The trouble with being sanctimonious...

The scene is youth group on Wednesday night.
We've just begun the 'CY' (Christianity Explored for youth) series and the first question is:
"If you could ask God one question, and you knew it would be answered, what would it be?"
Well, everyone has their own booklet, so we started with all the young people writing their 'question for God' in their booklets.  There are a couple of tough things we're dealing with at church at the moment, and I was sat there wondering what everyone was going to be writing.  The lad next to me kept glancing my way and I started imagining what he was in the middle of writing.  I figured it was something that he wasn't quite sure of, and I couldn't work out whether I'd need to go for the reassuring, hand-on-the-shoulder-whilst-nodding-and-furrowing-ones-brow approach, probably topping it off with a bit of a deep sigh.  I also wasn't sure whether he was wanting me to look over and read it, or whether he was trying to keep it to himself.  (I thought a lot in the seconds we had!)  I decided that, despite his continued glances my way, I'd remain eyes-front and wait to do the helpful-youth-leader-thing when he actually read out his answer (if, indeed, he plucked up the courage to vocalise what was, I was by now sure, a deep and probably painfully searching question).
We went around the circle, and others asked questions along the lines of, 'why are we here?', and other such classics.  And we came to the lad next to me.  "What's your question then?" the leader asked him.  I'd still managed to resist the temptation to read over his shoulder (it was going to make my response so much more real and heartfelt).  I braced myself - poised to react.  He spoke - the question he'd ask God in full certainty that he'd receive an answer:
"God, what's your favourite football team?"

Birthday Boy.

That's what I called this post last year, and it seems apt, so I'll stick with it.
Four years on. Every now and again, I try to think what I was doing four years ago. I have to say, it's got less pleasant as the day's gone on, but the outcome was ok :) Still can't believe it's four years. (I know, a bunch of you say the same, but with bigger numbers!)
We had a party today, which was more low-key than last years mammoth. No inflatable ball pool for starters! We did, however, have a cake. This time it was Rex, and I've written all about it on the other blog, so won't go through it all again.
There were no friends from nursery this time (he's increasing his time at school, so nursery will be finished at Easter). One from church, a couple from (his) school and a bunch from (our) school.
Anna did loads of amazing stuff for it - craft table, biscuit decoration, huge spread of food, pin-the-tail on the very old donkey, pass the parcel. Everything to make the perfect party.
Once again, we failed in the 'blowing out the candles' shot. We have a before shot, an after shot, but no 'during' shot. Oh well. Maybe next time.
Today I've been more conscious than I think I was last year of the blessing of having him at all. After the horrendous first few days, it seems all the more precious to have time with him, and to celebrate birthdays and other big events. He's amazing, and such a gift. Thanks God for giving him to us, Anna for having him, God again for keeping him with us, and Joshua for being him! Love you all.

The gospel in a pumpkin...

So, what do you think of Halloween? (or Hallowe'en, or however you wish to spell it...)
Part of me still wonders what I think about it, but here's what I've been thinking about it this year...
I wasn't brought up to think it was an evil thing (odd, perhaps, with a darker side, maybe) and I seem to have memories of having bat wings made for a costume one year. I'm pretty sure that was Halloween, but maybe it was just a costume party of our favourite nocturnal animals!
We bought some pumpkins this year (I tried growing them, but the size they got to, it would have been difficult to carve a gnat's face into them!), inspired partly by a fireplace I saw on the internet. The first one, I carved with flames in it. It looked great, but because it sat on the mantelpiece (rather than in the cold outside) it got rather furry rather quickly, so had to go to the compost bin.
The other pumpkins were carved this weekend and sat on our step to welcome people who were 'trick or treating'. So, is it good, or is it bad.
Well, this year, I've been thinking that Halloween in general and the pumpkin in particular gives a great outline for what we believe as Christians. I even chatted with Joshua about the pumpkin, and he got the point too. First, there's all the scary costumes. Kids love dressing up scary, it would appear. They are happy to wander around with axes and witches hats and 'blood' pouring from their heads. Weird. But would they actually like to meet someone wandering around with a real axe, with real blood pouring from their head? Perhaps not. But the desire to dress up bad gives the first point. We all want to be bad, to a certain extent. The Bible would call that sin, and it's a reminder that evil does exist in the world, and a lot of it comes from us.
The pumpkin, for me, is a reminder of the solution. (Not to pull a scary face, that doesn't tend to work very well in most difficult circumstances.) Here's a rough outline of my conversation with Joshua about it all:
Me: What do we put in the pumpkins sweetheart?
J: (After a little nudging!) candles.
Me: And what does a candle give us?
J: Light. (I'm not sure quite how he got this, because the question was a bit unclear!)
Me: Now, sometimes you get scared at nighttime don't you?
J: Yes.
Me: What is sometimes scary for you? (Hoping he doesn't latch onto this and become permanently terrified of the dark!)
J: It's dark.
Me: And what stops it being dark?
J: Light. (He's a genius, my boy!)
Me: Now, if the dark is a reminder of bad and scary things, then the light is a reminder of good things. Now, who looks after us all the time?
J: God? (We discuss this often, so it wasn't too hard to get there!)
Me: Yes, and the Bible sometimes says that Jesus is like a light. He is good and protects us, and when he's in us, we're safe.

Now, I wouldn't want to reduce to gospel permanently to a level that a three year old could grasp, because it's so much more than that too, but to me, the pumpkin has a light in, which drives away the darkness, which is precisely what Christians are promised. We have God's Spirit living in us, and He is able to drive away the darkness.

"Light of the world, You stepped down into darkness, opened my eyes, let me see..."

I have a goodly heritage.

Well, some time to reflect.
I was invited to an MK retreat this week. Specifically, I was invited to be on the panel for questions on the last day - I was there as a 'survivor' - an MK who'd 'successfully' made it through what for many of us is a long and painful transition. (Forgive me if I sound melodramatic) When I think of the phrase 'burning up on re-entry' (spaceships and the earth's atmosphere) I often think of being an MK and the process of 'coming home'. Though that's a bit of a weird phrase for it, because all of us MKs know that, when we return to our passport-country, we haven't come home - we've just left it. Anyway, the retreat this week was in some ways quite an emotional time for me (though I didn't cry ... in-joke ...). I remember going to MKOasis back in '92 and onwards. What an awesome support that was for me. And I owe such a great deal both to those who led me through that period, and those who walked the same road with me. You have my eternal gratitude.

And for those who don't quite get that, bear in mind that when you're speaking to a Missionary Kid, or perhaps any Third Culture Kid, who's just returned to their 'homeland' (normally the place where their passport hails from, and often the place they were born and visit from time to time to raise more money!) that you're likely to upset them with the question: "what's it like being home", or, sometimes even worse, "you must be so excited about being back home". You see, when an MK returns to their passport-country, they may well think that they've left home, not returned. And it's often not a sort of romantic, 'that chapter is over - a new one can begin'. No, it might well feel more like the book of their life so far has been slammed shut, and put to one side. No more pages to be written - the story's over. And the temptation for the MK is often to stick with that old book. Maybe it's because we feel that if we keep re-reading it, it won't really be over, and of course there's the fear that if we put the book down, we might begin to forget: and for many of us, there would be little worse than that.

Now, I guess maybe I should point out the obvious at this stage - it's not going to be the same for all of us. I guess it depends somewhat on the reasons for leaving. Some MKs are, I guess, the reason for leaving themselves. The most obvious reason would be, like Tim (my older brother) coming back to complete education. We came back as a family to England for his A levels, so maybe it's slightly different for him in that sense. He'd also graduated from school, so had perhaps had a fuller 'closure' that removed some of the reasons for wanting to return to Pakistan. (Feel free to comment on this Tim!!)

But the fact is, if the country (or countries) where you've lived as an MK means anything to you when you return to your passport-country, it'll always stay with you. It's a part of you. You can't lose it in one sense. It's secure in your heart. It might be over, but it's not gone, and it won't be forgotten. Some of the memories will fade, but that would happen anyway (we all get older!). I guess the difference is that new memories won't be made there any more. But the book that was written there is your story. And the new friends you make will want to learn about it. Ok, I'll be honest and say they probably don't want all the details. Comparing this country to the other one, the weather here to the weather there, your new friends to your old friends, and so on, will eventually wear thin for them! Think of it as a wedding photo album. In the initial period after a wedding, the bride and groom (ok, usually the bride!) love showing their wedding pics to everyone who can spare the time. There's the relatives who couldn't make the wedding, and the friends who didn't make the guest list, there's the old lady down the road who loves that sort of thing, then there's the postman who delivered all the cards, the milkman who just happened to come with his bill when you had the album out... But as the time passes, the album is more and more likely to stay on the shelf. Is that because the wedding stops being important? No, of course not. And every time the album comes out there's a flush of excitement, and the memories of that special day. Maybe it's the same with your memories of the home you've just had to leave. In the early days, it'll be at the forefront of your mind all the time. But as time goes on, it might fade a little. That's not something to worry about. You aren't betraying your heart - it's still perfectly secure. And there will always be times when the memories will be brought out again amidst smiles and feelings of longing to be there again, just for a little while.

I prayed a lot about what to say at the retreat, (mainly because I was scared!) and there were two particular verses that really stood out for me. The first was the 'old' version of Psalm 16:6 which includes the phrase: "yea, I have a goodly heritage". (For you young'uns, 'yea' there means 'yes', not 'yeah' or 'yippee')
This is a verse that cropped up for us as a family when we came back to England. The house we ended up buying was called 'The Heritage'. And it was called the Heritage because of that verse. I said to the young people on the MK retreat that they do have a goodly heritage. It's an awesome start to life. It's a huge privilege, I think, to be an MK. (It's also lifelong - your parents might stop being Missionaries, but somehow you never stop being an MK). Obviously, many people have found being an MK a burden more than a joy. But for me, I'm immensely proud of the heritage that God had granted me and my parents have forged for me (thanks mum and dad!). As MKs, the past we have is a good gift from God, and one that we can cherish. However, we shouldn't live there. If the past doesn't let go of us, or, more to the point, if we don't let go of it, we'll never have the chance to turn and look ahead to the future. It's a huge wrench for many of us. And it's not a decision as much as a process. For me, I think it involved both untangling myself from it, and plucking up the courage to release it as well.

And as I've already alluded to, the second verse is to do with the future. It's my favourite verse in the Bible. The reference (Jeremiah 29:11) is engraved on the inside of our wedding rings. And it's this:

"for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

I'm not sure I'd be able to think of a more appropriate verse for Mish Kids. It's a message that's brought at a time when God's people are at an all-time-low. They've been uprooted from their country, the country where God had placed them, the country that they love, the country where they feel secure (sounding familiar?) and brought to an inhospitable place. They don't belong, they don't fit in, and they don't really want to either. And God makes this extraordinary statement. It seems too good to be true, but it actually isn't. It is true. It comes just a couple of chapters before that spine tingling bit in Jer 31:31 - '"the time is coming", declares the Lord, "when I will make a new covenant"'. This promise is the start of something pretty major. I think it's a promise that can equally apply to MKs. God knows the plans he has for you, and they're plans for hope and a future.

And then, of course, there's the whole question of where home is. I'm not gonna say much about that (I've said plenty already about everything else!!). But I will say, hard though it has been for me to accept, I didn't really leave home when I left Pakistan. Neither did I come home when I returned to England. The Bible tells me that, in fact, I haven't got home yet. And my longing shouldn't be for any home I've left, but for the home that God has prepared for me with Him. The thought that I'll feel more at home there than anywhere on earth is both staggering and exciting.