Tag Archives: fun

Becoming Like

20 Mar

According to this thing, I’m kinda like Belle, Jasmine and/or Quasimodo. Hmmm, I can see some of that.

But who wouldn’t see themselves in Disney heroes and heroines? Plus it’s funny categorising people. I am a weird mix. I say the most boring things. Sometimes I get quite academic. Other times… well, I get involved in my students’ heated MBTI and Disney arguments. I mean this can all happen in the space of an hour. My blog, for instance, is a random collection of heart-moments.

And God keeps a track of it all. I’ve lost track.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how good God is to me in recovering the messes I make. And I make so many.

I sleep in when I should be working. I forget to say kind words. I complain about the things I ought to be grateful for.

And I don’t always stop to say thank you. I don’t always stop to ask him what he wants.

And God doesn’t complain. Not once.

I hope to be kinda like him instead.

Humour dissection

12 Mar

I read this today. And I’m taking it on.

You – who read my blog, wise tribe – may not be recipient of my frequent sarcasm. Usually it is directed at myself. And for people who can take it – they get some too. I suppose this is a place I’m pretty gendered in my categorisations. Read: I think boys can take it, girls can’t.

Someone close to me asked me once if that was my modus operandi for flirting – and shocked me. Me? Good little Christian girl, know how to flirt? He only barely got away with that one being a good friend… 🙂 But it made me examine myself – perhaps and I need to be accountable there. BUT if it were, it would be sweet and gentler? Haha, I don’t know.

Sarcasm is funny. It makes people laugh. I love making people laugh. I use sarcasm.

Logical? Mostly. Except sarcasm is not all funny.

The same friend also asked me if my humour was my defence mechanism. Why did I joke about something that could hurt me?

I told you he was a good friend… That was just it. It could hurt and so I diffused it with humour. But I end up diffusing every potentially vulnerable situation with humour.

And what is the problem with having a coping strategy that works every time, you ask? This.

I am my real-est, I am myself with nothing else when I am at my most vulnerable. This is the kernel of knowledge that I (or the other person or both of us) have allowed to survive, inside the contexts and interactions of any of my best relationships. At my most vulnerable, I am also welcoming to God. It is when I stand there, that I can open the door of my heart. I run away from vulnerability until there’s a ringing manufacturer recall.

And that is the other problem with some of my humour. Even when it is targeted towards myself, self-deprecatingly, it is because I fail to honour what God has put in me. I fail to have the courage to speak boldly. With modesty but no fear. With security in the identity and love that comes from a relationship with God.

I can’t stop!

8 Mar

I have so much.

There is quite a long list of things I want in my head. My mind is like a schoolgirl, easily distracted. Research article – reading – reading – God time – oooh, Facebook – I’d love some mango. There’s my ridiculously fragmented thinking ^.

But then I got to thinking. Actually – actually – there is more that I have than what I want. It’s not quite that I have more than I want – at least, that is not what I’m trying to say. But if I listed what I have that I am grateful for, and what I want that I would really like to have… do you know what? That first list would be longer! And not because I am gracious and content or anything like that.

Because He gives.

Because He gives, I have…

a relationship with Him, His love.

a course I am enjoying

the ability to read and study

a job I love and a possible extension of it for next year

Marmite, and peanut butter, and golden syrup, and definitely more chocolate than I ought to have

people who give me all of those things too

and then those people for themselves

a mother for a best friend

more best friends in my life in far away places, which means I get to dream about visiting!

resources to read my Bible and study it

the Holy Spirit to convict me of what it means to me

a bike to get home and save time!

several different kinds of perfume

and the smell of vanilla!

the cushions I wished for

a week in Paris 😉

love

TWO pairs of boots (two!)

THREE if you count the ankle ones

Skype dates for the weekend

dinner and photography date for tomorrow

FaceTime date tonight maybe? (no, they’re not all boys :P)

three friends getting married

more shoes and one red pair (I am so lucky :D)

someone who sends me flowers 🙂

parents who brag about me rather erroneously 🙂

two yummy, cuddly dogs

flu-lessness!

an apartment to myself

in a beautiful house

a camera I enjoy

friends who care to protect me, make sure I’m okay

friends who’ll rescue my hard drive for me when I’ve been an idiot about saving my data

someone who’ll meet me in another city when I announce I’m going to be there in one hour to run an errand

friends who’ll offer to pay for my hard drive if other friends can’t rescue it

a conversation in which I was literally asked to share the gospel

redemption for even such as I

everyone who preaches and teaches in this wonderful city

the debates, the freedom to question, to seek the truth

the freedom to know that God is above our seeking and we see darkly

longer hair 😉

salvation

gifts of the Spirit

slowly the fruit, in spite of me

forgiveness for failure

forgiveness for failure from my family

patience from God

patience from people, despite my lack

a toaster and kettle of my own

tea and toast.

I could go on but I think I’ll go get some of that last, because it has become so obvious my nose is in it tonight 🙂 – His love keeps on giving.

Hey, Littlest

11 Feb

My students – well, not mine. But it’s either that or calling them ‘the kids’ which is misinterpretable to the uninitiated, not the least of the reasons being that there are about forty of them!

Anyway… Start over. My students keep asking me if I have any nicknames. What is my favorite shortened version of my name? Did my family really call me by name…? My name is a three-syllabled thing. Shorter than Elisabeth. Longer than Charlotte. Not Anglo-Saxon. But it’s not hard to say and it always strikes me that people who complain about saying it, complain not so much because it’s ‘long’ which is what they think they’re complaint because 😉 but because it’s ‘foreign’ and when someone’s name is foreign AND long, I mean that’s just way too much trouble. Not only do you expect to learn something non-English, non-American – you want us to not even make it easier on ourselves…

And yet, no one complains about say, Giovanni, Madonna or even Angelina Jolie. Just something I suspect, but I daresay no one even notices as a prejudice in themselves. I am not unsuspect in this either. Me too!

But it is true. My family really always has bothered to call me by my whole name. All three short syllables of it. And the only other nicknames they gave me were terms of endearment.

And pretty unusual ones at that. Ever noticed some terms of endearment come more naturally to some people than others? I could never say ‘darling’. I don’t know why. I try – even to a puppy, I can’t manage it with a straight face.

😀

My mother often calls me ‘her baby girl’ or just her baby. I’m not baby anymore, that’s for sure. I’m definitely not any more the little, plump, curly-haired thing you hauled on to your lap that that phrase brings to mind! Lol.

But it’s the kind of protective, stepping-in-for-you surge of emotion that probably brings that phrase to her mind. And it’s the knowledge of that affection that can still make me clog up when she writes completely ridiculously sentimental stuff like:

xxx.xxx@gmail.com

I love you, my baby girl.

_____

I mean seriously – how can I ever read my email in a library?! Haha. But my eyes still well up, because I know she does love me. And I miss her.

So no. I got the whole three syllables plus a whole lotta love in eeeeven LONGER terms of endearment from that source. So still trying to find a response to my students, my mind tracked back to my dad.

The dad is pretty stoic in some ways. He’s the kind of dad who, when faced with the teary-eyed, trembling lip precursor to a good cry, will quickly and staunchly pat you awkwardly on the back and say ‘Now, now’. In as soothing a tone as he can manage. He gave pretty decent hugs though – if you managed to get one off him as his daughter, he’d grunt comfortably and give you a hug… Before, of course, patting you strongly and firmly on the back with a ‘Now, now’ equivalent.

Yet he’s also pretty emotional when he’s emotional.

And then my mind tracked again to the father who’s always been near. I must admit my father unashamedly hovers. Like he did at creation. Good habits die hard 🙂

I have so much love to be thankful for. The father, my mum and dad… Today I’m thinking about them. My dad’s nickname for me was a Tamil variant – Chinza – that simply meant ‘a little person’. I figure he didn’t lose out on the protective streak either. But it’s a diminutive (look that up, if you need to). In English, it would sound sorta like ‘Hey, Littlie’ but not in any demeaning way that that could imply. When the dad wanted a game or to pick me up or to go on a drive together, he’d often start with ‘Hey, Chinza!’

Hey, Littlest.

It is one of those words I’ve never heard without love. So last night, I pushed my bike up the hill considering my rather-unsharable nicknames. Considering proofs of love I knew. And I think my head became quite silent inside. God stopped me. My father stopped me.

Hey, Littlest.

I love you more than anyone else. More than you can ever know. 

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