Maktub.

“We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it’s our life or our possessions and property. But this fear evaporates when we understand that our life stories and the history of the world were writing by the same hand.” – Paulo Coehlo.

Christmas.

It’s an interesting time of year, Christmas. I can’t say I’m a big fan of carols and I don’t get why I’m supposed to be extra nice for a few weeks of a year. Christmas used to feel like a tradition, one I used to really enjoy. But, perhaps it’s just happened faster this year, or I just only now noticed it, but, it seems like Christmas is on a bit of a slippery slope.

I came across an interview with a marketer telling me that I am a brand and when I give a gift, I’m affecting my brand. So, apparently I give gifts to increase the popularity and respect of myself and appease the greedy consumerist desires of those around me.

When I think of the Christmas of my childhood, each Christmas morning my family read the Christmas story together. A story about the coming of Christ into this broken and cracked world. It all begs the question of what is Christmas really about and how do we practice that?

It’s about the coming of Jesus. Jesus moving into ‘our’ neighborhood, ‘our’ turf. It’s about the actions of God who loves us so, that he would send his son, to eventually die by our hands but so that we might know Him. This time of year should not be celebrated and characterized by a cocktail of consumerism and stress, but by further and fresh surrender.

It is a time of year to celebrate what God has done and furthermore doing. Christ came for the sick and that we might know God and have life in it’s fullest. God himself, Christ, comes as a child. God gives us justice, peace and joy. This is Christmas.

I pray that this Christmas will not be tainted by wrapping paper, awkward conversations, bloated stomachs and afternoon naps but that it will be a Christmas marked by shalom. A Christmas where Christ is remembered. A Christmas when we recognize that we have been given the gift of God’s grace through Christ, who came on Christmas day.

Under the knife.

The most ridiculous t.v show is on. It’s about plastic surgery – ha.

There is this guy, who looks like a seedy european version of Willem DaFoe getting implants. Here’s the stunningly vain tid bit: he was getting implants under his biceps.  Why? So that this biceps could look larger and more symetrical. He had already had pectoral implants so that his chest looked more ‘buff’. The funny thing, was that when he wasn’t flexing his chest they looked more like the female counterpart than toned muscle.

Yawn.

A reflection from a learning leader.

Last Friday night, I found myself taking a few prospective students up to the gappers hallowed ‘point’.

The point is a cliff like thing, a little off the beaten track in the Blue Mountains. It’s a really pretty spot.

I was taking these kids up to the point at around 10 at night. It was dark and we were heading through a dark track.

I didn’t have a torch – I only had my phone to illuminate the path. It only shone like 5 feet in front of me. As I was leading some of the kids through rocky track, i realized:

Me leading them, with only this little light was not about me shining it so I could see. But it was about me, shining it just enough so that I could see my own feet and my next step but also far enough behind me that the person behind me could see every step between me and them.

High-Low.

The question that seems to be asked of me quite regularly lately is ‘what was the highlight and lowlight of your time in New Orleans?’

Here’s the beautiful thing: I really can’t say a lowlight. Anything ‘low’, I can see God’s hand over it.

But if I “had” to give a low light, it would be the being away from family and friends.

But again, the grass breaks through the concrete: the highlight was my new family and friends.

Now this was weird.

I have grown a fair distaste for mall’s. The other day, my mother wanted to take me to a specific shop to try these spanish donuts and hot chocolate – I figured I’d go.

While I was there, I saw something quite amazing. In amongst all this fashion and opulence, walks a homeless man. He was even carrying his flat piece of cardboard. Quite the picture.

Behind him were two girls, dressed to the nines, trying to look hip and all that,  who were half way between laughter and disgust.

Extrapolate that one til the cows come home.

Goodbye – sleep – hello.

C-tas

I’d have to think about how many days ago it was that I left. It all feels like a blur of goodbye – sleep – hello.

I left with such tremendous blessings like ‘you are one of us. When you leave, a part of us leaves.’

In this modern age, much of our definition of self has become about what we’ve done and experienced and what we own.

In New Orleans, with this bunch of self professed motley saints we defined ourselves under God and together as a tribe under God.

So sturdy up, sturdy up your heart,
for the road is long ahead.
I’ll be with you even though we’re apart,
but your road is yours to tread.
And so it goes.

Since being back it feels somewhat like I’m beating to the beat of a different drum. With divine assistance, I’ll beat on my own drum thanks. We might remain syncopated at times, others, it might be an awful clanging. The new mission: to keep beating – to worship – and to invite those I love and don’t yet know to pick up the same rhythm.