Friday, July 14, 2006
Of Bullies and Bonfires
So the empty peaceful lot across the street is growing into a big tourist attraction. The bonfire is reaching nearly the clouds as the "black cab" tours pull up in front of it and the surrounding murals and their sort-of-nervous tourists inside listen to their taxi driver tell of the old tales. Maybe some not so old. I can't say I understand my own feelings at the sight of the tourists. Is it a little like paying to see a traffic accident? Similar to finding fascination (there is a natural draw) to something that is so damaging and destructing? Am I feeling a sort of defensiveness toward this neighborhood now? Like the double decker sight-seeing buses are actually invading my personal space, as well as that of those who have raised their families on this road? I am asking God, what is my connection to this place, and is it possible to feel a belonging here?
O, Bless the tourists.
Because in a sense, I am one too. I'm just one with "missionary" stamped on my passport, and perhaps on my heart. The process God has me on at the moment has me thinking, in general, about value. "Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also"-sort of thinking. I've also heard or read somewhere along the line that you show how you value you something by how much time you give it/him/her/them (is that from Purpose Driven Life?).
What do I value? What hurts my feelings? What part of my heart is close to God's heart? (Do we agree that the pain that takes place here is too much and unfair?)
For instance, yesterday I was walking over to a staff member's flat to watch a movie (instead of the World Cup...I'm such a girl...) and I ran into 2 young boys that I have known for nearly four years now, and they were around during this past week when StreetReach was on. Some neighborhood moms might be tempted to call these 2 boys naughty. I certainly have on occassion. Last night, though, they seemed cordial and willing to chat. I should make note here that I was carrying my purse, a bag of crocheting materials, and a bag of movies. I should also note that the two boys were each holding a full bottle of 2 liter soda. Really...what was I thinking?
We did actually have a lovely chat, about StreetReach, and the StreetReacher girl volunteers that they had little crushes on. Out of the blue, one of them started to shake their bottle. My head told me to run, but my heart told me to just wait, that surely after our nice talk (and 4 years of invested love) he wouldn't think of...
...he opened the lid and fizz like lava poured out of the bottle. Where was my reasoning at this point? He shook the bottle in my direction with a grin--instead of sprinting, with all the grace I could muster, I sort of fell off the curb. Rising to the sinister little laughs of my 2nd grace bullies, I left them with a weak interpretation of discipline..."That's enough guys, that's enough..." And I hobbled off with a skinned knee and a very bruised missionary ego.
But I value them, don't I?, because they were able to hurt me. And there's the lesson for us--to allow ourselves to be hurt by those we value. The experience is valuable if I can then show at least a pinch of God's grace to them. (Let me insert here, before I become a complete victim, that I have been on the giving end of hurt, recently, and have learned that it's those whom I value the most, receive the brunt of my hurting words and attitudes. Where is the sense in this, I know not. The shame, however, is enormous when I realize the ability I have to hurt.)
Have you ever been somewhere, like a summer little league game or a camping trip, where one moment the sun is shining and you're stripping down layers because of the heat, and the next moment your sweat turns to chills and clouds have appeared from nowhere? And the atmosphere is changing everything--how you dress, how you relate, what equipment you use, how you communicate, what you communicate.
The atmosphere on the Shankill Road (and I can assume other high-tension areas of Belfast) coming up to July 12th is thick with despair and hurt. It's like a change in the physical weather, it changes everything, and can't go unnoticed. Call it what you like, it's creepy. We were driving home the other day and turned onto the Shankill and I noticed the slight turn in my gut. Red white and blue flags are strung zig-zagged up the street, along with flapping Union Jacks and painted curbs. While it could seem to be a holiday that encourages community togetherness, I see it as a holiday that drives people to huddle around a flag pole. But they're nothing like confident. Their knees are knocking because they're so scared, wondering what would happen if someone took their flag.
Was walking up the road to do a bit of grocery shopping the other day with a neighbor/friend who is pregnant. We ran into another woman, holding her newborn, and my friend commented that her baby must have come early. The new mom said that yes, the baby came 2 weeks early, "Thank f***." Sorry for the nasty expletive...just thought that comment, about brand new life, says something for what is valued (or not) here. I pray for that baby who is born into a world of bonfires and parents thankful to an four-letter word for her arrival. May there one day be much more to offer her.
O, Bless the tourists.
Because in a sense, I am one too. I'm just one with "missionary" stamped on my passport, and perhaps on my heart. The process God has me on at the moment has me thinking, in general, about value. "Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also"-sort of thinking. I've also heard or read somewhere along the line that you show how you value you something by how much time you give it/him/her/them (is that from Purpose Driven Life?).
What do I value? What hurts my feelings? What part of my heart is close to God's heart? (Do we agree that the pain that takes place here is too much and unfair?)
For instance, yesterday I was walking over to a staff member's flat to watch a movie (instead of the World Cup...I'm such a girl...) and I ran into 2 young boys that I have known for nearly four years now, and they were around during this past week when StreetReach was on. Some neighborhood moms might be tempted to call these 2 boys naughty. I certainly have on occassion. Last night, though, they seemed cordial and willing to chat. I should make note here that I was carrying my purse, a bag of crocheting materials, and a bag of movies. I should also note that the two boys were each holding a full bottle of 2 liter soda. Really...what was I thinking?
We did actually have a lovely chat, about StreetReach, and the StreetReacher girl volunteers that they had little crushes on. Out of the blue, one of them started to shake their bottle. My head told me to run, but my heart told me to just wait, that surely after our nice talk (and 4 years of invested love) he wouldn't think of...
...he opened the lid and fizz like lava poured out of the bottle. Where was my reasoning at this point? He shook the bottle in my direction with a grin--instead of sprinting, with all the grace I could muster, I sort of fell off the curb. Rising to the sinister little laughs of my 2nd grace bullies, I left them with a weak interpretation of discipline..."That's enough guys, that's enough..." And I hobbled off with a skinned knee and a very bruised missionary ego.
But I value them, don't I?, because they were able to hurt me. And there's the lesson for us--to allow ourselves to be hurt by those we value. The experience is valuable if I can then show at least a pinch of God's grace to them. (Let me insert here, before I become a complete victim, that I have been on the giving end of hurt, recently, and have learned that it's those whom I value the most, receive the brunt of my hurting words and attitudes. Where is the sense in this, I know not. The shame, however, is enormous when I realize the ability I have to hurt.)
Have you ever been somewhere, like a summer little league game or a camping trip, where one moment the sun is shining and you're stripping down layers because of the heat, and the next moment your sweat turns to chills and clouds have appeared from nowhere? And the atmosphere is changing everything--how you dress, how you relate, what equipment you use, how you communicate, what you communicate.
The atmosphere on the Shankill Road (and I can assume other high-tension areas of Belfast) coming up to July 12th is thick with despair and hurt. It's like a change in the physical weather, it changes everything, and can't go unnoticed. Call it what you like, it's creepy. We were driving home the other day and turned onto the Shankill and I noticed the slight turn in my gut. Red white and blue flags are strung zig-zagged up the street, along with flapping Union Jacks and painted curbs. While it could seem to be a holiday that encourages community togetherness, I see it as a holiday that drives people to huddle around a flag pole. But they're nothing like confident. Their knees are knocking because they're so scared, wondering what would happen if someone took their flag.
Was walking up the road to do a bit of grocery shopping the other day with a neighbor/friend who is pregnant. We ran into another woman, holding her newborn, and my friend commented that her baby must have come early. The new mom said that yes, the baby came 2 weeks early, "Thank f***." Sorry for the nasty expletive...just thought that comment, about brand new life, says something for what is valued (or not) here. I pray for that baby who is born into a world of bonfires and parents thankful to an four-letter word for her arrival. May there one day be much more to offer her.