Monday, October 19, 2009
New Pictures!
Check out the latest pictures from the latest event in Belfast! http://picasaweb.google.com/lynnea.hunter/BelfastCityHallGrandReOpening?feat=directlink
Friday, October 16, 2009
Granted
"Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened." --Jesus in Matthew 7: 7-8
Someone once said (and not too wisely, I might add,) “There is a time and a place for everything. It’s called college.” Right. Well, I did dip into my fair share of stupidity—sometimes more than my fair share—but I also learned plenty. I can’t tell you much of what I learned from the classroom except a few knots, some debriefing techniques, and some cool things called the Roshoman Effect and standpoint theory which are cool cultural anthropology terms that I’ll get into later. Most of what I learned in college was outside the classroom. When I moved out of the dorm (officially) and got my first apartment with a roommate, I learned a lot. One thing I remember clearly is being surprised at what I missed from home. I never realized that I took the garbage disposal and dishwasher for granted. I noticed for the first time when the floor needed to be vacuumed (albeit, long after my mother would have noticed) and I missed being able to borrow Daddy’s car. I learned just how tiring complete and total personal responsibility can be. I honestly never thought I’d have to learn this lesson all over again.
I still miss the garbage disposal and the dishwasher, although I do notice earlier now when the floor needs to be vacuumed. And Belfast has a good public transportation system (plus the whole “driving on the left” thing still freaks me out) so I don’t miss my car as much, although I do miss the ease of being able to go wherever, whenever without relying on the bus. However, I never thought I would miss the softness that comes from clothes being dried in a tumble dryer (it’s all clothes lines here.) And the super-lazy convenience of knowing that if something is plugged in, it will probably turn on. (All the outlets here are fixed with their own switch, so you have to make sure that’s turned on as well as the appliance you want to work; takes some getting used to.) And I certainly never thought I would miss the assumptions I was able to make about people based solely on the fact that they, like me, were Americans.
I suppose “miss” is the wrong word. I don’t really like the fact that I made assumptions about the people I worked with, but now that it’s been brought to my attention, I do admit that it makes life easier. With the youth and young adults I worked with back home in the States, whether in church or in school, I automatically knew that, yes, while they all came from different backgrounds and had different life stories—some much harder than others—I was also pretty safe in the knowledge that none of them grew up in a sectarian society where “church” was the enemy and the entertainment in the rougher neighborhoods was to throw homemade bombs across peace walls. Even the younger ones here, while life has calmed down hugely from what it was, and peace and reconciliation seem to be more and more in the forefront of the public conciseness, the sectarianism is still here. Divisiveness is still strong and permeates nearly all aspects of life. The wounds run deep, and while the youth (15, 16, 17) might not have been directly affected, their older brothers and sisters, parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, teachers, neighbors, and friends were.
How do you start a conversation about the mercy, grace and love of God with someone your own age whose first memory is of their own father being shot dead in the street? How do you explain the compassion of Christ to a child whose only experience with emotion is rage? How do you begin to describe the Holy Spirit, “who intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words,” to a man who has no spirit left after the murder of his daughter? In a society where “church” is the enemy, how do you begin to bring Christ into lives and hearts without sticking your foot in your mouth, or, worse yet, coming across as the “know it all, missionary American,” once again sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong into things which you have no concept of and never will? These are questions I ask every day. I highly doubt I’ll ever get a straight answer—God doesn’t seem to work in straight answers for me—but I do know that in the meantime, Christ will have to come through me. This is a terrifying thought. As a Christian I have asked to be His hands and His feet, to be His mouthpiece. He has told me to "Go," and I have gone, but how can I, a lowly, 25-year-old who takes her own garbage disposal and clothes dryer for granted, be Christ to these people? How is this not the most presumptuous thing I’ve ever thought of?
The band Hillsong United has a song entitled simply, “Hosanna.” The bridge is one of the most beautiful and most dangerous prayers I’ve ever prayed:
Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like You have loved me.
Break my heart for what breaks Yours
Everything I am for Your kingdom’s cause
As I walk from earth into eternity.
Well, I have certainly learned to not take my prayers for granted.
Open up my eyes…
Show me…
Break my heart for what breaks Yours…
Everything I am…
God does not send you gifts and abilities outright. He sends you opportunities to use the gifts and abilities He’s already given you, and thus hone them and sharpen them. And when you ask for opportunities, He gives them.
Someone once said (and not too wisely, I might add,) “There is a time and a place for everything. It’s called college.” Right. Well, I did dip into my fair share of stupidity—sometimes more than my fair share—but I also learned plenty. I can’t tell you much of what I learned from the classroom except a few knots, some debriefing techniques, and some cool things called the Roshoman Effect and standpoint theory which are cool cultural anthropology terms that I’ll get into later. Most of what I learned in college was outside the classroom. When I moved out of the dorm (officially) and got my first apartment with a roommate, I learned a lot. One thing I remember clearly is being surprised at what I missed from home. I never realized that I took the garbage disposal and dishwasher for granted. I noticed for the first time when the floor needed to be vacuumed (albeit, long after my mother would have noticed) and I missed being able to borrow Daddy’s car. I learned just how tiring complete and total personal responsibility can be. I honestly never thought I’d have to learn this lesson all over again.
I still miss the garbage disposal and the dishwasher, although I do notice earlier now when the floor needs to be vacuumed. And Belfast has a good public transportation system (plus the whole “driving on the left” thing still freaks me out) so I don’t miss my car as much, although I do miss the ease of being able to go wherever, whenever without relying on the bus. However, I never thought I would miss the softness that comes from clothes being dried in a tumble dryer (it’s all clothes lines here.) And the super-lazy convenience of knowing that if something is plugged in, it will probably turn on. (All the outlets here are fixed with their own switch, so you have to make sure that’s turned on as well as the appliance you want to work; takes some getting used to.) And I certainly never thought I would miss the assumptions I was able to make about people based solely on the fact that they, like me, were Americans.
I suppose “miss” is the wrong word. I don’t really like the fact that I made assumptions about the people I worked with, but now that it’s been brought to my attention, I do admit that it makes life easier. With the youth and young adults I worked with back home in the States, whether in church or in school, I automatically knew that, yes, while they all came from different backgrounds and had different life stories—some much harder than others—I was also pretty safe in the knowledge that none of them grew up in a sectarian society where “church” was the enemy and the entertainment in the rougher neighborhoods was to throw homemade bombs across peace walls. Even the younger ones here, while life has calmed down hugely from what it was, and peace and reconciliation seem to be more and more in the forefront of the public conciseness, the sectarianism is still here. Divisiveness is still strong and permeates nearly all aspects of life. The wounds run deep, and while the youth (15, 16, 17) might not have been directly affected, their older brothers and sisters, parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, teachers, neighbors, and friends were.
How do you start a conversation about the mercy, grace and love of God with someone your own age whose first memory is of their own father being shot dead in the street? How do you explain the compassion of Christ to a child whose only experience with emotion is rage? How do you begin to describe the Holy Spirit, “who intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words,” to a man who has no spirit left after the murder of his daughter? In a society where “church” is the enemy, how do you begin to bring Christ into lives and hearts without sticking your foot in your mouth, or, worse yet, coming across as the “know it all, missionary American,” once again sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong into things which you have no concept of and never will? These are questions I ask every day. I highly doubt I’ll ever get a straight answer—God doesn’t seem to work in straight answers for me—but I do know that in the meantime, Christ will have to come through me. This is a terrifying thought. As a Christian I have asked to be His hands and His feet, to be His mouthpiece. He has told me to "Go," and I have gone, but how can I, a lowly, 25-year-old who takes her own garbage disposal and clothes dryer for granted, be Christ to these people? How is this not the most presumptuous thing I’ve ever thought of?
The band Hillsong United has a song entitled simply, “Hosanna.” The bridge is one of the most beautiful and most dangerous prayers I’ve ever prayed:
Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like You have loved me.
Break my heart for what breaks Yours
Everything I am for Your kingdom’s cause
As I walk from earth into eternity.
Well, I have certainly learned to not take my prayers for granted.
Open up my eyes…
Show me…
Break my heart for what breaks Yours…
Everything I am…
God does not send you gifts and abilities outright. He sends you opportunities to use the gifts and abilities He’s already given you, and thus hone them and sharpen them. And when you ask for opportunities, He gives them.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Today I Rode My Bike...
That's right. I rode my bike. Well, not really my bike, per se, really more like the house bike, but none the less, I successfully rode it from my house to work, and back again. As anyone who's known me very long will tell you, this is quite a feat. Bikes and I don't really have the best of working relationships (or any relationship, for that matter.) I have a tendency to end up in the hospital or at least in the infirmary, and rides are usually accompanied with lots of choice words. And that's riding on a bike trail in the States, not navigating traffic at night in a foreign city that's not that friendly towards bikers to begin with where people drive on the "wrong" side of the road. It was a small accomplishment, but an accomplishment still. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
