You never know...
Running church services at this time of the year is hard anyway, so many regulars are away. I was so frustrated before church this morning. We have one guy who looks after the sound desk in the church and for some reason it always plays up when he's on it. I play a DVD and the sound's too soft. There is feedback when people are reading. I want a meditative song to come on at a certain time and there's delays. It's not always his fault, but I get frustrated. Also I have told you before that I do not enjoy organ music and for most of the songs we had today I would have preferred other music other than the organ, but that is all that's available. In the last few minutes before church I expressed my frustration to my daughter. "You put a lot of thought into putting together a service but it is not supported by other parts of the church! Why on earth do I try so hard? What's the use? What difference does it make anyway?" Just before I walked forward to the platform a guy I know came into church. I greeted him and immediately he started to tell me of his adult son who had attempted suicide yesterday. (I had conducted the son's wedding about a year ago) I walked to the platform and surveyed the congregation. I saw someone who had recently had important surgery; another who had been battling cancer; a visitor couple who had lost two sons to cancer; and I could go on with other situations and circumstances. The theme of the service was "faith". "Good grief!" I thought, "What can I say that will support these people?"
After the service I made a beeline to the guy and asked more about his son. We were interrupted by a tourist who wanted music for three of the songs we used, she had been so helped by the service. She wanted to take a photo of me and her! I talked with a group of visitors who were so pleased they came,"It was good to be with you, such a good service!" My daughter came to me, she had been talking to the guy whose son had attempted suicide. He was glad he came, "He said it was just what he needed to hear!" she reported. "See," she said, "You never know! It was worth it! You made a difference." (I'll remind her of that when she's screaming at me in frustration.) It is a weird, scary and awesome responsibility, but also a privilege. I'll give it a go again next week.
Old is not useless!
On Boxing day I went into the Silver Peaks with my son for a bit of a day tramp. I wear an old back pack (see the photo) that I have had for years. As I tightened the waist belt the stitching gave way and the strap broke. I carried on but it led to a discussion with my son as he inspected the pack while walking behind me. "Isn't it time to get a new one?" he said. "It's well past it's used-by date! Look the stitching is breaking all over it!" As we walked and talked I worked out that I had bought the pack just after he was born. We were living in Australia and I was going to be study leader at a youth camp where they were going "bush walking" for a night. (the Australian term for a tramp) I purchased it at a K-mart store for $12. (which sounds cheap - it was the cheapest I could find - but was a lot of money for a married theological student in 1974) It and I had been on many a walk, and I tend to use it as a travel bag when I am going on trips away from home. I find it good to get off the plane and be able to sling it on my shoulder. I had sewed it up a few times. I like it, it is comfortable on my back, it has convenient pockets and as I walk it gives of a comforting squeak with each step. I objected to my son's "Get a new one" opinion and have since spent time with needle and nylon thread sewing it up once again. I guess as I sewed I got to talking silently to the pack. (I talk silently because they might lock me up otherwise!) I told the pack "Just because we are old does not mean we are useless! Given a bit of care we can still do stuff. Sometimes just when we are getting the hang of what life is all about we are dumped! Considered past our used by date! But we'll show them! You and I will still go on walks for a long time yet!" It is true, sometimes people see grey hair and write you off! "Bugger them!" I say. My old pack agrees with me.
Two good books...
While in Christchurch I purchased three books. One was about building houses in NZ. It will be good when I am expected to know something on the Habitat site. But two others I came across are great little books. They are picture books, like children's books, easily read, but meant for adults. They talk about "depression". "I had a black dog". (His name was depression) and "Living with a black dog" (How to take care of someone with depression while looking after yourself) I read the first in the bookstore and identified so much with it. The second also rang bells. I kept saying, "That's so true!". Some of you will know that I have a "black dog" who makes his presence felt from time to time. As I read the first I felt acknowledged, less alone and understood. "Someone else has the same struggles!" I thought. They are by Matthew and Ainsley Johnstone. I commend them to you if you or a loved one have a black dog.
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