May one flame remain

6 Jan 2020

Australia is burning and our hearts are breaking. Today's CNN reports 15 million acres has been reduced to ash - an are larger than Belgium and Haiti combined. In New South Wales, close to half a million animals - up to 1/3 of koalas - have been killed. Thousands have lost their homes and over 20 people their lives. Smoke in Sydney has caused air quality to reach 11x the hazardous level. You know things are bad when its not just Asians that don face masks.

Instagrammers and news reporters describe the images as 'apocalyptic'. Celebrities promise their thoughts and prayers; a sign on a noodle bar in China Town asks for ours. New Delhi's Hindustan times say #prayforaustralia has trended on Twitter over 1million times. People are opening their pockets and digging deep like never before.

And suddenly, this secular, post modern society that 'believes in themselves' has seemingly become very.... spiritual.

Which makes me wonder:
Perhaps I'm not so strange when I say I pray to a higher power on a regular basis.
Maybe I'm not completely crazy to give a portion of my salary to the church and other charities.
What if it's not so weird to believe in the end of the world, supernatural revelation and life after death?

Amongst the destruction of these bush fires, maybe - just maybe - the faith on which our country was built is rekindling.

        And if one flame remains
                Dear God,
                may it be one of hope

Prayer... not such a silly idea? 

红包

2 Feb 2020

Its Chinese New Year, when traditionally, the family gathers, we squeeze into red clothing, lions dance, we eat like there's no tomorrow (even though its just the start of the year) and the older married people give 红包* to the young and single.

As I unashamedly collected my 红包 (what a great incentive to not produce grandchildren...) it got me thinking. And perhaps its a question for all of us to consider.

Money is nice and makes the world go round. But aside from material wealth what else is important for older generations to pass on to younger generations? And not just once a year, but every week, every day, every moment (driving, eating, being on devices) they're together?

And what about me? I may not be dishing out cash or raising kids. But what do I have to give (time, a listening ear, life skills...can you add to the list?) to those younger than me, here and now?

Fig 1. Unashamed single specimens showcasing 

*hong bao - red envelopes containing money 

New Year Shout Outs

Looking back on 2019, there are two shoutouts that I want to give. Just two - and they’re not to friends and family (Friends and family: I love you - but you know who you are, and everyone else doesn’t need to). 

       Shoutout number one is to my lovely clients (only the lovely ones, who, alas, I wish made up a larger proportion). The ones who are always so patient and honest, who trust me with their beloved pets and don’t complain about costs.

       Being a vet can be a stressful existence (marked by our poor mental health statistics and high turnover rates) but a big part of what keeps me going is the joy of working with decent and dedicated pet owners.

        The other shoutout is to my neighbours. John and Jessie the sort of retirees I want to be when I grow up: 5 am swims, gym classes, DIY/GrowIY and community service. She’s always ready to give me food and he to lend me a hammer or hand with my bike. I try to repay them with baking and dog advice. But both parties know its the cuppas and yarns that matter the most.  

        When I was a kid, we played with the kids next door, knew which neighbours moved in and out and got together for annual street parties. It was part of who we were and what we did. Nowadays we live in townhouses and apartments but barely share a nod – we’re too busy sharing GIFs far and wide. I know times have changed and often for the better. But bring back neighbourhoods, I say.

These people I’ve mentioned aren’t my friends on Facebook (or don’t have Facebook at all). They will likely never see this blog. But I wanted to mention them for 2 reasons:

           1.     Some of the most important people in YOUR life might not be your Facebook friends. I know its hard to believe, hence this lengthy post. 

           2.  We are ALL are clients and neighbours. Yes, YOU. You, too, have the chance to be lovely and make a difference in the lives (and longevity!) of your vets, doctors, physios, dentists, baristas - anyone you wait in line to see. 
           And likewise, you have the opportunity to build friendships with those next door. It may not involve the swapping of cupcakes and coriander over the fence (though FYI, those things help). But how much richer would our lives be if driveways became bridges...Laughter filled lifts...

...If we were all the subject of these shout outs.  

Journeys

Its Christmas morning and Esther is at Melbourne Airport reflecting on her group Christian Backpackers Meetup Melbourne. 

The tagline for Christian Backpackers  is ‘We’re all on a journey’. As well as pointing out the common ground for travellers, the more artistic of us might realise its metaphorical reference to other journeys. Our personal journeys. Our spiritual journeys. Everyone’s trying to get somewhere right?

But the path is oft not easy. The way is winding, confusing, uneven. They say God is love, but he sure seems distant sometimes. 

And so this is Christmas. Mary, Joseph and their little donkey, little donkey made the trek to O little town of Bethlehem. Shepherds left their flocks by night to confirm the great news and bundle of joy. Them three kings from orientar*, bearing gifts, travelled afar. And then there me: 6am at the airport, already tired from the trip home and there’s still 2 hours til take off.

We think of Jesus as the Holy Infant, so tender and mild. We think the travels centred around him, but in fact, he was a weary traveller too.  How long is the trip from eternity to earth? And how long is the road to calvary with a cross?

We struggle our way to him, but he’s already come down to us.
He places heaven on the horizon and walks with his hand in ours.

We’re all on a journey –
O traveller, walk with him.

*come on, didn’t you think it was one word when you sang this growing up?

All I want for Christmas

My Christmas wish
my prayer, even
is that in this sweet
yet struggling world
after a year of success and surprise
alongside volcanoes, bush fires, anti-government protests, mosque shootings and more -
God would once again meet us where we are.

That he would invade hearts and lives
- quietly, powerfully -
like he did that first Christmas.

I am reminded that he did not provide a quick fix back then
(we know better than to believe in those)
thus its unlikely he will do so now.

But that the ray of hope,
the comfort that flowed 
as his feet his the earth
was, and is,
all we need.

~~

How silently, how silently

the wondrous gift is given. 

So God imparts to human hearts 

the blessings of his heaven 

No ear may hear his coming 

but in this world of sin 

where meek souls will receive him 

still the dear Christ enters in. 

                                                                                             ~O little town of Bethlehem
                                                                                                                                                                      P Brooks, 1868

Discrepancies

The 1 December, the first day of summer. To mark the occasion, Melbourne put on a top of 16 deg and a relentless downpour. The next day, as a consolation prize, there was a high of 15 deg and a hailstorm. One could be forgiven for thinking there had been a serious mistake.

As I longed for mulled wine in my merino jersey, I mulled over similar discrepancies:

When the letters after your name say you’re a qualified surgeon, yet you don’t feel qualified to slice the pizza you’ll binge on tonight.

When you're head hunted and got that promotion - and still feel like unworthy to be a janitor in the building.

When he says you’re beautiful and proved it with a ring, yet you can’t brush your teeth in front of the mirror.

When you read 'Jesus died for the sins of the world' in your Bible and sing 'red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight' with your kids, yet can't help thinking you're his one exception.

Winter weather, when the calendar says summer.
The facts - and the feelings that suggest otherwise.
How do you dress for the discrepancies?

No one's suggesting you head out in a bikini. The storm is real.
Nevertheless head out; dress warm, head up.
Weather the weather and know deep down inside
it is
     indeed
          Summer

And that’s what its all about

If I were a fly in the sky I might look down from on high
and think that soccer was all about a ball.
For they chase that sphere
over here, over there
Seems so important even though its so small

If I were a bird up above watching from a power pole
I’d say soccer was about scoring goals.
For when the ball they try and get
goes into the net, they cheer -
realised fears and hopes.

If you were a spectator at our match
you’d be excused if you’re confused
and thought our games are all about food.
For our half-time feasts are enough, to say the least,
to fuel more than a few athletes.

But you know Mr Fly,
a ball is just a ball. Full of air and nothing more.
Its not the aim of our game

And, Dear Bird,
Goals in soccer (and indeed in life)
aren’t always measured by posts painted white.

But a feast – oh yes a feast
is close to what soccer means
Though it’s not because we just like to eat.

As we huddle around oranges and lollies
(and sandwiches/strawberries/muesli/baking/carrot sticks/salami...)
we rest, we’re fuelled
we hear wisdom, gain strength
to continue.

So soccer is a game
but for us its much more.
In many ways its a feast
for our souls 

Fig 1: One of the more modest half-time spreads of the Maribyrnong Swifts State 4 team

Small things

Lately, there's a Bible verse I've been bumping into. In the book of Zechariah, the temple in Jerusalem was being rebuilt. Amongst some interesting imagery, God tells the prophet not to despise the day of small things*.

Now, I'm no prophet, but I stopped to reflect:

- My dad made me my first violin out of a Kodak box and a chopstick

- When I started running, I lasted 10 minutes
- Halfway into my first soccer match, my team decided I seemed fit. They shouted for me to go striker. I had one question as I ran in the direction they pointed: 'Whats a striker??' 

- I came out of my first cat-handling practical bleeding and crying

- In my first gym class I could only lift the bar with no weights

- The first Christian Backpackers' event I organised, two people showed up. I showed up late, on crutches (refused to take a fractured ankle as a sign)

I've still got plenty small stuff on the go. But now: 

- My violin actually makes a sound (sometimes of questionable quality)

- I can run much, much further 

- I'm no striker, but am somewhat more soccer savy 

- I give cats tablets and take away their testicles
- I can lift bars WITH weights

- Christian backpackers is a growing community 

Don't get me wrong. This post - and that verse - is not about how you can achieve your goals with a bit of effort and positive thinking. Enough of that on the internet already. Besides, some things stay small (eg I've given up waiting for my growth spurt). Others go up and down in sin wave fashion.

But its to suggest that: if God is alongside you - carrying you, even - then on that day
   size
         doesn't
               matter 

*For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice Zech 4:10 

Far from home

If you’ve ever travelled, you'll know the what its like to spread your wings: the thrill of adventure; the satisfaction of independence. You’ll also know what it’s like – at times – to miss home and all that home entails. As we approach the festive season, the distance is more keenly felt.. 
  
Someone else was far from home for Christmas once. 

His name was Jesus..

Jesus is considered by many as a good man, a good teacher, a prophet, even. Christians believe him as the Son of God himself, which means he always existed in the heavens with God the Father. 

Until Christmas.

‘Will God really dwell on earth with humans?’ Solomon, the wisest man in ancient times, marvelled*. Answer: Yes. And we sing about it now, sometimes at shopping malls: ‘Hail the incarnate Deity’ ‘Pleased as [a] man with man to dwell, Jesus our Immanuel**’. ‘Word of the Father now in flesh appearing’ 

If you’ve ever been to a foreign country and felt out of place, imagine the step (down) Jesus took in coming to earth. Yet you wouldn’t have guessed - he seemed so… natural.

Christmas is significant to Christians for many reasons, one of them being that it shows God as a relational God. Our relationship with him was broken - yet he cared enough to send us not a script, a sign or an app, but his Son to show us the way back. To be the way back, even. It follows, then, that if we are made in the image of God, then we too are relational beings. Could it be that pangs of homesickness are evidence of this?
If you are far from home this year and feeling it, take heart. Jesus was far – incredibly far – from home that first Christmas. 

He left his home so he would never have to leave you.

*2 Chronicles 6:18

**Immanual = 'God with us’

The Helpers and Homeless

1 Dec 2018

Yesterday, a few of us helped serve the homeless at the Many Rooms' weekly kitchen. Prior to this, my only encounters with street sleepers have been, well, on the street (see this post to learn whether they have been positive or not). So I wasn't quite sure what to expect.

The guests drifted in between 530-630pm. Many were regulars, and seemed more comfortable than we.  The food prep was finished, so volunteers could either hang in the kitchen or meet the guests. We were a bit shy. Then I saw one of our group, Fred* talking to a guy in the corner. If he can do it, so can I. But first, I stopped to say hi. Turns out Fred's conversation partner was Dave, another volunteer. I didn't get to talk to strangers, as, soon after, Bob came with his guitar and we started serenading the crowd.

It occurred to me after: I'd thought Dave was homeless. People seeing me talking to Fred and Dave probably thought both of them were homeless (especially as I announced 'I'm going to talk to homeless people - anyone wanna come?'). People who knew Fred (he volunteers regularly) and saw him talking to me probably thought I was homeless (with a violin). One scruffy guy in front of me was arranging the tables and cutlery. He was also explaining the order of events. Despite his dress, I thought he was a volunteer. But I wasn't ever sure.

I surveyed as I played. Without aprons and name tags, one has a hard time distinguishing the helpers from the homeless. Crazy, huh? And offensive? We think our speech, or attire, our mannerisms -  even the way we eat - attest to who we are and to which sector of society we 'belong'. But in a place like Many Rooms, it appears they don't. Its very hard to judge.

Then again, why are we surprised? Aren't we all human? Made of the same stuff - by the same Creator? Don't we all bear his image - whether we're in baggy pants or a business suit?

Geez, I went to help, but might've been mistaken for homeless**! And did the homeless just help me understand something about humanity?

Now that was something I didn't expect.

The helpers... or homeless??

* All names changed 
**I've been mistaken for a Japanese and a shop assistant before, but not homeless!

No Idea

1 Nov, 2018. International Departures, Málaga Airport, Spain:

‘To Shanghai, via Helsinki’, I said, heaving my backpack onto the conveyor belt. She smiled and took my passport.
‘Oh…’ she said, her smile disappearing, ‘You don’t have….( and I thought she would say ‘a visa’ but no, she said)…. a Japanese passport?’
‘A what?’ I replied. I sounded confused but knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘A Japanese passport, she repeated, ‘This one if from…’ she flicked through the pages and turned it over, ‘This is from New Zealand’.
‘Yeah….Cos that’s where I’m from,’ What do you think? I bought this at the Mercardo?
‘But, you don’t have a Japanese passport?’ she asked me for (no kidding), a THIRD time.
‘Why do I need a Japanese passport?!’ I demanded.
‘For…’ she sounded like a little kid grasping at straws ‘For Shanghai.’
 Last time I checked, Lady, Shanghai was not part of Japan. 

‘I’m not from Japan!’ was all I managed.

She began to type furiously at her computer and scroll through some lists. Fed up, I then switched to Spanish. 

‘Que esta buscando?’ (What are you looking for?)

'Una visa', she replied. It didn't seem strange to her that I could speak her language, only that I didn't have a Japanese passport. I told her I didn’t need a visa as I was only in transit in Shanghai; I'd checked this already. She seemed surprised that Shanghai wasn’t my final destination (?But I’m from Japan right? Shouldn’t I have a flight to Tokyo?). 

If I wasn't so worried she wouldn't check me in, I would have scolded her, in Spanish*. I mean, I’d expect this kind of misunderstanding at the market, or on the street, but not at a FinnAir (yes, I will name and shame) check in counter .  I don’t blame anyone if ‘Kiwi’ isn't the top of their list when they see me. But surely proof is in the passport, and - this is what bothered me the most - why should it matter if I was/wasn’t Japanese in this particular situation?

Though it's related to race, I’m not labelling it as ‘racism’. Perhaps… Poor judgement? Naiivity? Stupidity?

It actually took me back to another airport incident, this time with my family. We were at the AirNZ check in counter, Napier. Us 3 girls must have been standing together at the front because the lady asked us ‘Are any of you over twelve?’
‘….We’re all over twelve’, we replied.
‘Oh! You’re ALL twelve?!’ she was genuinely surprised. (And I guess, seeing the stature of my mother, you might be too).
‘No, we’re all OVER twelve’, we repeated. And again, why should it matter, our age? We were travelling with our parents. Was she going to give us a toy or something for the flight?
She turned, and addressed me, only. ‘ARE YOU OVER TWELVE?’ she spoke not loudly, but slowly and clearly, so that, if needed, an 8 year old could understand.
‘I’m 21’ I replied with no emotion, no argument,

No idea

*I once did this to the tour guide in Bolivia. Poor guy. But after months and months of being asked weekly – nay, sometimes daily – if I was Japanese, he was the last straw.

Learning to Lose

27 June 2018

We lost our soccer match on Sunday. Which, unfortunately for us, is a familiar outcome (and hey, me being on team doesn't exactly help the situation). But this was a match we were meant to, had to, could have and nearly did win... except we didn't.

I know, winning isn't everything. Just being out on the field with my soccer buddies each Sunday is enough for me. I would have left long ago if it wasn't. But there's a certain amount of post-match frustration that needs to be processed every now and then.

My fuming was productive. I realised this: Growing up, I never really 'lost' anything*. No, I didn't have a sheltered childhood. A comfortable, competitive one, yes. But all my individual pursuits (blogged about here) didn't really lend themselves to 'losing'. There was definitely winning. In gymnastics they would award medals to third place. In chamber music contests there was a regional winner and the highly commended. At  junior pony club they'd award '6th ='s  until everyone in the class got a ribbon (I saw through that... but my ribbons still hang on my wall). And though at times coming second felt equal to coming last, we didn't really go around saying 'we lost'.

Then I sign up for soccer. And every weekend for the whole season, we're asked 'Did you win?'. (Those who know us better have toned it down to 'How did you go'?). Sports - like life - can be cruel. It doesn't matter if you were down 7-0 at half time or conceded 1-0 in the 89th minute. A loss is a loss.

Being rather experienced, then, I feel I can comment. Not to console myself, but to not let opportunity go to waste. You see, its easy to celebrate a win. But it takes a certain kind of person(s) to lose well. Victory may evade but there is much more to be gained:  humility, a fighting spirit, a tighter team, amongst others.

I don't know. I'm not a pro player (missed that boat) so can't speak for top level competition. But in our league at least, I feel its not so much about the result but

          Winning well
                 and
                    Learning to lose.

*Well, that's untrue. I lost lots of things: my surgeon teddy bear (left him at the fish and chip shop), my mum in the department store (she was too short to be seen above the clothing racks), my pack whilst travelling in Bolivia (read about the robbery here). My colleagues would tell you I some/oftentimes lose my train of thought, my mind or perhaps I've lost my marbles. 

Why? An Esther-essay on Child Sponsorship.

People don't often ask us 'why?' do they? Its usually 'when?' 'where?' or 'how?'. Today, on the topic of child sponsorship, I was asked 'why'. Why did I choose Compassion as an organisation? Why should others consider child sponsorship? I pondered these questions when I got home. And then, to satisfy my scientific-self, came up with this Esther-style-essay:

Child sponsorship through Compassion is personal, holistic and committed support.

Its personal because you are giving to a specific person, family, community. Your contributions don't dissolve into a large fund. Funds don't write back. But children do. Through letters, photos, updates and other wonders of modern technology, a relationship is built. When I think of my sponsor child Belén, I don't think of an automatic payment going out every month. I wonder how shes doing at school, how her mother and grandmother are and if she's picked any flowers in the field recently.

Its holistic because it not only provides financial assistance but supports academic, social and spiritual development. When I visited the centre where the sponsor kids like Belén go to after school, I saw their setup: Space for homework. Space for food (but wash your hands first). Little toothbrushes lined up to clean your teeth after.  Posters of Bible stories and memory verses.  There is church and a pastor connected with every centre.  I have sponsored children through other organisations (which are also amazing), but Compassion is overtly Christian, placing an emphasis on nurturing faith. If we feed the hungry but leave souls starving I just feel we are withholding a large chunk of good.

Child sponsorship is preferable to other forms of giving because it is committed and consistent. In our day and age, commitment and consistency are qualities that even the church often lacks, especially in our financial lives. But sometimes we just need to weigh up, sign up and then rely on God for when things get tight. From the organisation's point of view (don't forget they have feelings too), consistency is key. Planning, budgeting and the efficient use of funds is much easier if there is a steady flow of income, rather than yearly EOFY donations of varying amounts.

Come to think of it, all of the above kinda characterises Jesus' giving. When God gave, he didn't drop pennies into a 'salvation fund'. Jesus came in a skin bag to relate personally. His commitment to the cause could not be wavered by hunger, crowds  nor the devil himself. He sacrificed much more than a couple of coffees a week to save our souls. But he cares about our skin bags too, our families, our facebook friends and weekly paychecks. And aren't we thankful for how he extends grace to us consistently, again and again, when we don't deserve it.

If he is our model and motivation, if he really did welcome the little children to come to him, then I guess its no surprise that child sponsorship reflects the heart and character of Jesus.

Reason enough for me to keep funds flowing.


To find out more about Compassion, go to https://www.compassion.com.au/sponsor-a-child
To see my previous post after spending a day with Belén, see http://avetintheoyster.blogspot.com/2014/11/enabling-heroes.html