe to admit it after we’ve got through it. We only share stories of pain and suffering if they have a happy ending. We will only admit to the hurt and disappointment if there is a ‘but’. ‘But I know God is going to use this experience for my betterment’. ‘But God is good’. ‘But God has a plan for me’. There is huge truth in all of those statements. In hindsight I can see how real those statements have been in my life. But only in hindsight. At the time I was so weighed down by darkness that I couldn’t even imagine the light.

I guess what I’m trying to say, in a rather glass-half-empty kind of way, is why are we so afraid to be real? And why can’t we let those around us be real too? I’m not quite sure when ‘coping’ morphed into ‘not having any bad feelings at all.’ We hide behind our ‘God is good’ culture and awkwardly dance around the fact that real, unexplainable, unjustifiable suffering exists. Everywhere. Every day. And I’m not talking about dramatic news stories, or that awful thing that happened to Johnny’s uncle’s colleague’s sister’s son. It’s easy to talk about suffering when it’s happening to others and it’s out of reach – poverty, famine, natural disasters, the list goes on. But I am talking about YOU. What is happening in YOUR life?

I love hope. I believe in hope. Hope reminds me that the crap I feel right now isn’t my future. Hope encourages me to face my problems. Hope promises me that, whether it be in this life or the next, it will get better.

Hope doesn’t take away the pain of today. Hope isn’t the cure. Telling someone that ‘it will get better’ doesn’t mean it is automatically better now. It just means there’s something to work towards. There is something to fight for.

Hope is what makes me not give up.

My challenge to you is be real. Feel what you are feeling. Experience the freedom of being honest about the fact that sometimes LIFE SUCKS! It’s OK to feel overwhelmed, it’s OK to feel hurt, it’s OK if you don’t see the light right now.

Just don’t give up.

Casey's Awkward Confessions: #3

Once upon a time, a very long time ago I was making out with my high school boyfriend* in a totally above-board, PG rated kind of way. No wayward hands, no Christian grind. Totally innocent. Suddenly he stopped, looked away from me and wouldn’t tell what was wrong. One minute he was all ‘yes please’ the next minute suddenly it was ‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’ The following day I asked him about it and his reply was “Oh, I could have kept making out for a lot longer.” Slightly perplexed, I then asked him why he had stopped. His reply was:

“Because I was worried you were going to have an orgasm.”

I remember thinking ‘crikey, buddy. You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.’

Awkward Confession #3 : When I get married, I fully intend to have sex in every room of the house. A lot. I know, how dare I say that. I am unmarried, I should be pretending sex doesn’t exist. Don’t even think about finding someone sexy. That’s disgusting. I’ll be praying for you.

I have been assured that guys will quite happily talk about sex until the cows come home, but for girls I often find that sex drive fits into the same category as periods, flatulence and under-arm hair – it’s better for everyone if we just pretend it doesn’t exist. We might talk about it with a select few behind closed doors, but on the whole we don’t really like to admit that we want to have sex just as much as anyone.

All my life I just assumed I wouldn’t have sex until I was married. I never really thought about why, I just knew that’s what I wanted. When I was young it was easy, because the thought of actually having sex made me want to throw up a little. Boys weren’t exactly on the top of my to-do list. At some unknown point during my teens this all got turned on its head and my body was suddenly all-systems-go. Not exactly helpful for my ‘no sex before marriage’ plan. However, despite more than a few glitches along the way, my virginity has somehow remained intact.

Choosing to save yourself for marriage isn’t the easy option. It’s a constant challenge. Everything and everyone tells us we should be having sex. I never get asked ‘why’ I’m not having sex, I get asked ‘HOW?!?!’ at shocked, high-pitched decibels that can only be heard by dogs. It seems so unimaginable that a young adult, in the ‘prime of life’ could be able to restrain herself. I have non-Christian friends who pretty much thought bases 1, 2 and 3 were invented for Christians so that they’d have something to do before marriage. And rather than listening to why I choose to live this way, I tend to get a reputation as a judgemental prude who is clearly asexual and has never had a sexual urge in her life. They couldn’t be more wrong.

We always talk about ‘temptation’ as if it’s someone kind of magical, uncontrollable force. Like it’s a trap that we accidentally stroll into when we’re looking the other way but by then it’s too late. We blame temptation for leading us astray, but the truth is much more sinister.

The real reason it’s difficult is because you want to have sex. And that hottie that doesn’t put up a fight when you try to cop a feel isn’t the problem – he/she is an opportunity. The desire was already there under the surface, trading secrets with your hormones, dancing through your veins and throwing parties in all the local hotspots. The desire is with us all the time – the media, the shirtless guys at the beach, the girls in the barely-there shorts, the r-rated books and movies, the boy/girl flirting with you are all just outlets. The real reason it’s hard isn’t some external force compelling you to do naughty naughty things. The real reason is you.

It all starts to get messy when we actually find ourselves in a relationship. Suddenly its not just you anymore. You’re with someone you want to have sex with, and for reasons unknown they want to have sex with you too. And then your non-Christian friends ask ‘so where in the bible does it say not to have sex anyway?’ And you open up your bible but the only verses you can find talk about ‘sexual immorality’ and ‘adultery’, but don’t specifically say to keep it in your pants until you’ve put a ring on it. And then you start to question why you can’t just have sex. I mean, you love your boyfriend/girlfriend. You’re planning on being with him/her for the rest of your life. Is it so bad to express your love in a physical way? And don’t forget the good old safety net of doesn’t Jesus forgive our sins anyway?

This gets complicated even further by the fact that we are built to respond. Having someone think you’re sexy is empowering. Having the power to turn someone on is, in itself, a turn-on. It just adds fuel to the hot and sweaty fire.

We end up in a strange internal conflict, where every shred of our being wants to have sex but at the same time we really don’t want to have sex. In the heat of the moment the brain sends out frantic signals to the rest of the body saying ‘stop it! This is wrong!’ But our crotch somehow manages to crack the password, override the system and change the orders to ‘full steam ahead.’ At that point our brain has to admit that it’s actually having a bit of fun and decides it’s easier to just roll with it.

I think sexual intimacy is incredibly powerful. I think it ties people to one another. It connects us in a way we can’t really understand until it’s happened. In the end, that’s what stops me. It’s not because the ‘rule book’ (A.K.A the Bible) tells me not to. It’s because I think sex was designed to be enjoyed in marriage. It’s because I believe that if sex is ‘so good I should be having it now’, it will be worth the wait. It’s because I believe sex is glue, and I only want to be stuck to one person. Sex is something I want to share with my husband alone.

I’m not perfect. I’ve gone further than I wanted to. I’ve crossed boundaries I swore I would never cross. I’ve given away pieces of me that don’t even belong to me, they were supposed to belong to my future husband (poor sucker). I have regrets. But I’m lucky enough to believe in a Lord who is full of grace. And I have great hope that one day I will fall in love with one of His followers who will mirror that grace. I have experienced so much grace already.

Next time I will try to do things differently. I will try to protect myself more. We all have a limit, a particular point where there’s no going back. The point at which all we can think about is satisfying the physical craving within. That moment where the desire wins and our boundaries don’t seem as important as how good it feels. I am going to do my best to stay back from that point, but I can tell you now I will probably still make mistakes.

I’m not going to stop wanting to have sex. I can avoid the ‘opportunities’, but I’m not going to completely shut down the desire, or pretend it doesn’t exist. At the end of the day, if I don’t want to jump my husband’s bones our wedding night is going to be a bit of an anti-climax.

And you better believe my wedding night is going to be EPIC.

Actually, it’s probably going to be awkward and painful and I’ll probably chicken out, eat lots of chocolate then go to bed early and lie awake panicking. But at some point, sex is going to be EPIC. And damn straight I’m looking forward to it.

 

 

 

*Disclaimer: No current members of Windsor Park Baptist Church were referred to in the making of this blog.

what must i do to be saved?

We'll continue with Casey's mini-series in a couple of days, but until then, here's some semi-recent nostalgia! JD, Bex, Chloe and Dan spoke about what salvation is and it proved for a great discussion and fun night. I love the ending in a big way. Check it out!

Casey's Awkward Confessions: #2

One of the most romantic and creepy things anyone has ever done for me happened in my first year at Sydney University, when I was living in one of the residential halls. I came home from class, went into my bedroom and discovered a note that had been slipped under the door. Written on pink card, the note said:

‘Roses are red

Violets are blue

I think you’re sweet

Do I have a chance with you?*

*That was a rhetorical question.’

Closer inspection revealed the note had also been scented with perfume. Yes, I had received my first official anonymous love letter. A scented, hand-written, pink, poetic and, for reasons unknown, rhetorical love letter. Before you ask, no it wasn’t from a girl.

Unfortunately the sender’s affections weren’t mutual and in a fit of startling maturity I got my friend to tell him that I was still with my boyfriend in New Zealand (I wasn’t. We had broken up. I am a terrible person). What made it worse was that I was the first person he had ever asked out. He was in third year of uni, had never asked a girl out and was wondering why he was still single. Unfortunately I found out this little snippet of information at a party, where I proceeded to tell all his friends while holding the hand of my new boyfriend. Once again, I am a terrible person. There may have been drink taken (sorry Jesus. And Mum).

Needless to say, it wasn’t meant to be.

Awkward Confession #2 : I don’t believe in ‘the one’. I don’t think that in this whole wide world there is one single person I am destined to be with. If there is, knowing my luck he will probably be based in South Korea. As I don’t intend to ever go to South Korea, he is just going to have to come to me.

I think you meet someone, get to know them, realise you’re onto a good thing, then commit to making them ‘the one’ you spend your life with. While we love the Twilight-esque concept of ‘destined-to-be-together’, I’m just not convinced that’s how it works in the world where vampires don’t exist.

I have been told that I am ‘real’ and that it’s ‘refreshing’. The unfortunate side-effect of this is that I tend to fly pretty close to the line of appropriateness and quite often step over and take a walk on the wild side. So I have been asking some of our church's most eligible bachelors the awkward question of 'WHY ARE YOU STILL SINGLE' as part of my extensive research into the ‘single epidemic’ that seems to be plaguing my generation. It seems that half of us are getting married and the other half are terminally single. So many excellent catches yet to be caught, so many crushes yet to be crushed etcetc. I have found that if you put this question to a decent guy who has a metaphorical queue of ladies lining up to be his future wife, he will hide behind the text book answer of ‘I haven’t found the right girl.’

I’m sorry, but I’m calling bull****. I’m not entirely sure what these guys are expecting. A neon saying saying ‘little miss right’? A 1 stamped on the girl’s forehead? The finger of God to descend from the heavens and point to the girl in question, while white doves take flight and the sweet serenade of Celine Dion drifts over the glassy waters caressing the hull of the yacht you just happen to be on for this magical moment? Fact: you will never know if someone is right for you unless you actually give it a chance.

While I’m sure there are couples who have experienced the mystique of ‘love at first sight’, for the rest of us romance-deprived youth a relationship usually starts with the humble crush. The simple, unglamorous moment when you notice something you like and feel drawn to it, even if you aren’t 100% sure what it is. Then, heaven forbid, you get to know them. This is the bit that takes a bit of effort, and a bit of balls. But I happen to have it on the good authority of a recently engaged couple, that the happy bride-to-be had never even considered her fiancé to be more than just a friend until he got off his ass and asked her out. And now they are on the fast-track to wedded bliss. Write that one down on your list of life lessons.

Yes, I know, it’s all a bit hit and miss. Asking someone out is risky. She might say no, she might laugh at you, she might slap you in the face. OR she might say yes, it might work out, you might get married and have lots of sex and babies.

 And before you get all dramatic on me, I’m not suggesting you date everyone you know. Don’t flatter yourself. I’m merely suggesting that if you have a cheeky crush and want to get to know them more, act on it. You never know what might happen unless you pursue it. Sure she might say no, but at least you know there’s nothing there and you can move on. The next one might say yes.

Or you could just do nothing and invest in a small cat colony. Up to you.

I realise this is all very hypocritical of me. When we fought for equal rights, we women should have thought it through and realised it meant we now had equal rights to make the first move. I mean, when was the last time I asked a guy out? Never. But I have my reasons, they are threefold (classic Friends reference for all you fans out there).

Reason 1) My close friends can attest to the fact that you do not want me to open the pandora’s box that is my ‘love life.’ It is definitely a lot more ‘com’ than ‘rom’ at the moment.

Reason 2) I will happily admit that I don’t have the aforementioned balls required to instigate the ‘getting to know each other’ stage of a relationship. Which potentially explains why I am still single. I prefer the much more dignified and ladylike approach of dropping fairly obvious hints in the hope that the unfortunate target of my affections will realise I am interested and do something about it. If he doesn’t take the bait he is either a) socially-challenged or b) not interested. Both of which are deal breakers.

Reason 3) I just haven’t found the right guy yet.