Tag Archives: Crazy Love

Still crazy

20 Mar

Sometimes I leave home and there is this funny feeling that I’ve forgotten something.

And it’s really hard to put my finger on what. So I walk through the hallway a couple of times, trying different doors, looking busy. When I’m struggling to remember, I can’t really do much else.

I forgot something today.


I forgot about being in love. Like – if someone asked you – you couldn’t really find a moment in your day when you haven’t been thinking about him. Checking your phone, checking your latest letter. I forget how perfectly he understands and I know it when we’re together. How my heart slumps down in relief like a body after a marathon because I know he’s got me covered.

You know when people are in love. Right? And I flatter myself I can tell when it’s real.

And I wonder if they hear it – this sigh of relief when I’m home not because I have a comfy, worn down, old armchair, or because I have my mug and coffee, or even murukku in it. But because I can hear his voice over my shoulder, by my side, and it doesn’t startle me. It’s old, familiar, loved.

It’s gentle.

A while ago, I wrote this and it turned out to be my most popular post. I called it crazy that I forget about this man who would and did give his life for me, this God who gave me life. I forget.

What makes me cry?

Looking at love.

The Crazies

7 Mar

“Oh, R”, I laughed to one of my co-teachers, after hearing her itemised list of which teachers sit with which grades and in which appointed places in the sprawling gym area, “we just sit with the crazies 😀 .”

I meant it. First grade can be pretty crazy and even crazier if you’ve been teaching adults for most of your professional and academic life! Strange little humming noises, five off-key tunes together, head-banging to nursery rhymes, a random trip to centre-stage, intense debates on why the sun has bigger muscles than the moon, on why your teacher is tall, and what your latest snot sculpture was – really, you name it… we’ve probably got it.

Some moments, in the middle of our guided reading workshops, I’ll hear ‘Twinkle twinkle… the fuuuuu-uhst NoEEEEERRRRRR… jingle bells jingle bells jingle bells jingle jingle bells jingle bells-one ‘ouse open say, YAY’. My co-teacher is patient. I admit to having said ‘Cut it out’ once. The selection of music depends on the season. The selection of fantasy story ideas also depends on the season, or whatever real thing has happened that can be moulded into magic. Yes, it’s pretty crazy.

It’s also pretty full of energy and affection. Affection that people learn to hold back in later years. Little children don’t, y’know – if they love you, then they just do. They’ll pick favourites. They will take sides. And they’re terribly loyal. And they depend on you to sort out anything from snot to bullying to romantic relationships (even when you can’t quite believe they have them). And any moment in the day, when they see you walk past, whether they are doing Math or Literacy or P.E. or recess, they will appreciate you in whatever way. The classroom or the chairs or the rules don’t constrain them. Or whether they’re in a different school and they have no classroom, or teacher, and they’re waiting for your time. You get introduced to their (real and imaginary) friends, their betrayals, their plotting and everything else inbetween. And just as you finish one station, and ask them to clean up their whiteboards, they’ll quickly scribble ‘I love you’ on it and show it to you shyly. And it short-circuits your thought processes (and your lesson plans!) incredibly quickly and leaves you only with a familiar, stupid grin. Funny – never had that effect on me with the adult learners!

I think that is what Jesus meant when he said this. I have, in my old Children’s Bible, an illustration of many different kids scrambling up on Jesus’ lap or responding as he makes them laugh with (I imagine) his stories. This is the God I know. The picture I carried with me for a long time, before I gave my life to him even. And all through my life in him, I’ve returned often to this sense of relief to be found in getting up there. Right by my father. Letting him make me laugh. This is the God we know.

They drive me crazy, yes. But the kids also trust me. Some of them, not all. Some of them are starting to consider other things. But when they do trust me – WOWZA! I feel so honoured.

And they’ll do the things I ask them to do. I might think of a zany activity like ‘Write about camping’ eeeerrrrr ‘under your tables’. It’s cool – it works for them to imagine the tent idea – and they remember the exercise for next time. We turn the lights off maybe… Or I make up rules like ‘Write your names on the whiteboard and I’ll come to you in turn’, so that they aren’t always following me and my co-teacher around the room. Sometimes I decide to go to where they’re at. And I’ll make up whacko actions. And they’ll do it – like touch your nose round your head. And sometimes I have a unit plan that I want to stretch over days because of some literacy skill or the other, and they’ll ask me why they can’t finish today – but for the most part, they’ll stick to my crazies.

Maybe that is the second reason Jesus said that and that. I know I posted about thinking Christianity – in thinking about God and seeking him in his word, the experience of an everyday, working relationship with God in complete obedience only becomes more real. I read this today, over at (in)courage. I almost copied it here and said nothing myself 😀

We sat with the crazies that day. And had them cheer for us every time we breathed. And chatter every time someone else breathed. Seriously, pretty intense. 🙂

Sorry again, Francis Chan ;)

13 Feb

Unintentionally, I have had several of Francis Chan’s ideas. Maybe that’s why I loved the book! Unintentionally, I say because I just discovered this video which even shares the same name as my post ten days ago!!! It is a beautiful video, nonetheless.

God…

Crazy love (sorry, Mr Chan)

12 Feb

I wrote this a while ago. In 2009. It is seasonal 😉 But more importantly, it encapsulates my thoughts now – today, another of those times I’ve forgotten to love.

How does one explain without seeming insane that you’re utterly in love with someone? Love that makes you want to hug the person, hold them so long and hard. The kind that makes you stop in the heavy afternoon amidst work and play and intimate conversations with best friends and take a quick, sharp breath from this realisation: God, I love you!

And what makes it crazier is that no one ever sees him with his arm on your shoulder or holding you close or smiling down at you… And yet, if they don’t know him themselves, they don’t realise that nothing ever comes close to this kind of love anyway! The can’t-take-my-eyes-off-you love. While they don’t see him holding your hand on a ramble through town, you wonder if they’ve seen him give everything for you. Obsess about you constantly. Die on a cross for you. And you wonder what it takes.

What’s even crazier is how often you forget how in love you are. Crazy!

public love physical display affection God's love Valentine's valentine intimacy true real love

I cannot get over how much God loves you. Me. I know all the things I’ve done. Worse, the things I’ve thought. I know I have been cold and distant. I know the things that I have – deliberately – left undone, unsaid… gathering the dust of numbed guilt.

And yet. He. Loves. Me.

And I know the reality of his love.

It isn’t the least bit distant or theological or abstract or a logical conclusion. It’s pretty far from any logical conclusion I’ve ever made, that’s for certain. I remember praying, as an early teen, that I wouldn’t have to wait for the intimacy of a relationship to find out what God’d meant by the metaphor of a husband’s love… And he was faithful in answering that prayer as I needed it. Oh friend, how faithful. Even when I least deserved it.

There is a relationship waiting to be had that is all-sufficient, all-encompassing… It is never going to be equal except in that the Lord carries you and holds you up to him… With someone who isn’t limited or bounded by our boxes, who doesn’t need to wait on human experience to show us the depth of his love.

Sometimes someone is so beautiful that you want to cry simply looking at them.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m no freak. So I don’t simply blubber at the Hoff or Mr Firth… Honestly – you might find it hard to believe.

I do cry, however, when a child I love tells me he wants to be a policeman – so that no one else dies in his community from a knife-fight. Just a policeman, no more – but he won’t take bribes. I feel that familiar lump again when a child I love runs up to me from behind and awkwardly snuggles into me. I feel that lump when someone in my family is appreciated, or even when the Tass knows I’m crying…

I read a Father’s Day line somewhere that reminded me of God.

You have your Father’s eyes.

So you know what it feels like to have tears in them.

What makes you cry?

If worship were sweet oil

27 Jan

I give you my worship, I pour it out upon you like an alabaster flask of precious essence. And then – I’m afraid of being empty. I’m empty in myself.

Lord, may your Spirit be the one that conceives my worship, leads me to you. May my words and my songs and my worship never be without your Spirit in me, the essence, the fragrance that carries it on the air and the object of my praise.

And the people said…

10 Jan

What matters in the end is that we spend ourselves – F.C.

Christ has become a servant of the Jews[b] on behalf of God’s truth, so that the promises made to the patriarchs might be confirmed 9 and, moreover, that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy… – Rom 15: 8,9

Because words are inadequate

17 Dec

Baby, is it cold outside or what! And I think I’m in one of those writing phases of my worship time. So here I am, listening to my own cheesy music, and hugging a malleable pillow that can be pummelled into whatever I want it to be… and writing. These are what I think I will call fluffy times! These times, I can’t seem to find the words when I speak. I just want to be quiet and rest on my Dad’s shoulder. I want to think but it’s too much effort to talk. Somehow though, I can write.

80% live below the poverty line in India. That’s what the World Bank says. The government in India think it’s nearer 25% though…

31 million kids are out of school in Sub-Sahara. That’s what the UN decided this September. That’s half the kids out of school anywhere in the world this Christmas.

Today one qualified teacher made the night-life in a certain city his deciding factor for a job – it was a developing nation.

In a school I know of, one teacher was told last year that her daughter could not come to the crèche in school. But another teacher (who is lovely and probably has no idea) brings hers everyday. The administration has different policies for different nationalities and ethnicities.

My favourite in one school asked me which exciting destinations I had chosen for winter break. My favourite in another wanted to know if people had homes outside his country and how they looked.

In one of the schools I work in, they said no ‘Christmas’ because it has Christ in it. That didn’t happen anyway in the classes I went to. Parents told the old story in read-alouds and Charlie Brown told it in his own inimitable way. He did get some help from here. And the kids told it too – you couldn’t stop them.

And maybe that’s why I cannot write. Because in all our brokenness, God is so beautiful you cannot stop him. Immeasurable, immortal, invisible God, yet so visible in our weakness, he makes my insides melt when he chooses to reveal himself :). I think we all die a little every time we come into the mind-blowing presence of God. It’s probably why those old sacrifices were made – the world must die in the fire before the Father will truly take His place. And so, I am just a little bit bereft of speech, a little less in possession of my faculties before the beauty of this God. He is beautiful and I am overwhelmed by awe. He heard the kids that I heard today. Maybe he smiled some at those UN summits and maybe he wept some. And he allows us to touch him in the beauty and the pain. So yes – I am in awe. And grateful that I am left to write.

To say that this God is my God.

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