community at 37,000ft

I've just gotten back from a friend's wedding in Germany. We flew there and back, and it's the first time I've been on a plane in five years or so. As we floated through the sky in a large metal tube, kicking chalk out of the engines as we went, I twice received gifts of kindness from strangers. Due to the immense heat, the diam encrusted milka I was munching melted, causing a plane travellers nightmare: sticky fingers. The lady next door offered me a wet wipe, and suddenly a burst of freshness came over me.

After the flight had landed, I left the plane. With my feet on the ground (but my head still firmly in the clouds!) I left my coat on the plane. A kind passenger reminded my friend that I was wearing a coat when I came on the plane. A new coat, which I had bought the week before nonetheless! I ran back onto the plane, and in German (even though the cabin crew were bilingual!) I explained that I had left my jacket on the plane. As I entered the cabin once again, there, accompanying my coat down the aisle was a german man. He passed me my coat. "Thankyou!" I exclaimed loudly.

The small things blow me away sometimes: the kindness of strangers, the friendship that you find in the most desolate places. An expression of community at 37,000ft.

breaking through the skin

Not for the first time in my life, I realised this week that I share something in common with a 10 month old baby (no cheap shots please!) As the picture suggests, I'm currently teething. The pursuit of wisdom can frequently be a painful experience.

It seems that these times shape us. As I mentioned in my previous blog, we were broken into a couple of weeks back. They've come and put a new back door on now, but it doesn't look as safe as the last one. I was a little concerned. However, I'm also really conscious that I do not want to live in a fortress. My view is that too many people want to shut the world out, and live a nice little life in a laboratory, utterly secure from natural interferences. It's the sterility that came two weeks previous that I want to avoid in my response. Jesus never asked us to pursue quaintness.

So I vowed never to live that way. I hope I can model surrender to Jesus, without ever resigning to less than God given circumstances. Part of this adventure is that danger lurks around some corners - it's how we rebalance ourselves that determines our fate through this jungle. So I'm asking God to enter again (as if he ever exited!), and make this a safehouse. A place of peace for all who enter in. Jesus was not stolen. And he never will be. So I'm praying that out of my mouth bursts a new and relentless forgiveness and passion. That he heals those wounds, enabling me to sit at his table in confidence.

the long road home

30th Birthdays. It might sound scary, but I still remember my parents'! I was six, and remember kicking a football across our farmyard with my dad's university friends, eating far too much cake and laughing for what seemed like forever as my brother, sister and I were chased by a very funny man named Kev! It was hilarious and memorable.

I went to my second 30th Birthday party ever last weekend, and it was great. One of my friends had reached the grand old age, and had organised a really great evening over in the Wirral, with some awesome food, good activities and lovely people.

Towards the start of the night, I received a phone call from my housemate. He told me that our house had been broken into. They stole some stuff, and I was pretty gutted. As much as I tried to put a brave face on it, as we got in the car to go home, the reality dawned on me - I was going back to face a scenario which I dreaded.

Yet I wished I was there. My heart was beating faster as we got ever closer, the car chewing up the M53 as we drove towards the ringroad. I had an irrational urge to assess the damage, fix the problems and turn things around. And yet amidst it all was the knowledge that I was powerless. I could not do anything. Resignation entered my soul, and I sat with the cold energy saving light bulb shining with sterility in the middle of our front room. Burgled. Our stuff was gone, our home felt empty, open and vulnerable.

And I realised something. We live in this sterile place. It's not morbid blog, so it'll warm up in a second! We live in these tensions all the time: wanting to be there, but dreading what we'll find, if only we were really, truly honest with ourselves. If only we were prepared to sit under that light bulb in all it's unflattering glory and stare at the painful truth that we cannot do it ourselves. We need help. We're all on this journey, but the street lights guide the way, and we journey with friends. Let's be unafraid.