A weekend away

FJ surprised me for my birthday. Now you need to understand that this is not the easiest thing in the world to do. Since childhood, I have been known to discover any plans or presents that have attempted to be hidden from me. I have clawed through cupboards that weren't mine, dug up gardens, and interrogated family and friends until they caved and revealed my pending gift.

I have "surprise phobia" you see.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, and although I trained as an actor back in the day, I'm awful at showing delight for gifts I am not delighted by. It's a family thing. My dad will often ask why we thought he would like a gift we've spent months planning for him. My brother will say thanks and ask if I kept the slip. We're honest like that. I know how ungrateful it may seem, but it's just the way we are. So when I receive a crocheted doily for the top of my couch from some loving person wanting to wish me a happy birthday, I rather wish they hadn't, and show it.

So FJ took a huge risk by attempting to surprise me.

He was cunning in his planning though. He very sneakily planned a weekend away while hiding the other gift he had bought for me. I rummaged his cupboards. Searched his car. But the clever husband of mine had left my gift at his office so I had no way of finding it. My punishment was that I only got to receive it the night of my birthday (I'm a wake-up with singing and boxes of gifts I already the contents of kinda guy). In all my attempts to find a tangible gift (which turned out to be a wireless keyboard for my iPad), he was plotting a secondary surprise to take me away for the weekend to Cullinan. And not just that, to take me microlighting.

Why he wanted to take me microlighting is still beyond me. Nothing about me says please strap me to a hangglider with a tiny propellor while I fly 6500 feet in the air.

The gentleman who did the real piloting was an enormous cattle farmer from the area. I was propelled through the Cullinan sky (screaming internally) with the biggest man I've ever had between my legs (ahem), and every now and then got the courage to look down to see the tiny houses and big hole Cullinan is so famous for. As I landed I surprisingly couldn't stop grinning. I would never have chosen to do this kind of thing, probably never will again, but it was fun.

Of course FJ took to it like a fat girl to cake. Looking all Top Gun-like as he strolled off the "plane", while I looked like a terrified animal, with a bad case of  helmet hair, in headlights.

These surprise things can be fun... after the event. But I've had enough surprises for the year, okay. Feet firmly on the ground unless someone is there to offer me chicken or beef. And nothing that requires protective headgear. Please.

A start

That voice I said I wanted to find got lost in the busyness. Eventually the busyness consumed the voice and when it emerged there was just too much to say.

So I decided to be quiet.

Reading back I see darkness, but I was happier than ever before.

Life gets more confusing the older you get. When you're younger you think you can do anything. As you get older you learn to work with what's in your hand, try make sense of the confusion and accept it. Some may call it being tired.

I call it worship.

Worship of a life that's good because it's honest, because it's questioned, because it's full of fear and confusion and clarity, because it's real.

Lucky. True. Hopeful. Terrified. Brave. Weak. Strong. Reliant. Independent. Rational. Irrational.

Beauty.

A letter... from the lost

Dear Barry

A friend and I spoke about you on Sunday. You were both of our friend you see. And we had both experienced you in our lives significantly. And we were both grateful that you were a part of it.

I enjoyed talking about you. I still feel sad when I see your profile on Facebook and often find myself going there to see the posts from people who still think of you too. I know we never spoke often towards the end of your time with us, but when we did, man it was cool... and funny, and usually full of too many things we both had opinions on.

The thing we both shared was our faith, in a God who sent his son to die for us, who loved us unconditionally, even though I was gay and you swore like a trooper. :)

We also shared a love for the Church. A longing to touch the people in our cities and tell them about the same God we both had devoted our lives to serving.

And then you lost your life.

And I lost my faith.

Now don't think it was all about you, Barry. But you dying clinched the deal. A friend who reads this blog commented on the last post and asked what exactly I did believe in now. Did I suddenly feel like everything I used to believe in so passionately was now a lie?

I want to answer her.

But somehow I feel like you would be the only person who would understand me, and get me to a place of understanding.

So here goes...

I don't know what I believe anymore.

I can't help but believe that if there is a God, he or she is not really that interested in us. Especially after you died. You were so full of life. And when I heard you were missing, man, did I pray. I remember sinking to the corner of the garage outside my office and begging God for you to be found. Found alive and breathing, and able to return to the family who loved you and the congregation who listened to your every word each week.

I begged.

I had faith.

And this God I loved, was silent.

And so were you.

Jenny and I spoke about your death. She finds comfort in knowing that you live on with God. I find distress knowing that you have young children who won't remember you. And a family ripped with grief.

I am angry. Not just about you. I'm angry that I'm lost. I'm not sure I've been this sad inside for so long ever. I'm angry that a part of who I am makes me wrestle with the community of believers I once devoted my life to. I'm angry that I don't belong. I'm angry that I care that I don't belong.

And I'm sad. I can't fight the sadness anymore. And after Jenny and I spoke, I realised you and I needed to chat. Get this out in the open, because the silence is consuming me.

I miss your presence. I miss our God. I miss the moments we shared and the impact we had. On each other. On others. All for a higher purpose.

I wish I could believe in that God. I wish I could believe that he is in control.

I wish I could believe.

But I can't.

I wish you were still here.

You live on. Always.

Much love
C

Easter - a sad time

In the midst of long weekend and public holiday mania, I was surprised to find myself feeling quite blue this easter. I should have been enjoying the holidays (and I did, so I should have been enjoying them more I suppose) but I had this weird emptiness and longing that I was rather scared to spend time reflecting on in case it forced me to rethink my life (I have moments like that, y'know).

FJ was working for a significant chunk of the easter weekend and while this makes me sad (I'm terrible at being alone in the house - I feel like I should be doing something but don't know where to start so I decide to do nothing and then feel all anxious about doing nothing so start thinking I should be doing something but don't know where to start so I do nothing so then I just eat and then I feel anxious about eating too much and then think I should go to gym and decide to eat more rather... annnnnyyyyywwwwaaaaaayyyy), my sadness wasn't due to him being at work.

In a surprise turn of events, I was actually sad because easter was no longer as significant for me as it used to be. I posted on Facebook how easter used to be a time of huge excitement in my life - working as a pastor meant that it was a time of real celebration, where hundreds of other Christ-followers and I would get together, break bread, sing songs and proclaim the words "He is risen indeed" loudly and proudly. I have such special memories and so many songs I remember us singing that as I started humming them to myself this weekend, I suddenly got all tearful.

I vowed a while ago that I would not set foot in a church (well, a specific denomination) after they treated a Minister who was lesbian and got married, very badly (in my opinion). And yet, there I sat, longing to be back in the pews joining the masses of believers. I've undergone a massive change in belief over the last few months and while I no longer call myself a Christian, I do miss the community that comes with Christianity. I suppose that's because it's the only thing that really makes Christianity real - the people who believe in it. And those people I really enjoyed being a part of. AndI suppose that's why their rejection of who I was because it didn't fit into their mould of what it meant to be a Christ-follower, hurt me so much. And leaves me feeling sad. I felt like I was mourning the memory of a break-up while they were celebrating the resurrection of their Messiah who died so we no longer needed to live by law or in judgement, but in the knowledge that the kingdom of God is at hand. For all. Yet, I mourn because I feel judged by those who subscribe to a school of thinking that says my marriage to a man is deplorable.

Now I know not all Christ-followers believe this. And I celebrate the Church's choice to wrestle with the acceptance of gay people. I heard of a preacher who spoke this weekend and prayed about mourning on Good Friday. One of things he mourned was that sexuality, which was a gift from God to all, was now the cause of derision and division in the Church. I have experienced a Church divided, and left the war defeated, and hurt, and angry.

Now I watch the war from the bleachers, and I just feel sad.

Lady Gaga sells her soul to the devil?

I received a mail today. I receive a lot of mails, most of them are necessary to maintain the work-thing, but now and then I get a pearler. Today it was a mail about Lady Gaga. Now this is not the first mail I've received about Gags - I've received a broadcast message on BBM about how she has sold her soul to the devil and that the song Alejandro is actually a prayer to the devil.

The mail today was in a similar vein. I've edited it but left the highlights for you to enjoy:

Unusual pop icon Lady Gaga is reportedly being treated at a Los Angeles county hospital for third degree burns, which she sustained during a bizarre ritual at her $40 million Beverley Hills mansion. According to Manuel Perez, a gardener at her estate, the star had instructed him to create a pit filled with coal and dry foliage at the recess of the garden. He said Gaga had told him the pit would be used for a bonfire. Esther Lamb, a maid working at Gaga’s estate, says she was woken from sleep by a woman shouting at midnight. Upon looking out her window from the maids quarters, Lamb witnessed a bizarre ritual, in which she reportedly saw Gaga dressed in a flowing black robe, dancing around a huge bonfire, screaming. Gaga then plunged herself into the flames. Lamb immediately called 911, and ran out to the garden shouting for help. Sources at the hospital report that a screaming crying Gaga was wheeled in by paramedics at 1am, covered in bruises and burns. 

 Said paramedic Michael Harris, “Her eyes were glazed over and she just focused on one spot in the ambulance, she had her arms outstretched like she wanted to hug someone.” Gaga started repeating “I have to go, I have to go.” When questioned on where she has to go, Gaga said “My dark prince is asking for me and I have to pass through the fire to be with him ‘cos that’s where he gaga satanic lives.”

Critics say that the “dark prince” is the words often used by Occult worshippers when referring to Satan. Suspicion about Gaga’s affiliation to Satanism and its practices are clearly depicted through the various symbols and imagery in her music videos. 

Both Perez and Lamb have been dismissed from their duties for speaking to the press. Gaga’s agents have thus far been tight lipped about the bizarre fire ritual, and media publicity is being avoided via threats of lawsuits. Analysts say that they are not surprised by the silence, as revelation of  such bizarre practices will shine the spotlight on the music industry and the many dark truths that it conceals.

Ah, I had to laugh. I'm no fan of  L-Gag - I was around when Madonna did much the same thing to get her name in lights. But she sure is genius. Everyone is talking about her. And there's no disputing that the girl can sing.

In case you were wondering, this "article" is not true. And I think the Christians who believe that Gags is where she is because of the devil gives the devil way too much credit. But then again, surely anyone who claims that gays are "born this way" must be from the devil? Witch!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnyyyywaaaaaaaayyyyyy... Lets put this all into context - call it a dose of reality: She knows how to work a crowd, use her pipes and get people to notice her. That's her power.

Images are not mine

Remember

Remember those days?

Remember when you had something to say? When your voice was loud, and  out, and proud? Remember when you wanted to change the world... one blogpost at a time. Remember when authenticity inspired you? When truth motivated you? When the desire to present humanity in what others saw as different kept you awake with excitement all night?

Remember?

And then the unthinkable happened.

They got to you. Those who wanted to quench your passion. They quietened you. They made you just like the god they believe in - silent.

Then why did you wake up angry this morning? Why did you wake up and feel sad that you have been silent? Why did you feel the cathartic need to express this in a post?

Perhaps the times are changing. Perhaps it's time to redefine.

Writing is my attempt to find my voice.

My voice wishes to be heard again.


  

What are your responses to this?

You can read my response to the initial news here...