My problem with Bunting

A strange phenomena is occurring.

It appears that bands of fairies (or demons) are taking resident in many a village or town and with their evil little hands are splattering these unsuspecting places with blue, white and red triangles.

As I have driven around the Suffolk countryside this week there has been no avoiding the abundance of bunting. Seriously people stop with the tackiness.

I’m not anti-bunting on an average day but with each string of triangles that grace my eyes, I feel myself getting a little bit more angry with the impending jubilee weekend. The Queen seems like a fairly decent ol’ gal, but can someone answer me ‘why are we going so crazy over her diamond jubilee?’

The cost alone makes me feel physically sick. According to the Telegraph the Jubilee is going to cost the UK £1.3 billion, but with a possible impact cost of £3.6bn. One source says that it will generate an income of £924 million into the leisure and tourism industry, which helps offset the cost I guess but I’m really not sure how anyone can justify this expense.

I know I’m standing on a soap box here and will probably be branded anti-royalist but this bothers me. Feel free to celebrate 60 years of queen reignage (yes, I invented that word) but maybe this weekend we could remember what a biblical Jubilee looked like.

Every 50 years Levitical law stated that God, as owner of all land, wanted people to return to what was rightfully theirs. Servants and slaves who were  paying off debts were to be freed and return to the land that was theirs. You’ll probably remember the Jubilee 2000 campaign that called for the debt of third world countries to be wiped out. That hasn’t yet happened but significant moves towards it have been made.

Maybe as we return to the property and land that is ‘rightfully ours’ this weekend and partake in one of the 10,000 street parties taking place, we will remember those whose land is not their own, countries that are in huge debt to others and the injustice that reigns in so many third world countries. With a jubilee debt of £3.6bn, we won’t be far behind them.

Rant over.

The hauntings of a sweet shop

When I was around five I moved to Bournemouth. Well when I say ‘I’, we as a family moved. Fiercely independent though I am, even I remained at home a little past five years old unlike my brother who still resides in the loft.

Anyway between five and ten(ish) we lived in this glorious south coast town. Our house was nice enough, and the neighbours more than pleasant. We still spend every Christmas with ‘Auntie’ Lin, our next door neighbour from Bournemouth and she still lives in the same house. Some Saturday’s Dad would often taken us to the toy shop on the corner of our road, although it didn’t remain a toy shop for long. I don’t remember much of what we bought but I do recall a blue and red swirly bouncy ball.

Other days we’d go to the sweet shop round the corner. Technically it was a newsagent but to be honest neither me nor my brother were interested in anything else they sold. It was ran by a couple called Dave and Michelle and I can still picture it clearly. We’d take a left out of our house and then take a right, past Muriel Master’s house (my piano teacher) and then turn left to the shop. We would walk in, be given a white paper bag and allowed to select our sweets. To this day my favourites will always be liquorice comforts and white chocolate mice.

Michelle would trust that when we said 20p to her, we had 20 sweets in our bags. These were the days when a penny sweet actually cost 1p. It would be a miracle if the sweets actually made it home. One day we went to see Dave and Michelle and I had a different request for them. Behind the counter they had those delightful jars where you could buy a quarter of your favourite sweet treat. And yes I mean a quarter, not 100g or however they measure now. I needed one of those jars. So after asking politely, Dave and Michelle gave me a plastic jar with a red lid and coated in sugar to take home. This jar became home to my new pets.

I don’t think i’m alone in being an eighties kid with a plastic jar full of stick insects am I? Seriously they should have just let me have a hamster. What sort of parent lets their child have stick insects for pets? I don’t think they stayed around long and you wouldn’t find me going anywhere near them these days, they are just plain freaky.

In my adult years I’ve not given much thought to my stick insects or to Dave and Michelle, or my house in Bournemouth, or Muriel Masters, or that red and blue swirly bouncy ball but those things and moments are important to me. In themselves they are not hugely significant but they are a part of me, they represent a very happy childhood and a security that I carry now.

C.S. Lewis said “a pleasure is only fully grown when it is remembered”. I don’t have any insightful thoughts on the sweet shop or the stick insects for you, I’m just allowing a few childhood pleasures to be remembered and fully grown. Why don’t you do the same?

Just words on a page?

This is my current reading list…..

The fact that there are 16 unread books here and so far this year I’ve finished a grand total of two, means that I should not be purchasing any additional books. Yeah right.

Two days ago a book flew through my letter box in the familiar brown packaging that we’ve come to know and love and landed itself in my newly decorated hallway. Following a twitter recommendation this book was a random purchase but could quite possibly be the best purchase i’ve made this year.

The new book procedure dictates that any new pile of bound paper goes to the back of the queue. I picked the book up and started to leaf through the first few pages, before I knew it I was fast approaching chapter 4. Two days later the book is almost finished and I’m like a unstoppable read demon racing to the end.

So what is this irresistible book? It’s called ‘Love Does’ and is authored by the inspirational Bob Goff. It’s kind of an autobiography about the outrageous life this guy has come to know as he has lived out love. If you’ve ever felt life was a little mediocre and dull, you need to read this book. It will inspire you to get up and do something crazy, do something unexpected and do something life changing. It is also hilariously funny in parts.

Now I know my description may seem a little OTT but seriously it is that good. In this one life we get to live, I want mine to be good. Actually I want it to be more good. I want it to be fun, crazy, impactful and interesting and i’ve just found another example to follow. Check it out – it will be worth it.

My hot date with Matt

Well the 242 lot would like to believe that was the case!

After a tough day, having a colleague and friend take you to the cinema was what was needed.  Last night we saw The Hunger Games. I didn’t really know much about the film. I’d not read the book or a single review, well apart from the billion twitter updates about how great the film is. So with all the hype  I was expecting something of Titanic proportion (and yes I am tempted to see Titanic in 3D).

In short The Hunger Games is a futuristic reality TV show where 24 children and young people are trained and set out to kill one another, leaving a single victor. It was an original idea and could have been epic but the premise is where originality stopped.

Details of the plot were predictable, casting was sketchy (with the exception of Katniss, the lead gal), fight scenes lacking and setting non existent. It felt like there was an hours worth of content missing, and i’m kind of glad, because at 2 hours and 22 minutes the film is quite long enough.

Ok so it wasn’t all bad. You could draw some church worthy quotes from it, such as Donald Sutherland’s “Hope is the only thing more powerful than fear” or you could comment on the repeated occurrence of apples being the symbol of all that’s bad. But that’s probably about it.

If it hadn’t been for the hype I probably would have quite enjoyed it. And it’s that fact that has my brain whirring for now. Where else do we hype something up and then get disappointed when it doesn’t deliver? Marriage? A new job? A holiday? Church even? Marketing and sales of a product is essential in making people invest, but what if we went into something cold with no preconceived ideas or expectations? Would we ever be disappointed?

I actually think I would have liked The Hunger Games if it wasn’t for the world telling me how great it was. So for now I’m going to practice ignoring the lot of you.

The Hangover

Ever known that feeling the day after the night before? The headache, sickness and general droggy feeling? So I’ve been home for two days now and I feel hungover.

No I haven’t been drinking (in fact I’ve given up alcohol for lent, and no lapses so far!) and I don’t think it’s jet lag. A cross cultural hangover has invaded my head and body. If you’ve followed the last few blog posts I hope you’ve sensed a little of the greatness that Guatemala and Honduras has been over the last fortnight but it’s had a bit of a deeper impact than I first thought. I headed out to Central America in ‘work’ mode, ready to explore a possible partnership and attempting to remain composed and professional at all times.

I would say I’m fairly streetwise and familiar with how mission trips pan out. I’m pretty resilient, strong and dare I say hard-hearted to vulnerable situations. But last night as I got into bed I sobbed. I sobbed for the kids I’d met and for the quite tragic pasts that they contend with. And today I feel sick in my stomach with it.

This morning I sat in church and struggled to sing words such as “and if our God is with us, what could stand against”, knowing that last week I was with 13 year olds girls who have been repeatedly raped and who no doubt have questioned where that God was in those moments. I’ve been caught out. The hard hearted girl who resists sharing emotions has been got.  I can’t think of anything else apart from street kids. Yesterday at a 1 year old’s birthday party, I thought of  parentless children never having had a party. Watching television, I’m reminded what a pointless task that is. Making breakfast makes me feel a pang of guilt.

I hope over the next days and weeks to start to explore what our involvement as a church, in Central America could be, but in the meantime I think God’s up to something in my heart……

….or maybe I’m just tired and being a little overemotional….but how can this lot not affect you…?

Lads day

Our last full day in Honduras was spent at the Manuelito transitional home. A place in the city that’s a halfway home for boys. A place they come between the street and the children’s home we spent the weekend at. There are currently nine boys living here.

When we arrived the boys gave us a performance of a dance they’ve been rehearsing. Followed by a breakout of more dance – break dancing, Michael Jackson, Justin Bieber, Latino dance and I how can I forget Matt Levett’s ‘body popping’.

The day continued doing what boys love best – playing football of course. After my footballing attempts the other day, I sat this one out. Football was played in a cage about a 10 minute drive away so it meant 15 of us were loaded into the old 12 seater minibus. It was here we witnessed a beautiful moment.

The boys seem to have a current obsession with the song hallelujah, helped somewhat by a young Brazilian boy who recently won a tv talent contest. So whilst travelling along there was a spontaneous outburst of these words:

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, For our Lord God Almighty Reigns
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, For our Lord God Almighty Reigns
Hallelujah, Holy, Holy
Are you Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy, Holy,
Are you Lord God Almighty
Worthy is the Lamb
Worthy is the Lamb
You are Holy

How special it was to hear these boys singing praise to God. Boys, that despite their horrid pasts, know what it means to worship. So today as I reflect on what we’ve seen and done in Honduras, I’m reminded not of the horrors of living on the street, or the smells of working on a rubbish dump, but that ultimately God sits on his throne and is worthy of our praise despite all else, and I am thankful to these special boys for that.

Picking up Trash

Black bin, green bin, blue bin, brown. Then there’s glass and tetra pak that you have to do yourself. Sound familiar?

This is how recycling waste looks to me. I dutifully put it in the right bin (most of the time), never to think of my rubbish again.
Yesterday I saw a different way.

This is the city trash dump. Lorries come and go every minute with a new load of treasure. Treasure that hundreds of people will clamber and fight over including many children. This is no place for children. They search and sort through the waste all for the hope of selling it on for a few lempira. Only a few months ago Kevin, aged 7 was killed by one of these trucks and yesterday we met his mother and siblings.

There is hope for these kids and it comes in the form of AFE. AFE is a school that started under a tree opposite the dump with a handful of kids. Today its a nursery, primary, middle and high school to 180 children. All ‘trash dump’ children.
The kids look clean, eager to learn and when asked all have aspirations for their future.

But the place isn’t without it’s struggles. Whilst we were there 3 guys entered the premises, held up some teachers and robbed the place. Mid tour of the school, there was a commotion as we saw the 3 guys race down the stairs and be chased off by construction workers. Although not common, it acts as a stark reminder the desperation that exists around the dump.

Jeony and the staff at AFE are clearing up rubbish. The rubbish that this dump has inflicted on the lives of children. But this isn’t just their rubbish to clear up. I believe we’re all responsible to rid this trash and now that I have seen (and smelt) for myself, I can’t look at recycling the same way.

A weekend in Honduras

Project Manuelito is a children’s home currently home to 32 children. It’s about an 1.5 hours north of Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras. These 32 kids were once street kids. These 32 are the lucky ones. Here they are loved, homed, educated and loved some more.

Manuelito is a very unique and special place with amazing staff and outstanding children. When we arrived Friday evening the children flocked to us throwing their arms around us and climbing on us. And in all seriousness they didn’t get off until 7am Monday morning – when we left.
I wish I could show you in pictures or describe in words how special this weekend has been, but I cannot do it justice unless I bring you here. I could write a whole blog on each single child and still not do it justice.

These kids have horrific stories, like being locked in bathrooms all day long, being found on the street at just a few hours old, leaving lives of abuse (abuse of every sort). At the heart of it they are just kids, but kids who have experienced often very adult things. This weekend they’ve played cards with us, eaten with us, danced with us to Justin Bieber (I have photographic proof of Mr Levett in a skirt). Shown me how to chase sheep, ride pigs and found horrid little locust things to throw at me. It was actually very tough to say goodbye to them.

There is still a lot of the street in the kids. They have psychological issues, behavioural problems, memories that will haunt them but Manuelito is doing an amazing job of bringing healing to some of this.
More than once I imagined taking some of these kids home – is that wrong? Probably. But this lot especially have captured my heart.

I’ll leave the story of the robbery at gun point til tomorrow…that oughta keep my mum in suspense if no one else.

Thursday in the City

Thursday in Guatemala city started at a shopping mall, an institution full of American brand shops and it ended at a table eating pizza at that hut place. Many days in my 30 years have included shopping and eating out – but not a single day has been like this one. I’m not sure how to describe the 12 hours between the mall and the restaurant but it has been significant to my soul and heart.

The day was always going to be about street kids in Guatemala city, well that’s what this trip has been about, but Thursday was going to be full immersion.
After seeing one group of kids at a park we moved to another zone of the city. We came across 10 or so kids sitting on a raised area at the corner of a busy intersection. This was a family of sorts.
All 10 repeatedly reach inside their jeans and pull out small plastic bottles, into which they dab a piece of cloth. The cloth soaked in solvent is then raised to the mouth and inhaled. This is commonplace for street kids in Guatemala city and is their drug of choice.

We watched as a young boy, no more than 13 years old, dealt solvent to all who came his way. We watched as he counted his wad of cash and as he passed this to the ‘mother’ of the group, before her ‘boss’ came to collect his earnings.
This poor kid was spaced out all afternoon, much like everyone else. This was no more apparent than when playing UNO with them, where even focusing on the colours was a task. In the few hours we were with this group I got continually propositioned by a crazy dude wanting a kiss, Matt experienced his closest encounter with some man on man action – taking place within a foot of us, and we got to pray with two sisters considering returning home. Oh and I forget to mention we cleaned feet that would make your stomach turn, Matt carried out a minor operation and all smelt smells like nothing else. Some of these kids wreak so bad you find yourself wanting the solvent to sniff. The smell gets in your very being so much so that all food I’ve eaten today has tasted rotten.

If the afternoon wasn’t enough of an eye opener the evening brought more. Around 6pm we wandered to a different area. El hoyo (the hole), where all the market and bulk shopping is done. Back allies where trucks and buses empty and fill their loads, where rats are as common as people and where the ground is littered with rotting food and God only knows what else.

We were led by Francisco to a small passage: dark, dingy and one person wide. Down the steps I could see shacks, tin lean too houses, housing a whole community of people, interspersed with stalls selling anything from fruit to mobile phones. As we progress a whole world opens out. A world I have never seen before. A place I would never want to be alone. It didn’t feel dangerous, just a place where white tourists are rarely seen.

As we weaved through the dark maze, children started to seep out the allies. It was like the pied piper effect. Girls of 6 held our hands and skipped alongside us. We stopped in a lit area and pulled out colouring books and crayons and handed them out for a rare moment of fun for these many children. Little Moses aged 4 ran back and forth with his cute fluffy hair. Seeing the excitement and pride as he was given a new pair of socks was remarkable. Then there’s David – spends all his time on the street, no parents and ‘looked after’ by a woman who regularly beats him. He sat next to me, as close as you could get, and took such pride in the tortoise he coloured, looking to me for approval every 90 seconds.

But although this is shocking to me and maybe to you, it is the norm here. Seeing what Duncan, Herbert and others do here is inspirational. And it all boils down to love. You can see in their faces the love for street kids, the desire to do what it takes to rid the streets of kids. It has been a huge privilege to be here and to see this for myself, I’m still undecided if what I witnessed Thursday rates as a great day or one of the worst.

HOPE:Part 3

On my discovery to Hope I’ve found this word, a word that is no longer plain and dull, and a word that helps me articulate the link between my life in the here and now and the life that is yet to come . Hope.

But how does this word play out in practice? How does it make you and me live our lives differently? Why should  I be sharing hope, being hope, giving hope?

I believe completely that Jesus didn’t come just to give us eternal life. My conservative views of childhood are slowly changing and that actually Jesus came to give us life and life to the full (John 10:10). I recently read of a guy called Dominic Crossan, an American writer, who often asks “even if Jesus did rise from the dead, so what?” I reckon that’s what many people in our communities feel about Jesus, they have this “so what?” outlook, this “it doesn’t make any difference to me” approach. And I don’t blame them. If they don’t see hope around them or in the lives of us who claim to be changed, then they’re absolutely right, Jesus’ death is completely meaningless. So what?

Well the answer is found in a prayer. A prayer that Jesus taught and it goes like this: ”Our Father in heaven,hallowed be your name.Your kingdom come,your will be done,on earth as it is in heaven…….”. If I’m honest it’s taken me a couple of years to get my head around the notion of the “Kingdom of God” that we hear and read so much of. Tom Wright puts it brilliantly:

“This is what the resurrection of Jesus and the gift of the spirit are all about. They are not designed to take us away from this earth, but to make us agents of the transformation of this earth, anticipating the day when, as we are promised, ‘the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.’”

“Agents of the transformation of this earth” – what a fab line. That’s why Jesus came and died. That’s what the Kingdom of God is about. This is how and why hope is so important.

Please let me indulge in just one more post on Hope, I promise it will be a lighter and more practical one, then usual service will resume and we’ll be back to talking about haircuts, puppies, cupcakes and clothes.