Funny Little Moments

"Well, let's pray,"said Paul, seriously. The Calcot Group nodded in silence and we bowed our heads. What a time, I thought, to be eating a biscuit. For some reason, Paul and Heather had brought oversized cookies to group; the ones with great chunks of white-chocolate lodged in them.

I sat down, bowed my head, and tried to be serious. The trouble was, when I half-opened my eyes, I realised it looked like I was praying to a half-eaten biscuit. What do you do? I was holding it quite carefully between my thumbs and forefingers, like some holy relic. I'm afraid I got the giggles.

The thing is, I'm quite convinced that it's OK to get the giggles. In fact, I think these little 'funny moments' are more than OK. I think they're... kind of necessary. And kind of missing.

After all, have you ever considered what Jesus meant when he promised us 'life, and life in abundance'? I don't think he meant extra-meetings, or longer sermons. I don't even think he meant super-dooper hour-long worship times. I think he meant... what he said. Life: the whole kit-and-caboodle; the joy, the tears, the triumph, the disaster, the family, the friendships, the sobriety and the silliness, all spinning and changing and loving and laughing, like a rushing river, turning and twisting over the undercurrent of grace and bedrock of His word.

Those are the things the devil's out to steal, and kill and destroy - the things that make life rich and wonderful and far far far from boring. Aren't they? The things that are made whole and complete and are perfected in Jesus...

-

I composed myself and finished my biscuit. Of course, life is pretty serious sometimes. This week, (on the same day as it goes) I discovered that two of my friends have been diagnosed with epilepsy. Someone else I know said goodbye to his wife as she slipped into the night. A few days ago I lost the plot and sent a volcanic late night email with all the wrong words to all the wrong people. And things do get serious; I wouldn't suggest for a minute that life should be fluffy and fun all the time.

No, life's complicated. But it's also supposed to be balanced and wonderful. And I think those funny little moments are there to help. Like chunks of chocolate in an oversized cookie. Don't let them pass you by. Let your hair down, be yourself and have a giggle.

Or, like I did the other day at work, have a little bop. As I was popping and clicking and shuffling my shoulders, my colleague slid a piece of paper across the desk. 'Nice Dancing' it said. I pulled my headphones out, feeling a little sheepish. I didn't quite know how to tell him I wasn't actually listening to anything.

Alive

I felt alive, you know. That feeling when you get out of the stuffy house or the air-conditioned office, you breathe in the fresh air and you run to the top of the hill where the cool wind seems to blow everything else away.

You can shout into the wind up there. No-one will hear you. You can stretch your arms wide and throw back your head and shout until you're hoarse. You can let it push you over, rifle across you like a rushing torrent of the wonderful wild wind as you stand in its path. And you know you are alive.

This is what worship is like for me. This morning, standing on a wooden stage behind my old familiar piano, with a room full of people I love, I felt alive. There was no wind, no desperate race to climb the hill, and certainly no solitude. But there was God.

The thing is, it's what He does. He draws us aside in those moments of stuffiness, he calls us like the softest song on the gentlest breeze, and places deep within us that inescapable desire to search for something... more. Something we know we're missing.

"If anyone is thirsty..." whispered the voice in my heart. "If anyone is thirsty..." It rose and fell. "If anyone is thirsty..." stronger, louder it came, pulsing in my ears, "anyone... anyone... if anyone is thirsty... LET HIM COME..."

... and nothing else matters. Then suddenly, as we sing, somehow it's exactly like that mad impossible race uphill. It's breathtaking, it's crazy, it doesn't make sense but God is at the top and the wild, incredible, indescribable, untamable One is waiting and laughing and crying and hoping - just for that same moment with us - and I'm not going to miss this. I am not going to miss it.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like me; the real me. And I felt alive.

Flags in the Sand

I didn't go to London in the end. No, instead I walked along Royal Avenue, pulled my hood over my head and cracked open a can of Irn Bru.

The Fun Day we're arranging is next Saturday, and this morning I went over to the site to plan (roughly) what's going to go where. There are lots of problems. Most notably, the ground is not flat. In fact, it gently slopes away from the car park. Secondly, and most likely to flip me out, is that I can't seem to think quickly enough when everyone around me is trying to make decisions.

Actually, I think this feature in particular, is quite an important discovery in my ongoing chillout-quest. A flag, if you will. Is it possible to be chilled-out when everything is changing quickly around you as people are also thinking at speed to solve the same problems?

The solution, of course, is to be as organised as possible beforehand, and communicate it well.

The rain spotted out of the grey sky as I walked home. A boy waiting by a front door saw me pass by with my pad and my pen.

"Are you an artist?" he said. It made me chuckle.

I suppose I am. I do seem to do things creatively, whatever they may be. The more I think about this, the more I realise that this is probably another flag in the sand. Improvised, passionate strokes of the brush could create a masterpiece. But whatever you do, don't stand round the easel and chip in.

-

So, no open-top bus tour either. Hopefully I'll do my London trip in two weeks' time. After my morning, working out which way round a climbing wall should face, I decided to go into town. Waste of time. I think I might write a poem about multi-storey car-parks.

In other news, my Mum just used the word 'chillax'. I think I'd better check with CERN just in case they've done something funny to the fabric of the Universe.

Chilling Out

I'm on a quest to be a bit more chilled out.

I know, I know: 'chill out,' is what you say to someone who's over-stressed and looks like they're either about to punch someone or pull their own hair out. Right now, I'm not particularly stressed. In fact, I haven't been like that for some time. But I could easily get there I think. And there are plenty of opportunities coming up.

So, there is a plan.

"You need to ringfence some of your evenings," said Yinka. "Do something you really enjoy, take days off and get a hobby."

Good idea. So next week I'm going to London to sit on an open-top bus.

"Perhaps you need to disconnect from the rest of the world," said someone else. Yep. For some reason though, it's really difficult to switch my phone off and stop checking my emails. But. I shall do it.

This weekend, I'm in Ely with my friends. I've often wondered how environment makes a difference. Reading is where life happens, and almost everywhere else I go, everyone has learned how to chill out much more effectively. And so it's so much easier here. I slept like the world was a gigantic blanket and I was lost somewhere in it.

But then, this all might be because less is expected of me when I'm outside of my normal life. So, perhaps responsibility has something to do with it. Perhaps responsibility brings stress. But then you have to admit, that makes the most chilled-out of all, the irresponsibles, the layabouts and the workshy.

And so chilling out becomes this fine balancing act between taking up the things you're responsible for and not taking them too seriously.

And that sounds quite stressful.

I will think about this more. In the meantime, here's a not unrelated poem. Take it as deeply as you like...

Storm in a Teacup

Between the walls of china

Upon the boiling sea

we sailed upon a sugar-cube

Across the waves of tea

Across the torrid ocean

Beneath the scented sky

from bow to brown horizon

The nectar bubbled by

It bubbled and it troubled

And it slopped against the side

and the steam began to beam

upon on the overheating tide

And the ocean in a motion

turned about the troubled crew

as it whipped about the ship

like a storm about to brew

Then rain began to tumble

Like arrows on the sea

It lashed against the sugar-cube

And spiked into the tea.

The sea grew hot and angry

and the waves were high and steep

as the ocean pushed us skyward

and then dropped us to the deep

It grumbled and it rumbled

And it twisted and it turned

and it growled and then it howled

till the raging waters burned

And the crew upon the brew

Looked to heaven as we cried

should we sink upon the brink

of the effervescent tide

Then somehow in the distance

A ray of light broke through

And suddenly the brightened sky

was shining on the crew

And limping on the ocean

We raised the tattered sail

and all across the raging tea

the storm began to fail

Between the walls of china

Upon the boiling sea

We'd known a storm no finer

Than in that cup of tea