.time.

I like that time does not discriminate, that the hands of the clock continue to turn despite human-kinds best efforts. Time is integrous, it does not change, it is dependable and reliable. It does not bend, does not give in...it continues on its unwavering path. I resolve to be more like time and relish in it’s steadfastness. 

Yet, I plead with time to pause, rewind and fast-forward to accommodate my whims and my fancies. It is here that I do not like time, that time is arrogant, ticking away, oblivious to those constrained by its hands. 

During these periods of constraint, when I desire to hold onto time, to revert back or leap forward, I look at times integrity with contempt. How dare my life be dictated by its relentlessness. I did not choose to be bound by time, by seconds, minutes and hours.

It appears I am at odds with time. I crave its stability, yet abhor it simultaneously. With my own understanding I cannot reconcile with time, for it escapes the bounds of my comprehension. 

God is not bound by time, yet he works within time and while there is so much I do not and cannot comprehend about God, I can fathom his love for me and that he makes everything beautiful in its time (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:

    a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot, 

    a time to kill and a time to heal,

    a time to tear down and a time to build,

    a time to weep and a time to laugh,

    a time to mourn and a time to dance,

    a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

    a time to search and a time to give up,

    a time to keep and a time to throw away,

    a time to tear and a time to mend,

    a time to be silent and a time to speak,

    a time to love and a time to hate,

    a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:2-8

.knotted mess.

It trips me out that each person has a story. A story with joy and sadness, love and loss, calm and storms. A story that has led them to where they are now, to their current level of mess. We all have mess, we’re all screwed up, we just all have different levels of screwed-up-ness and mess surrounding us.

Being screwed up isn’t wrong, it isn’t bad, it just is and we all are. 

We can look at our own screwd-up-ness and the screwed-up-ness of others and wonder how we’ll all ever get out of this mess. Or we can look at the mess with hope and know it can be made beautiful. We can embrace ourselves, with all the twists, gnarls and knots. We can let God embrace us, with all the ugliness that each of us hold, let go and learn that he loves. 

Love is redeeming, Gods love bring us out of darkness into light. Some of the twists are gone and a few of the knots are loosening, but I’m standing in a mess and still have my own special way of being screwed up. Difference is, I’m no longer fumbling around in the dark. The knots are being made beautiful, for no other reason than to glorify him, the one redeeming the mess. 

.cubicles.

In my experience, one of the most frustrating aspects of being a woman is queuing up to use the ladies room. On the rare occasion I enter a public restroom where there is no line, I am tempted to do a little celebratory jig, but refrain for the fear that a pack of women will enter the ladies room and usurp my position.

I don’t understand why the line to the bathroom is that much longer for the feminie species. Sure, there are particular reasons why the process is speedier for men, its basic biology…but this isn’t really the forum to go into detail. Biology aside, I see no quantifiable reason for the line to be as long as it is…I guess a lot of us spend time primping and preening in front of the mirror – however this ritual should not impact the turn around time of each individual cubicle. Get in, do your business & get out.

Further to my above frustration; crawling traffic, dawdling shop assistants and slow walkers get on my nerves. Patience is not strength of mine....apart from the card variety, I didn’t have many friends as a kid, so I’m ace. Apparently it is a virtue, but I don’t believe that many people would be virtuous when confronted with a bursting bladder and a line as long as the Great Wall of China to get to the loo.

Cultivating patience in ones life is not a pleasant experience. Currently, I feel like I am in transit….but not moving forward, sitting idle. I know where I want to go and what I want to happen; ready to slam my foot on the accelerator. Yet discernment is telling me to slow down and not race into anything. So here I sit, idle, waiting patiently.

Good things come to those who wait and I feel as if I have been waiting for a lifetime. Ironically, I’m afraid that after all the waiting, God will answer my prayers and I will mess it up. Trepidation is my best worst enemy…it’s kept me from experiencing so much, but it has also protected me from much more. I guess when you are invested entirely in something, you have much more to lose and from what I’ve learnt, the best way to live is when you are entirely engrossed, abandoning yourself, relinquishing every hesitation.

I want to live a life where I am not afraid to fail, a life where I don’t hold onto something so dearly that I am afraid the picture I have in my mind will crush if I say or do the wrong thing. Patience is an amazing quality that I believe God can grant in immeasurable quantities and in unbelievable circumstances, but I don’t want to be tricked into thinking I am waiting patiently, when really, what I am being ‘patient’ for is an idol, distracting me from being truly engrossed in what and whom I should be: Jesus.

Trust in the LORD and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Take delight in the LORD,
and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD;
trust in him and he will do this:
He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,
your vindication like the noonday sun.
Be still before the LORD
and wait patiently for him
Psalm 37:3-7a

.multitasking.

Women are meant to be fantastic multitaskers. I do not believe myself to be one of these women. Yes, I can eat a sandwich, listen to music and facebook, but none of these activities require actual skills. Legitimate multitasking involves numerous actions where real skills are utilised. Chewing, typing and using your ears are not particularly skilful actions.

My inability to tenpin bowl would be an example of my incapability to multitask. Walking towards the lane, focusing my aim, lunging to bowl the ball, releasing and then actually bowling in straight line seems beyond me. One might say that tenpin bowling is not a multitasking action, that rather, it is one fluid motion....I beg to differ.

I am very much in awe of people who are multitaskers. Specifically, I am in awe of musicians. Earlier in the week I went and saw some live music and was blown away by the support act who was able to sing, play guitar, the harmonica and still manage to look trendy. I do not look trendy when I try to tenpin bowl.

I live in a share house and one of my flatmates has instruments around the lounge room (namely an acoustic guitar, a bass, a djambe and a tambourine). About a week ago I had a few friends over for dinner and as the majority of them are musically inclined a jam session was unavoidable. While they were all being cool cats, singing and strumming, I sat there being my usual dorky self, wishing I had learned an instrument instead of the nunchucks. My nunchuck skills are off the hook….whenever you see me, I am nunchucking. I’m so first-rate that you can’t see my hands or the nunchucks moving.

Nunchuck skills aside; musicians are amazing (it’s no wonder every girl I know wants a boyfriend with a guitar in tow) and I do wish I had the potential to be some crazy talented musical lass who wows crowds with her stellar voice and ability to play fifteen instruments at once. But, I am not that woman.

Truthfully, I am still trying to figure out who the heck I am. Small pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together, but it feels as if there are so many wrong pieces I try to jam into my puzzle. Often, I don’t realise that I’m trying to be someone or something I am not. That’s why I am so thankful to God for slowly but surely revealing to me the women he desires me to be.

.tripper.

Maintaining balance is not what you would call one of my strengths and while I'm not a complete klutz, I am prone to the occasional topple.

One such instance occurred about 3 weeks ago. I had just been to church and had to rush off to a family picnic, on the way, I stopped at local shopping centre to drop off some items to be dry cleaned and buy some batteries. By chance, I happened to run into my flatmate in Coles on my way to get some AA's. The line to the check out was unnecessarily long and in an effort to save some time, I embarked on a mission to find my flatmate and ask him to purchase on my behalf. This mission involved a dash through the fruit and vegetable section...who would have thought that a rouge grape would come across my path, rendering me flat on my butt in front of a stack of bananas (of the human and fruit variety). Needless to say, I was blushing like a tomato. I found my flatmate, gave him the batteries and fled!

To console myself, I grabbed a take away coffee and a slice of carrot cake. I toddled off to my car, opened the door, flung my handbag onto the passenger seat and felt something slip from my hand. My precious carrot cake had tumbled to an untimely death....much like myself a few moments earlier. Amazingly, the cake had remained in tact (as I had....well, physically...not so much emotionally). I stood there for a good ten seconds trying to decide if I should pick up the cake or not....


.1.


..2..


...3...


....4....


.....5.....


......6......


.......7.......


........8........


.........9.........


..........10..........

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I snatched it up, plonked myself behind the wheel, drank my coffee and savoured every morsel of the gravel infested carrot cake.

In addition to my physical trips, I have noticed that I have been tripping in other ways recently. There have been no special brownies, or mystical mushroom pizzas, instead, my trips have been of a moral nature. Honestly, I haven’t been living out what I profess to believe and I’ve tripped in a multitude of ways.

I was reading Luke (7:40-50) the other day and was reminded of Gods amazing grace when I came across the following passages about Jesus being anointed by the sinful woman.

Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me, teacher,” he said.

“Two people owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. 42 Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he forgave the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”

Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt forgiven.”

“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.

Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”

Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

I love how God forgives. That forgiveness is not impingent on what I do, but rather what he has done. I trip every day and I am so grateful that he catches me.

.treadmills.

If you’ve been reading my sporadically posted ramblings, you would note that last time I wrote about my recent love affair with the Gym. This love affair is still continuing, despite the fact Gym sees other women and leaves me exhausted and unable to walk down stairs (I did my first pump class a few weeks ago, rendering me incapable of descending down a flight of stairs without wincing after each step).

I attend an all female gym…this I mostly out of practicality (the gym is on the way to work), although I must admit the idea of doing a workout in a unisex gym unnerves me. I always end up looking like I’ve taken a bath in beetroot after I workout. I’m so red and sweaty that I’m afraid if I spot an attractive male, I’d be embarrassed, lose my cool (because I totally have it together all the time) and be catapulted off the treadmill.

While we are on the topic of the treadmill, am I the only person who is completely paranoid about stacking it on that confounded contraption? Being flung across the gym floor is in my top 5 greatest fears list. I have slow motion visions of me clumsily planting my foot, causing me to do the splits while I go head first into the hand rails, tumble down to the conveyor belt and manage to scrape my face off. Hopefully I don’t sound vain when I say this, but I like my face…. I’ve got a pretty good noggin and don’t want it to be mangled by a piece of machinery. Hence, I think it is perfectly rational for me to be hesitant to embrace the treadmill…. figuratively speaking.

Yes, I like my face….but generally speaking that’s where the liking of my ‘outer’ self ends and the loathing begins. Perhaps loathe isn’t the correct word….I don’t detest my body, because it really is a magnificent creation, capable of so much more than I understand. But there is a lot I would change about it, which is ridiculous – because it is fully functional without any serious issues (although I’ve realised my ‘upkeep’ hasn’t been so great, hence my foray with the gym), so why do I want to change it?

I don’t know one woman who wouldn’t change something about their body if they were given the opportunity…even people I know who look fantastic and would swap my body for in an instant (but I would like to keep my head!). Why are none of us happy with what we’ve been dealt? It’s completely unrealistic for me to think I will ever be a size 8…. I don’t believe I could ever be that size without looking completely emaciated. I have a solid/curvy build and (to a certain extent) I’ve accepted that.

Apparently, most surnames originate from the original family trade…. my surname loosely translated means ‘Cow Herder’…. what waif could herd cows around the Italian countryside? Genetically, I am made for hard labour and producing babies (courtesy of my child bearing hips). And while I am not currently pursuing either of these avenues, I intend to in the future (okay….maybe just the baby making).

I haven’t met one lady who wouldn’t change something about their body if they were given the opportunity. I see the same women at the gym every time I go, women who have amazing physiques and are running themselves into the ground. Yes, I do believe that taking care of your body is essential and I am realising this more and more…. but when exercise becomes an obsession it can be dangerous.

Negative body image, body dysmorphia and eating disorders are all serious issues. It is my opinion that while women are being given information to assist them in working through these issues, that media and society in general are still sending out conflicting messages. I don’t have the answers as to how we can repair this I anomaly….other than that each person (gender aside) needs to realise their value and not find that value in their appearance.

For me, I find my value in God. Knowing that he loves me regardless of my exterior and places worth on me, not because I look like a supermodel but merely because I am his child. This gives me comfort and hope in my moments of self-loathing and reminds me to focus on the eternal rather than the natural.

.mutant.

For somebody who's not dating or in a relationship I seem to have a few men in my life at the moment. No, I have not signed up for eharmony, rsvp or the like. Although the '23 & still single' advertisements which reside on the right hand of my screen whenever I log into facebook cause me to consider that I must be a mutant, I've somehow withheld from completing a riveting online profile about my love for moonlight, pina coldas and hiking. At the ripe old age of 23 I am resigned to a life of spinsterhood, but back to these men.

The first man who recently came into my life was Gym. I resisted at first, only casually seeing him twice a week if I could muster up the energy. Then I had a bad douse of the dreaded Melbourne winter lurgy & all communication with Gym ceased. However, a few months later, with all his charm, Gym lured me back into his tight clutches. Now I see him two times on a bad week & four on a good one. We usually spend about 40 minutes together when I see him. I tend to do most of the giving & he does most of the taking. He doesn't talk much. And thats okay with me, because if the gym equipment started consoling me during a workout I'd have to question my sanity, or at the very least my kilojule intake for that day.

The other man, Myki, I hold hands with at least twice a day. This is a very fresh relationship as it was only last week we first became aquainted. Oh yes, I'd heard of him. He has regularly been in the media & there are advertisement of him plastered all over Melbourne, but once again I resisted. Why get involved with a man who seemed to be such bad news? It was inevitable, I had to get involved with Myki - otherwise I'd never get anywhere. Despite the fact that we've only just met, the first thing he did was steal my money! I rang a friend of his to find out what the gripe was & it turns out that Myki had a glitch in his system that week. His mate assured me that he'd have the money back to me by the end of the week. Alas! I feel the trust is broken but I don't really have a choice, Myki is here to stay & I'll never lay my eyes on a metcard again.

Even though these two men treat me badly (I feel as if I've been beaten up each time I visit Gym & Myki makes me poorer by the day), I make time for them. Primarily I guess it is because they are two essential elements to my daily lifestyle - exercise and transport.

But there is one man, the most vital man whom I do not make sufficient time for. This man has never treated me badly, he has only ever loved & adored me...he woos me with beautiful sunsets & blossoming flowers. He cares for my every need & tells me I am beautiful. He saved me, reedeemed me & has made me the women I am today. His name is Jesus. He's the guy for me & always will be. Even though I neglect him for things like working out & resolving my public transport woes, I know that his love remains faithful & true.

.microwaves.

The microwave is a precarious household appliance and I just can’t quite decide my feelings. Primarily my microwave oven sees left-overs and soup enter its magical heating cavity. Now and then, I’ll steam some veggies or defrost some meat. And on the odd occasion, if I’m craving a bacon sanga (I love love love bacon, if bacon was a man, I would marry him) I’ll nuke a few rashers within an inch of their death and team with some toast, cheese and bbq sauce.

Aside from the odd rasher of bacon sizzling away in the microwave (only in the direst of situations), I am opposed to the idea of cooking protein in said contraption. The idea of scrambling eggs, cooking a steak or ‘roasting’ a piece of flesh on that whizzing turntable makes me want to dry retch. Even more disgusting is when you are defrosting some meat and the edges of it begin to cook. Every time I decide to defrost meat in the microwave I take every precaution to avoid baking the edges, and every time I fail miserably. No matter how short the spurts of heat are between each other, the edges inevitably turn to rubber and I end up trying to preserve bits of flesh that haven’t been obliterated.

Another peril of microwaving is the creation of a hot milo. I’ve never understood people who make milo like a cup of tea, boiling the water, stirring in the milo and pouring in a smidgen of milk. Milo is best enjoyed with a cup full of milky goodness. Thus, when I brew a hot milo it involves heating the milk. Doing this on the stovetop is just too much work and consequently the microwave and its magical powers come into play. Getting the timing right is essential, too long and your milk froths up like a dog with rabies and spills over the turntable, not long enough and the milk is left lukewarm. The perfect hot milo is steaming hot all the way through, with a nice chocolaty crust on the top. This beauty is nigh impossible to achieve, but once you are triumphant you’ll be sipping on heaven in a cup.

I get quite frustrated when I microwave food and it come out lukewarm. My Nanna used to always say ‘I like my hot food, HOT’ and while her version of hot burns the tastebuds off your tongue, whenever my food I lukewarm I can’t help but agree with her.

Not that long ago I was reading the book of Revelation and came across the following passage:

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” Revelation 3:15-17

I’d like to say that each time I read this scripture that it overwhelmingly resonates with me and I cry like a baby. It probably should, but honestly, it doesn’t often have that effect on me. Don’t get me wrong, I love God and I try each day to live in a way that honours him but I do fail. I swear, I have one drink too much, I am jealous of others, I gossip and I am impatient (and more!).

Basically, I’m lukewarm.

It’s not because I don’t love God, because I do. Most likely, it’s because I don’t fully comprehend what Jesus achieved for me at Calvary. I know that he died for me – I’ve read the book, seen the movie and sung the songs. I hear stories about people who’ve been facing death and have had to trust God with their life, because without him they would have been cactus and I wonder what it would really be like to let go totally and have faith that God was going to pull through.

If I had to truly trust God for my life, I know I would be clinging onto the truths of the Bible and definitely would be ‘hot’ in my faith, because it’s the only thing able to sustain me. Currently, I live in a self-sustaining society, where there is no apparent need for God, making it so easy to cruise through my days and forget about how revolutionary the Gospel is.

In a world with microwaves, we might think we don’t need God. But on the days when I do read the Bible and it truly resonates with me, I can’t deny Gods existence and how he has sustained me through the darkest times in my life. It’s in these moments where I’m no longer lukewarm, but hot, hot, hot. I wish I was always hot and not lukewarm, but truthfully, I don’t think this is attainable until heaven. So until I’m sipping on piping hot milos with Jesus on a cumulus nimbus cloud, I’m going to look at my microwave remember what he did for me and stay as hot as I can.

.exclamation marks.

A large percentage of my work day is spent drafting, sending, deleting and filing e-mails. Microsoft Outlook (or MO as I fondly refer to it) and I are like two peas in a pod, its my cheese to my macaroni, the spaghetti to my meatball, (tangent - who implemented the use of food analogies to describe a perfect match??? Nevertheless, they work....the ipod to my head phones, the tissue to my nose & the wheel to my bicycle don't really have the same ring to them).

Call me ignorant, call me blind, call me what you will, but I love MO. It wasn't a love at first type scenario, I admit. I've always been a hotmail girl through and through (the embarrassing email addresses still haunt me.....eg zany_zarzy) & despite the fact that I primarily use my gmail account for personal emails, its diverted to my hotmail inbox.

But when I'm at work, I don't have hotmail on my mind...its MO which is on my mind. The ability to categorise emails in pretty colours, the meeting request options, sorting filters and alternate reading pane views leave me in a state of bliss every time I receive mail.

Yes, MO has its problems, its glitches - as does every e-mailing program, but I love MO despite its failings. Yet, there is still one button, one icon which perplexes me....the 'high importance' option. I have one colleague who adds that pesky red exclamation mark to every second email, thus making its importance redundant. Perhaps when the icon is clicked, a pop up box should appear...stating 'High Importance function only to be utilised in the following scenarios:

1. In the event of a threat of nuclear war
2. The cafe down the roads delivered a bomb instead of my usual wholegrain ham, salad and cheese sandwich & I need to know how to detonate it or you'll be cleaning my intestines off the wall or
3. There's no milk in the staff room fridge & if I don't have my 15th coffee for the day I might go all Brittany Spears on you and shave my head'

So I've decided that the high importance button is relative. What is of high importance to me, is probably not going to be of high importance to others. I've been going through a season of learning about what I value....I've learnt that above all I value relationships. I value my relationship with God, my family and my friends. People are the highest priority and I'm learning more and more how precious and valuable people are. I believe all people are worthy of love and grace, God is showing me this and while I don't always act in a way which testifies to that, I'm learning.

.marbles.

Everybody hates losing things.

I've lost plenty of things during my time. $20 on the back seat of a taxi I neglected to put back in my wallet. Grocery items I swear I paid for at the supermarket, but that never made it into my pantry. CD's & DVDs, socks and on various occasions I suspect I've lost my marbles.

Yep, I've lost things.

In high school my best friend gave me a pair of black hightop converse sneakers for my 16th birthday. I loved them. I even purchased a mega cool pair of shoelaces covered in stars all colours of the rainbow to add to their awesomeness. The following summer, my brother was going to a music festival & his friend came from another state. She didn't bring shoes or socks (granted, I did live on the Gold Coast at that time, so thongs sufficed nine times our of ten - but who, knowing they are going to a music festival, doesn't bring a pair of closed in shoes?!). So I lent them to her.

Lets just say that somewhere in the returning to me process, that my beloved chucks went missing. It wasn't the direct fault of said girl, or my brother...but somewhere along the line they went AWOL. I was devastated & took every opportunity when the family was seated at the dinner table to bring up the aforementioned transgression. Has my life been tragically altered because of this lost pair of sneakers? No! Perhaps my street cred dwindled, but I'm no less of a person because of it. Truth be told, they were a size too small for me anyway and made me wince ever step I took, because my feet were so crammed in.

Today, I lost a precious piece of jewellery. An amazingly beautiful gold crucifix studded with pearls that was my great grandmothers. It has a lot of sentimental value. I hope its in the women's bathroom at work, or lodged down my top (I was on the tram as I wrote this and decided frisking myself in public wasn't the brightest idea), or floating around in the masses of paperwork on my desk which I neglected to tidy up before knocking off.

I almost cried when I realised I'd lost it (& I've already cried in public this week, in a pub of all places...so for the sake of my own dignity & the ugly crying noises my fellow commuters would be exposed to, I sucked it up). But crying won't bring my necklace back.

I text my friend from work to see if she recalled me wearing it, sadly, she can't remember. But in her reply she said "I'm sure it will pop up again, because you're such a good person", which is a really lovely thing to say. However, I'm not sure if I believe this. I know that sounds quite cynical....but if I have lost the crucifix where I think (I suspect it fell off in my frantic run across the street to catch the tram), then me getting the jewellery back won't be dependant on if I am a good person or not, but if the one who finds it is.

But what is a good person anyway?? I know many won't agree on my opinion on this, but I believe that no one is a good person in their own right. I believe that goodness comes from God and that apart from grace no-one can be truly 'good'. This doesn't mean that people cannot do good deeds (regardless of your religion or faith), but that something which is 100% good comes from God.

I don't know about you, but even when I carry out good deeds, my motivations can be tainted. Even if I think my motives may be unadulterated, often when I reflect back on a situation afterwards I realise that they were not. This is a hard reality to face. I don't like to think that the good things I do for those I love could done out of an impure heart.

I'm so thankful that God is good and that occasionally (and only because of his grace!) I do show his goodness to others.

.recycling.

I never used to be interested in recycling. It's not that I didn't care about landfill and the other ramifications of just dumping things in the bin, it just wasn't a priority. Now, I am what one would call a recycling 'convert', I look for every opportunity to save plastic and reuse it, or I make sure I recycle items when I can. I remember when I learnt that certain plastics couldn't be recycled, I actually got quite upset! My conversion to 'recyclablism' can greatly be attributed to the awareness the community around me generates about this issue.

Often I think we aware of the problems and social issues our world is facing, but these concerns don’t take precedence in our lives because they are not a priority. I’ve observed that our priorities are often in alignment with the priorities of those around us. And just as recycling became more of a concern to me as I was around others who were concerned about the state of our planet, I think this can be the same as with any other social or justice issue. So much about our lives is hinged on our attitude. Surrounding ourselves with individuals and groups who have positive attitudes (and in turn, positive priorities) can dramatically impact our lives. The ultimate person we can look to for an attitude adjustment is Jesus and beyond this his family, his community – the body of Christ

.big mac.

Melody: I want a Big Mac!
Valerie: But, Mel, you're a vegetarian.
Melody: I know, but suddenly I want one!
(Josie & the Pussycats – 2001)

Nobody needs a Big Mac, especially a vegetarian. No one needs a Big Mac full stop. Particularly no one needs the 26.9 grams of fat, 35.1 grams of carbohydrates & 958 grams of sodium. But that doesn’t stop people from wanting a Big Mac, fries and a coke (but hey, I heard that if you order a diet coke, that makes it okay).

Need and want are two very separate things. We might all want a Big Mac, but what we all really need is some poached chicken breast, brown rice and lettuce with no marinade, dressing or salt. I want an Iphone, a trip to Europe, all 10 seasons of Happy Days on DVD, a 50’s Vintage Couture dress, a lifetimes supply of Carmen’s original fruit-free muesli bars, a 1st edition copy of ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Bronte, tickets to West Side Story and toilet made out of solid gold.

But do I need any of these things??? No!

Looking around my room, I don’t think I really need 95% of what I have. I certainly don’t need my DVD collection, all my clothes (I would however keep some, for the sake of the general populations eyeballs), the ‘Santa’ Mr. Potato Head I bought one Christmas working in the toy department at Myer, my scarf collection, the co-ordinating sheet sets and the various knick knacks I have lying around (including trolls, a game of yatzhee, throw cushions and a retro alarm clock). I could do away with everything but the bare essentials and still be one of the richest people on the planet.

What we want, often is not what is best for us. All 10 seasons of Happy Days on DVD and a lifetime supply of Carmens original fruit-free muesli bars will only leave me desolate, on the couch, requiring a crane to transport me to see West Side Story, depressed because I can’t fit into my 50’s Vintage Couture dress and having to purchase two airplane seats for my Europe trip so I don’t spill over onto my fellow passengers. The only thing I will be able to do is read my 1st edition copy of ‘Jane Eyre’ on my solid gold toilet whilst texting my friends from my Iphone.

So why am I afflicted with this desire of ‘want, want, want’? There are so many different things I want to happen in my life – but are these wants, these desires what I need??? Circumstances in my life have displayed to me recently that what I want, is not what I need. Moreover, the majority of the time what I want, is not what God wants for me and what God wants for me is what I need.

The above statement generates the following automated response ‘but how do I know what God wants for me?’. God wants us to live a life fully connected, fully reliant and fully alive in him and this is what we all need to live a contented life. He wants us to do as he instructs in Matthew 22:37-40: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbour as yourself.' All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”. Everything overflows from this, when God and others are our focus all other elements in our life come into alignment. He satisfies our needs and his wants become our wants.

Trust in the LORD and do good;
dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Delight yourself in the LORD
and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD;
trust in him and he will do this:
Psalm 37:3-5

I trust that God knows what I need more than I do, because, well, God is God and I am not and aren’t we all glad of that!!!

.jaywalking.

I'd like to think I was an upstanding citizen. One who has never broken the law, committed a felony, done something illegal. If you were to glance at my life, you'd probably say I was an upstanding citizen. I know better. I'm not upstanding at all, I actually have quite an obvious lean to the left (and I'm not referring to my political stance).

There have been certain acts I have committed across my years that the law would deem illegal.

When I was about 10 or 11, I stole a packet of glass beads. Not only did I steal them, but my five finger discount was from the shop my mother was managing at the time. Who would have thought that a few years later I would hold a casual sales position at said shop?.....

I'm a jaywalker. A reckless pedestrian. I had The Beatles Abbey Road album cover as my desktop image for about two years. Obviously I didn't take John, Paul, George and Ringo's lead, because I seem to do everything in my power to avoid zebra crossings.

To add to my thievery and jaywalking;

I've fare evaded,

Run red lights,

Littered,

Sped,

Ridden a bike minus a helmet,

Downloaded music without paying,

Texted while driving,

Burnt CDs,

& more.

Yes, these may be seemingly insignificant illegal activities. I haven't stolen a car, killed a man with a trident, burnt down a house, robbed a bank or sold drugs. But the way I see it, breaking the law is breaking the law. Whether you drive with an expired licence or stab a man - it's breaking the law. Evidently the consequences of your actions are different and the ramifications of crossing the road at random intervals and random shootings are at quite different extremes.

Each law has its purpose and reasoning behind the legislation. Basically, the law is there for the protection of society, as a whole and as individuals. We cross the road at pedestrian crossings to avoid being slammed by a bus and having our innards strewn across the road. These laws protect us (the pedestrians) and those who may be driving the car (the rest of society). Our actions affect not only us, but also those around us. We may like to believe they don't, but when we ignore and disobey the laws, guidelines, rules (whatever you want to call them) that have been established for our own protection, we can't expect the outcomes to always be positive.

1 My son, do not forget my teaching,

but keep my commands in your heart,
2 for they will prolong your life many years

and bring you prosperity.

Proverbs 3:1-2

This priciple of the law protecting us, also extends to Gods word. Keeping Gods laws, Gods commandments prolongs our lives (it protects us, keeps us safe) and brings us prosperity - a life of abundance! The commandments are not there to kill our joy and stop us from having fun, but like the 'law of the land', Gods laws are there to keep us from harm and from harming others.

The Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5 - 7) in which Jesus expounds the 10 commandments (Exodus 20) gives us quite a high standard to live up to, it displays the way God longs for each of us to live and the attitudes and actions he desires us to adopt towards himself and others. Nine out of Ten (well 9.9), I don't follow Gods commandments and I fall and break the law, not only hurting myself but those around me whom I love.

Unlike the law of the land, in which the result of breaking the law is punishment, God does not punish us. He gives us grace and it is because of this grace that every day, when I fall short of what God asks of me, that I can kneel at his feet and thank him that he sent Jesus so that I may be forgiven. It is because of Gods grace, that the even biggest 'law breakers', that sinners can come to him and experience a love like no other. In the eyes of God, there are not 'levels' of sin, we have all broken the law and we all need him, regardless of our past. We could jaywalk every day of our life and God would still be waiting at the other side of the street, arms open, waiting to show us grace.

.nail biter.

My name is Zara and I am a nail biter. I’ve been a nail biter for as long as I can remember. For years my Nanna has tried to help me refrain from biting my nails. Various tips and tricks. Sitting on my hands. Wearing Gloves. Chewing on Gum. Knitting. Anything to keep my hands away from the giant abyss that is my mouth.

One of the more effective tricks was ‘stop and grow’. Nail polish, which also doubles as a ‘biting deterrent’ - the polish is flavoured. To sum up the taste, it has a wretched bitter tang. The combination of a cheap and nasty coffee, sour milk, olives, lemons, vinegar and an old shoe chucked in for good measure. For about month in grade 9 I used ‘stop and grow’ to assist in combating my serial nail biting. That was until my friend stole the bottle and applied it to the end of the pens of all the ‘pen biters’ in our grade. I stopped bringing my ‘stop and grow’ to school after that incident to avoid looks of scorn in the playground. And thus, the non-nail biting came crashing down to my feet.

I remember once being told that underneath your fingernails reside more germs than in a toilet bowl. I lasted for about a week not biting my nails after hearing that fact, but couldn’t resist the germy goodness and went back to munching on my digits.

In the last six months I have been so busy I’ve stopped biting my nails. Consequently I’ve got these beautiful nails. I can now relate to the phrase ‘Oh No! I broke a nail’ and have actually used it seriously in conversation without a hint of sarcasm or mockery.

Today my nails taught me a lesson. I woke up and somehow, one of my nails had a crack and was on its way to breaking. And, much to my embarrassment, I prayed that my nail would not break. This seemingly insignificant and innocuous few words have completely rocked my world. A prayer for a fingernail, A FINGERNAIL!

If my biggest worry is praying for a slither of keratin, then I seriously need to get my priorities straight. My prayer life should revolve around Jesus, how he wants to transform me and use me so others can know of his love. My prayer life should not be focused on my fingernail, but the nails that were driven into his hands so I can be cleansed, purified, loved and have eternal life.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 53:5

.my ideal life.

Imagine your ideal life, the perfect circumstances, the ultimate scenario. If I could create my ideal life, I imagine the typical day would flow a little like this….

I’d wake up next to my husband, who resembled a movie star, a Rock Hudson, Cary Grant type. He’d be the owner/operator of an architectural company and we’d be residing in our dream home, built on the Amalfi Coast. He’d worship the ground I walk on, throwing rose petals at my feet as I walked into the kitchen for breakfast.

Our maid, Alice (who’s dating the butcher) would have made me my favourite breakfast – bacon, bacon, bacon. Our 2.3 children would be sitting at the table reading Hemingway and Dickens and breakfast conversation would be carried out in French, as we’d all be well versed in several languages. The children would scamper off to school in their gold-trimmed uniforms, hand-in-hand singing sweetly…they never fight you see, not one harsh word has ever passed between them.

I would get ready to go to work, slip into my favourite Chanel suit, not worrying about the 3 kilograms of bacon I consumed earlier, because no matter what I eat, my waistline remains a petite size 10. Work would only be a short stroll away, as all I’d be doing is taking my laptop to the local café to write, write, write. I’d be working on my newest novel “Contentment – how to have it ALL and more”. All day long I’d sip on lattes and eat pastries, once again unconcerned about my waist due to my super human metabolism.

At lunch my nearest and dearest friends would pop into the café and we’d sit and laugh and converse about our ridiculously good looking husbands who we never argue with, our delightful, impeccably behaved children and how we wouldn’t change anything about the way we look, because we are 100% happy with our appearance. I’d arrive home and cook my family dinner, made from organic whole foods, we never get sick, ever, but my family only has the best.

We’d dine together, relishing in each others company, recounting entertaining stories from our day. The dishes would be magically whisked away and we’d retire to the lounge to view the latest episode of our favourite family sitcom. After such a tiresome day, I’d kiss my dashing husband good night, he’d tell me how much he loves and adores me, I’d lay my head on the pillow and…..

still feel discontent.

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

Philippians 4:12-13

And now I have it all—and keep getting more! The gifts you sent with Epaphroditus were more than enough, like a sweet-smelling sacrifice roasting on the altar, filling the air with fragrance, pleasing God no end. You can be sure that God will take care of everything you need, his generosity exceeding even yours in the glory that pours from Jesus. Our God and Father abounds in glory that just pours out into eternity.

Philippians 4:18-19

.the snooze button.

Every morning I have the same battle with the snooze button. I set my alarm for 7am and have the snooze scheduled to alarm at five minute intervals. The wake up tone isn't some soothing melody to gently rouse me out of bed - its a grating, ear bleeding raucous that makes nails scraping down a chalkboard sound like Beethoven's 5th Symphony. Still, this heinous noise isn't enough to get me up in the morning.

I've tried numerous methods, however none seem to be successful. Once, I was house sitting and was lucky enough to be living by myself. The unit had two levels, with the bedroom on the top level. I set my alarm up downstairs so I had to get up and traverse down the staircase to shut off the alarm. Nevertheless after I turned it off, I climbed back up to my bed and returned to sweet, sweet slumber. Currently, my IPOD is set up to kick off at 7am and even my favourite tunes are not enough to snap me out of dreamland.

Love it or hate it, the snooze button is a powerful tool. In the right hands it provides the opportunity for a few more moments of precious sleep, in the wrong hands it can lead to sleeping in and forgetting an important morning ritual, such as putting on underwear or brushing away that odious morning breath. Either way, the snooze button is much more significant than many of us probably realise.

I can't help but wonder if my constant warfare with the snooze button is a reflection of a larger issue in my life. How much am I snoozing through life? What time am I wasting when I could be achieving so much more?

How can I snooze when there is so much injustice in the world? Brokenness, pain, hatred, malice, greed, envy, jealousy. In a world where children are abused, women are devalued and men are ostracised - how can I keep nodding off to sleep?

God doesn't want me to sleep through life, to waste the precious time he has blessed me with on this earth. As a follower of Christ I am called to feed the hungry, give to the needy, to care for the orphans and widows, pray for my enemies and love what is good, pure and holy.

I am called not to snooze through my days on this earth, but to live each moment fully alive, to live in the fullness that comes through an intimate relationship with Christ. This intimacy can only evolve from spending time with God, through prayer, reading the Bible and fellowship with other Christians. Though sacrificing what my flesh desires, no longer hitting the snooze button and taking that extra time each morning to spend with God, rather than clinging onto those seemingly important extra five minutes of sleep. It is only through investing this time into a relationship with God that we can have the strength, determination and vision to help God bring wholeness to a world that cries out in pain.

So I say down with the snooze button. Let our days not be determined by complacency, saying its okay to sleep our days away. Rather, let our days be determined by the one who created time, who each morning makes the sun rise and each night, the sun set.

.crazy cat lady.

Tonight one of my best friends got engaged. He is the third person I know to get engaged in the last three weeks. My other best friend tied the knot just over a year ago. Three of my previous flatmates are now either married or engaged. And about half a dozen of my comrades, my chums, my buddies are now in serious relationships, engagements pending.

It’s not that I am not excited for my friends who are entering into wedded bliss, holy matrimony, wedlock, kinship. Quite the contrary, I am exceptionally pleased for them, over the moon, just bursting with joy and I mean that literally without a hint of sarcasm – I’m serious.

However, despite my happiness for these friends of mine, I cannot help but come to one conclusion about my future. I am destined to become a crazy cat lady. A spinster that shares her one bedroom apartment with one hundred and thirteen cats. Cats of various breeds, including Abyssinians, the California Spangled Cat, the Norwegian Forest Cat, the Selkirk Rex, a Tonkinese and perhaps even a Ukrainian Levkoy to complete my cat clan.

My apartment will be full of scratching posts and porcelain figurines of cats, I will have a kitty litter sandpit. My precious little ones will only ever drink Evian and eat homemade, organic, low GI food. I will regularly play the ‘Crazy Cat Lady’ boardgame with only my most intelligent cats (although all of them have their own endearing, special qualities) and will wear my crazy cat lady necklace only on the grandest of occasions. Heck! I might even join the crazy cat lady society and buy a crazy cat lady action figure.

I’m lucky that my recently acquired flatmates don’t like cats and won’t let me get one. Adopting a cat would certainly be the first step on a downward spiral staircase.

Obviously I don’t really believe that I am destined to become the neighbour hood crazy cat lady. But with the amount of relationships that are transpiring around me it does make me think about dating, courtship, engagement, marriage, etc.

Honestly, the thought of being in a relationship _freaks_me_out_. Twelve months ago it would have been the exact opposite, I would have jumped at the chance to go on a date. But now it’s a different story, the idea of it makes me want to run for the hills. It’s not that I don’t want to get married, have 2.3 children, a house with a white picket fence and a golden retriever. I just don’t want that to happen as soon as I originally thought.

A few years ago I was like “yeah, ill get married by the time I’m 22, pop out a few kids before I’m 30, then work on my career, retire and become a grey nomad travelling the country with my husband”. Now my 22nd birthday is just around the corner and I’m not married and it doesn’t look like it’ll be happening in the near future. And surprisingly, I am 100% okay with that. I’m enjoying being single.

There’s so much you can do when you are single, it certainly has its benefits. Once you are married, you are mah-reeeeeed. It’s for life! You will never be single again. There’s less responsibility when you are single, you can spend your paycheck on whatever you desire, steal all of the blankets and pick your nose without anyone complaining! I am definitely enjoying many of the aspects of single life. Marriage is certainly in the future and while I look forward to it, there are so many other things to look forward to and I don’t want to miss those because I am too focused on getting into a relationship.

So as I approach ‘wedding season’ I will be keeping far far away from any RSPCAs or Pet Stores. I am sure that one day my compulsion to adopt cats will eventually subside when I am ready to get into a relationship and God sets it all up. That’s what I love about my friends who are recently engaged or married - God was (and is) the centre of their relationships and their relationships were God ordained, God appointed. Until this happens for me, I am perfectly content living the single lifestyle, cats or no cats.

Diamonds: a girls best friend?

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,

but diamonds are a girl's best friend.

A kiss may be grand but it won't pay the rental

on your humble flat, or help you at the automat.

Men grow cold as girls grow old

and we all lose our charms in the end.

But square-cut or pear-shaped

these rocks don't lose their shape

Diamonds are a girl's best friend"

As Ms Marilyn Monroe sang in the 1953 film, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes - "Diamonds are a girls best friend"....

There may be some element of truth behind this statement. A diamond will never stand you up, talk back, tell you your butt looks big in your new outfit, leave the toilet seat up, forget to scrape the dishes or spend the entire weekend watching the football. It won't forget your anniversary, neglect to notice a recent haircut, make disparaging comments about your mother, steal the blankets or turn on the cold water tap while you are in the shower.

I seem to be reaching the age where my friends are starting to get engaged. It's a very exciting season....I think a lot of this excitement has to do with my 'inner romantic'. And while I'm not expecting to get engaged in the immediate future, I do look forward to it. I would like a diamond engagement ring. I don't want one that would involve my fiancee declaring bankruptcy or that has the ability to sink a small ship, but as a sucker for all things pretty and one who is somewhat traditional, it would be a beautiful gift.

Thinking about diamonds really made me wonder...what is all the hullabaloo about anyway? Yes, they are striking (and oh-so preciousssssss), but really aren't more than a glorified chunk of rock. An item is really only worth what somebody is willing to pay for it. What are you willing to pay for a diamond? Traditionally, the idea is that a bloke is to spend two months salary on an engagement ring. Now, depending on a persons occupation, this figure could range from $0.00 to the millions.

While diamonds are having a positive impact on the economies from which they are sourced (particularly countries such as Africa), they can also be used to fund conflict. You may have heard of the term 'conflict' or 'blood' diamond. The United Nations defines conflict diamonds "as diamonds that originate from areas controlled by forces or factions opposed to legitimate and internationally recognized governments, and are used to fund military action in opposition to those governments, or in contravention of the decisions of the Security Council." So basically, some people are exploiting the diamond industry, using the money generated to fund rebellion/s, with innocent people being injured or killed in the process.

Thankfully, the number of conflict diamonds has been reduced to 1% of all diamond in recent years. However, I am still perplexed that people have had to die for, like I said, 'glorified rocks'. Another thing to add to my list of things that 'Zara finds frustrating-perplexing-infuriating-overwhelming & inhumane about the world'. [check out http://diamondfacts.org/ if you want to read more about conflict diamonds and your part in helping].

I do like the thought that an item is only worth as much as you are willing to pay for it. Everything and everyone has their 'price'. We can all be bought off. Whether it be money, fame or power, sooner or later, most people succumb.What do you value in this world? What are you willing to pay for? Is there anything that is priceless to you?

Your love, O LORD, reaches to the heavens,

your faithfulness to the skies.
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains,

your justice like the great deep.

O LORD, you preserve both man and beast.
How priceless is your unfailing love!

Both high and low among men find

refuge in the shadow of your wings.

PSALM 36:5-7

Phases.

I shared briefly at church today, this is the blog edit.

Across my life I have been through a number of phases. Some of the more interesting ones include:

"Self Hair Cut" phase. Resulted in a 'mini' fringe in the middle of my forehead. My mum happened to have some portraits lined up at this time, so the photos on the mantel piece are a reminder of my foray into hairdressing. I also ended up with sideburns one time, I'm not ready to talk about it yet.

"Punk" phase. Involved a lot a black hair dye, studs, safety pins, badges and teenage angst.

"Hippie" phase. Comprised mainly of tye dye and a lack of razors.

"Nerd" phase. Was mostly spending my time studying. Any other spare time was contributed to creating conversation cards to combat socially awkward moments. Some would argue that I am still in this phase.

But there has also been some other phases which haven't been so interesting...times filled with fear, self-loathing, doubt and a stack of what seemed to be ever increasing insecurities.

As The Beatles would say, or sing, it's been a long and winding road, but thankfully its been the road to Gods door. Or the road God has led me along so I would open my door, my heart to him. Ever since I decided to open the door, God has been teaching me to be me. It's a continuous journey to be me, the woman God has created and is forever moulding into his image.

Most of us would be familiar with Psalm 149, verse 14 states the following:

I praise you because I am fearfully & wonderfully made,

your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

Do we really see ourselves as wonderful? and even more so, do we praise God for this? For all of the aspects he has knit into us? Likes, dislikes, abilities, skills, characteristics even our appearance? What about all those little idiosyncrasies that make you, you?

Like the fact that I loathe sultanas and like to let my toast go cold before I eat it, yet I love raisin toast, hot straight from the toaster....go figure...

I think all we can do to know who we are, to be me, to be you - is to look straight into the eyes of Jesus. To lay our own lives down. Because to lose your life for Jesus sake is to really find it. So I guess that's the best thing we can do to be who we were created to be.

I want to hold your hand.

Oh yeah, I´ll tell you something

I think you´ll understand

When I say that something

I wanna hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand

Oh, please, say to me

You´ll let me be your man

and please, say to me

You´ll let me hold your hand

Now let me hold your hand

I wanna hold your hand

Today I held hands with a guy. It was great. He is funny, intelligent, and handsome, makes me cups of tea, has a gigantic goofy grin on his face whenever he sees me and never wants me to go home. Basically, he adores me.

However, there are a few facts I have omitted from this picture.

1. While I was holding hands with this guy, we were watching Dora the Explorer and Toy Story.

2. He's three years old.

3. We are cousins.

While I was holding this little mans hand, I was deeply moved in a number of ways. I was overcome with an amazing, all encompassing sense of love that I have for this little guy and his sister. It was like I was so full of love, care and passion for them that I felt I could explode all over them. Although no less than half an hour later when it was dinner time and they weren't co-operating, I was tempted to wrench out my hair, fashion it into a rope and strap them to their seats.

My train of thought then continued.....

"Choo Choo"

What am I going to be like as a mother? I adore these kids so much and have an amazing love for them and I'm not even their mother. I'm looking forward to the day I have children and am certainly happy to wait but when that day comes I'm sure I will be more passionate about them than I ever have about anyone before. And I am a very passionate person, if you knew about my love for stationery, I think you would be slightly disturbed.

"Choo Choo"

This led me to think about how much God loves us. Our heavenly father. How passionate he is about his children. How he adores you and wants to hold your hand everyday. To walk through every season of life with you and pour out his love and blessings, in abundance. He choo, choo, chooses YOU!!!!

"Choo Choo"

Finally, being me, I couldn't help but think about the day I will hold hands with a man [Shock Horror!!! 'Isn't this supposed to be a 'G' rated blog' they screamed], not just any man, but the man God has for me, my husband. For that, I am happy to wait and until then, I will continue to watch cartoons, drink imaginary cups of tea and hold hands with that precious little man.