Monday, February 06, 2012

What is joy?






This, for me, is JOY:

Dogs and children frolicking in the creek on a hot summer's day. A picnic lunch. Ice cold drinks. Sand between your toes and the smell of the water.








Molly is the light of my life. She's a 4 year old cattle dog mix that doesn't quite understand that she's not a lap dog. She was rescued from an abusive neighbour, and is only now beginning to show signs of healing psychologically.

She has cost more money that I ever imagined I've have, she farts pure sarin gas and she has a quirky habit of shredding pillows and assorted manchester in the middle of the night.

I miss her when I leave the house in the morning and I can't wait to get back to her in the evening. I love the feeling of curling up with her at night and I don't mind being woken up from a deep sleep by having my face polished with big, wet sloppy kisses.

I love our morning walks, and our evening walks. I love watching her play fetch with the other dogs in the neighbourhood, and I love watching her hunt flies along the windowsills. I love that she won't let me get into the car without her, and that she has to be persuaded that dog stays home when the human goes to work.

I've adjusted to the fact that vacuuming is now a daily event, and I always remember to check that I have the correct number of dogs before retiring for the evening.

She gladdens my heart, and her presence in my life makes me a kinder, gentler human being.

But I am blessed with even more happiness!

* having the neighbours drop by for an impromptu glass of wine (or two) before dinner.

* having the neighbour's kids in and out of the house of a weekend, picking avocados from the tree in the yard, building a tree house next door, steam cleaning my walls or hosing off my deck... (yes, I actually hired them to do those chores!)

* sitting on the couch after work with dog and watching Friends, Dr. Who and the occasional episode of The Mentalist.

* the quiet hour (or two) before bed where I can roll up my sleeves and get stuck into a mystery computer game.

* lying in bed with aforementioned canine and watching the stars outside my window, or listening to the rain, the flying foxes and the lowing of cows echo through the valley.

* Sunday morning spent worshiping the incredible God that has given me all of this, in a small church made up of people who know and care for one another, and who pray for one another

Life is blissful. This is my idea of joy - and I am reluctant to consider giving it up.

See, were the hubby and I to reconcile, I would have to give all of this up because his idea of joy is different to mine. Its not better or worse; but there is a huge, yawning gap between the two of us in terms of what gladdens our hearts, and makes us kinder, gentler people.

This, for me, is joy, and I don't want to let it go.....


Sunday, February 05, 2012

And now for something completely different...

http://www.buzzfeed.com/animals/awkward-cat-sleeping-positions

5 years on

Well, having revisited this blog recently (and having re-discovered some old gems that I had forgotten), I thought that it might be time to review, revisit and reflect, and indeed, to resume posting.

In all honesty, the last five years did not go well.

In fact, it sucked.

It started with dreams and hopes, and ended with the crushing reality of life. I am leaving those posts up so that you can see and relish the realities of idealism crushed under the wheels of reality, because real life is often more fascinating than fiction.

My marriage failed, and I am not entirely sorry about that.

Now there are those that would chastise a writer for speaking honestly and transparently, questioning whether or not some things should not be aired publicly. I realize now that that fear of honesty and transparency killed all of my writing ambitions and left me mute until today. So, if you are a writer and you fear judgment or retribution for your honesty - kill yourself now.

I have been deeply grateful to read articles in mainstream media from strong, courageous people willing to put their lives under the microscope and not fear the judgement and condemnation of those whose restrictive world view holds sway. I aspire to be someone who can be frank and honest (and maybe even funny at times) in her writing in the hope that someone, somewhere will connect with her experiences and say "wow. good to know its not just me!"

I can only speak from my own perspective - and for the other side of the story, well - blogs are still free. Anyone can start their own and put forth their perspective. The conflict and the drama is heady and personal - we can only state our position and hope that those with dissenting opinions will exercise their right to free expression as well.

Elsewhere.

So there.

Now that the disclaimers are out of the way, let's get to the heart of the matter, shall we?

As soon as I can reconcile myself to be as open and honest as I was before I married I will post my own thoughts and reflections on this life as it is.

Some of you may disagree, but some others may find comfort in the fact that you're not alone, and that in fact, S*** happens to all of us.

The Soon to be Next Ex Wife.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

So thaaaaaaaaaaaat's what she's been up to!

http://schoolgoblin.blogspot.com/

Monday, February 04, 2008

The Colledges: One year on

Today is Bruce and my first anniversary, and what an incredible year its been. Its been a year of incredible love, adventure, learning, growth, pain, joy, and amazing surprises.

I've learned so much:

I have learned that there is no such thing as a "fairy tale" marriage. Every marriage is real, and there is nothing wrong with that.

I have learned that it will never be perfect; but that doesn't mean it won't be brilliant.

I have learned that you can be angry with someone, but that your love, respect and admiration for them won't waver for a moment.

I have learned that you have to go into it committed to never come out: it takes no great courage or strength to divorce (anyone can give up or run away) - it takes incredible courage and strength to make your marriage work.

I have learned that there are three things that make a marriage work: love, acceptance and forgiveness.

And I have learned that I have the most wonderful man on earth for a husband.

Here's to another brilliant year with you, my love.......

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

An utterly pointless posting


There is nothing amusing, or charming or delightful about this post, as all of my posts are... ;-)



But I can't tell you how I've been hanging about for a year for the release of "Sweeney Todd". Sondheim is an amazing composer and librettist, but Sweeney Todd has been a favourite of mine for years.

I don't know how Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter will handle the incredibly challenging score (even the great Patty LuPone -who played "Mrs. Lovett" in the 2006 Broadway revival - admitted that the score was a complete b@stard); but I am so looking forward to hearing my favourite songs ("The Worst Pies on London", "A Little Priest" and "God that's Good") brought to life, and shared with people that have never been exposed to this marvellous work. Sweeney Todd has been a masterpiece since Angela Landsbury debuted the role of Mrs. Lovett)

While I have no idea how Tim Burton has handled the material, I hope that people that have never experienced the pleasure of Sondheim will truly enjoy this dark and delightful oevre...

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Confessions of a mad stepmother

I have a dirty little secret that for too long I have kept hidden. Its one that I have been afraid to discuss, because its something that no-one talks about. Something that makes me feel like a failure as a person, and one that for a long time, I felt was better off not seeing the light of day.

You see, I am a step-mother; and my filthy little secret is that I am not entirely comfortable with that.

There – I’ve said it.

I have not instantly and totally fallen in love with my husband’s son, our relationship and the idea of step-parenting as a whole.

My husband is a remarkable man; delicious, funny, spiritual, creative, decent, honest and a hundred other things besides. He is my best friend, my lover, my partner, my guide and my spiritual brother.

It’s why I married him. But he is also a father by another woman, and that’s awkward, to say the least.

In being placed in the position of instantly becoming a stepmother, some incredibly complex issues have been raised – and ones that for too long have been swept under the carpet because they are simply not things you talk about. In today’s world of complex family arrangements, it seems assumed that a person will be comfortable in whatever role they are plunged into, so experiencing discomfort with your assigned role is not an easy subject to raise.

Like most step-families, ours was brought into being under the burden of complex issues: Bruce never wanted to be a father – it’s the main reason we remain childless – and yet for better or for worse, he was cast into a role that was…well…. complicated. So we - as a couple - are bound to an ex-wife and a child that we simply have to include in our lives together. But we are not custodial parents – indeed, we only see Bruce’s son once or twice a week for a few hours. And figuring out the shape of a relationship in that context has been surprisingly difficult.

It raised questions for me that I felt had no answers: who am I in the life of this kid? Who is this child in my life? And who is this man I married when the child is around?

For him, I am not a “mother” of any sort: he already has a mother (and a very good one, I am told). And you cannot “mother” a child in only a few hours a week, anyway.

I am not a “friend”: he has friends, and the simple fact that I am socially on a par with his father makes that impossible.

I am not a guardian, teacher, pastor, social worker or any other adult paradigm that a child might encounter.

And for myself, I am not instantly and completely in love with him, although he’s a neat kid, and fun to be around.

And yet he’s not some random child that we are asked to babysit on a semi-regular basis. He’s my husband’s son – and my husband will have a relationship with him that I will never be a part of: indeed, my husband will share that part in the drama with another woman, which naturally feels as though it mars the completeness, or the wholeness, of our union.

If it weren’t so sadly prevalent in our society, it would be the stuff of soap operas.

Friends that I asked about all told me to ‘relax’, to not worry about it, to not get stressed over it. And yet, none of my friends actually are step-parents. None of them understands the challenges of the situation from the inside. And so, it was never discussed - until the other day in church, when I met an old friend of Bruce’s whose wife was going through the exact same thing I am. She, however (and God bless her mightily for this) was not afraid to talk about it – and in a curious way, that gave me permission to explore this idea; to air this dirty secret, if you will.

I went searching for resources on the intarwebs, and discovered, much to my relief, that there are indeed others in this admittedly awkward situation, and there are resources available to them.

Sally Bjornsen, author of “The Sassy Stepmother” says..

When I got married a few years ago, the media had just released a rash of reports on the dismal outlook for any woman over thirty hoping to get married. According to experts, I was in my marital sunset years and damn lucky to have landed a living, breathing straight man who wasn't drooling or in need of a sugar mama. I could hardly believe my good fortune…But, there was one minor detail; my knight had small family complete with two boys and an ex-wife nearby. Love-struck and relieved that there was still at least one good guy left, I willingly overlooked what seemed like mere minutiae at the time and pursed the relationship with gusto!… Distraught that I wasn't enamoured with my role as a stepmother, I sought some practical counsel from friends and family on the dos and don'ts of keeping the romance while helping to raise someone else's kids. Much to my chagrin I found that no one in my circle of confidants had any helpful advice because they hadn't been there.

In a review of a book called “Stepfamilies: Love, Marriage and Parenting in the First Decade by James Bray, Ph.D., and John Kelly”, I found that they had a chapter entitled “A Stranger in My Own House: The Part-Time and Full-Time Stepmother."

Without even reading that chapter, I knew exactly what they were talking about.

And in an article entitled “The Ups and Downs of Becoming an "Insta-Parent", the author says:

"Stepparenting can be a real shock for women who have never had any children of their own. Preconceived gender roles assume that women are automatically programmed to "mother" in a mothering situation. At the same time, stepchildren already have biological mothers who often resent another woman on her "turf ….

If she's been in contact with the children from the first marriage, she will frequently be put into difficult positions vis-à-vis people outside the relationship. …She may be treated with suspicion, be greeted with unsolicited advice on her role, or be burdened with unrealistic expectations.”

It was astounding to discover that others had not only found themselves in the same position; but were faced with the same emotional and practical challenges.

Often times, when confronted with my role as “stepmother”, I encounter feelings and attitudes that I don’t understand. In the past, I couldn’t understand why I was feeling the way I was – until I realized that I had no idea how I was supposed to be feeling. I had no experience in a step-family situation; no experience being married; no experience with children of my own.

I was spectacularly unprepared to be a step-parent.

And that’s been challenging, not only for me, but for Bruce as well. There isn’t much available in terms of resources, either, for fathers that find themselves in the position of marrying women that aren’t instantly and completely thrilled with suddenly having to form a family relationship with someone else’s child. But I have to say that Bruce has been my hero in all of this, and I know that together we will figure it out – in fact, its only thanks to his understanding and support that I am even able to explore this.

But I guess the biggest relief is to know that you’re not alone in something that you find difficult to cope with - regardless of what that thing might be. In my case, I never talked about my deep discomfort with being a step parent because I was afraid that I was the only person in the world that felt this way, and that I was a complete failure for feeling the way I did.

So my approach for managing my situation was to turn to God, and to ask Him what the proper approach was. The path that I found worked for me was to try to understand how to be ‘faithful’ to the way in which God teaches us to act in situations and relationships that we find difficult. I try to act with humility, patience, grace and kindness – to support Bruce in the challenges he faces in the situation, and to strive to be a blessing to those around me.

Of course, me being me, I often fail quite dazzlingly at all of the above, but I do try.

So perhaps I am writing this – thinking aloud if you will – because I am beginning to think that I might actually have something to offer to the community in which I am serving. The vast majority of kids I see in my role as chaplain come from blended families, and I am certain that there are other step-parents out there that are also struggling with their role. Perhaps there is room for a discussion group for people in this position.

I am open to suggestions :-)

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Controversy

gosh its been a long time since we've had some of that, wot?

This is a reply to a blog posting by an old friend about homosexuality. He is a good writer, a good person, and his ideas are well thought out.

But I really feel I have to respond; and I welcome any thoughts and ideas that this might generate.

As a Christian, I do not have an animosity to homosexual sex. I just believe that it is wrong, for one simple reason: God said so. He also said that ANY sex outside of marriage is wrong, and I believe that too; like I believe that murder is wrong, and theft is wrong etc etc. And, having engaged in much wrongness in my life, I have much to be repentant of, like that night in Phoenix with the nun, her two dogs, and that bottle of Stoli....

But I digress.

See, God didn't ask us to go through the bible and choose the bits we agree with; He didn't tell us to go and rationalize new rules and throw out old ones, He didn't tell us to walk away from Him because we disagree with His opinion.

For whatever reason He chose (and well, His planet, His rules) he decided that some things were right and some were wrong. Maybe it makes sense to us, maybe it doesn't. That's not the point of faith. If faith were logical or could be seen to meet rules of logic and common sense, it wouldn't be faith.

God had His reasons, and we might never figure them out. I mean, who can know the mind of God?? Indeed, there are some things we know are in the bible simply to allow us to prove and strengthen our faith. Its got nothing to do with logic, or common sense, or rationale.

Its all about faith.

If we have a relationship with God, He asks us to obey Him, whether or not we agree with His choices. So regardless of what our intellect tells us, or our hearts - God made the rules, and we either obey them, or we don't. Christians who disagree with homosexuality (for example) are not being "right wing" or "hysterical" or "fundamentalist" or any other epithet we are routinely stuck with. We are not hate mongers, or bigots, or violators of human rights.

We are simply choosing God over ourselves, our culture and the choices that the world makes. For myself, I have dear friends that are gay, and I love them to bits.

But I still choose God.


As Bruce is fond of telling me: "There is a God. You ain't Him."

Lots of love,

Annie

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Out near Toowoomba...


... businesses are more up-front with their advertising.

Thursday, January 03, 2008

Ever wondered what happens to your old TV when you throw it out?

NOW WHAT???

So what do you do when your stain remover works TOO well??????

Sunday, December 30, 2007

Or waaaaaaaay past it?

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

I will NEVER work with sheep again!

Oh the Christmas Pageant at the Community Hall was going so well - in rehearsals anyway.

I had been "voluntold" earlier in the week that I would be assisting with the directing part of the show: the scriptural tableaus - coaching the actors (well, other voluntolds, I expect) on bringing the scripture passages being read out over the course of the evening to life through mime, movement and well... mime, I guess.

We had some great people giving of their time and energy - Andy and Andre, Charlie and Ellie, Adam, Andronikus, Brent and John... all upstanding members of the community that had one thing in common: they weren't afraid to wear robes in public.

But there's always on actor in the lot that thinks the world of himself; that is NOT a team player; that is temperamental, moody and ruins it for everyone.

And for us at the Samford Community Church's Annual Christmas Pageant and Sausage Sizzle, it was this stroppy b@stard:



I SWEAR this stinking bugger will never work on stage in this town again as long as I have something to say about it!

And it had started so well. We began our evening rehearsals with our usual pilates warmup...


The men were all in dresses.... I mean costume....




The cast was in place....
And despite the fact that this miserable DIVA spent the rehearsals munching on costumes, sandals, props and a matte-black stage riser, he STILL ruined the one scene he was starring in:



All he had to do was run, with the shepherds, from one side of the stage to the other. But nooooo! It wasn't bad enough that during the rehearsals he decided that it wasn't in his contract to run from one side of the stage to the other; during the actual show, he decided to throw in the death scene from Hamlet!

That wretched, smelly, woolly little no good so-and-so decided to throw himself on the stage in a huff and lie there, pretending to be asleep!



Our wise-men were too ashamed to be part of it!


One third of our shepherds fainted...


And the other half tried to kill each other!

It was an utter disaster.

Next year, we are using goats.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

The Colledges Go to Ikea

We went shopping today to an Ikea on the south side of Brisbane that dwarfed most airports. After a half hour in the carpark, looking for (and finding) a park near the entrance (but nowhere near the exit, curiously) and a VERY large plate of Swedish meatballs and flugenshnugen, we set off on what was to be a three-hour tour.

We were determined to find a gift for the three-year old son of friends of ours - a three year old that drives mind you - and we couldn't decide on the stuffed rat or the stuffed spider....

or the psychotic beaver:
... but we did find a little something to spice up our marriage:


But Ikea is a GREAT place to buy gifts for Christmas. I don't want to spoil anyone's surprise, but we got TC and Janine some Skarvolderkars, a lovely Hugenplugfen Skroken and Grandnad for Jeannie and Greg; and a year's supply of Fruggenbilden Toendershcnicken for the neighbours.

We were going to get a really cute Graben-Knacknurl for my mother, but we couldn't decide on a colour.

And Bruce didn't want to take these off...
... and can you blame him?

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Catholic Prite?


Anglican?

Monday, December 17, 2007

The manger's a rough place



Is it just me, or do these two shepherds look like they're about to lay a beatdown on each other??

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Goodbye my sweet Badger

No cat was ever more loved.

R.I.P.

Friday, December 07, 2007

I love my job....

My jeans are soaked through, there is tinsel in my hair, glitter on my arms, I have been deafened by a series of team chants and I've heard one too many children say "I can't find my pants".

That's right, today was our annual swim carnival.

The smell of hamburgers roasting on the barbecue filled the air; parents scurried too and fro with stopwatches, hats, sunscreen, goggles, swim togs and bottles of icy water, teachers were hollering only marginally louder than the children, and by 10:30am the temperature had reached 32 degrees with about 93% absolute humidity.

Brisbane in summer is a sauna.

By the time I arrived, one 9 year old girl was already in tears because she'd been disqualified from the butterfly race. I was relieved to find out she'd merely been disqualified for doing the breaststroke. Knowing how competitive these children are, it wouldn't have surprised me if she'd failed a random drug test or been arrested for interfering with a competitor.

Then the cries of "Chaplain Annie!" filled the air and within thirty seconds I had fourteen children hanging off me like cicadas off a gum tree. In short order I'd been offered my choice of muddy, sweaty towels on which to sit and was immediately inundated with indignant questions like "Whose team are you cheering for????" Foolishly, I made the mistake of answering "Well, no-one's". I didn't realise it at the time, but that apparently made it fair game for the children to mark me as their territory by weaving tinsel with team colours into my hair and covering me with coloured glitter. So enthusiastic were they I was only mildly surprised when their marking me for "their side" didn't actually involve human urine.

The children are wonderful, of course, and normally I don't mind sharing my ample lap with them; but today, a succession of wet bottoms have left my jeans soaked through. My litre bottle of icy cold water with lime cordial was passed from child to child like whisky in a brown paper bag, and in no time the bottle was empty. Still, I was treated to the inexpressible delight of a frozen ring of pineapple by a group of children that pooled their change to buy me a slice from the food stand. Somehow, a treat bought with hot, sweaty five-cent pieces is even more delicious than caviar.

The day was long, but tremendous fun. There were cheers and laughter, tears and fights. There were those children that were flush with victory, and those that were beating themselves up over losing a race. Hugs and a "high five" work in both situations. There were those that lost swimming caps and those that found their lunch had been stepped on. There were tins of spaghetti, gummi worms, sausages and frozen bananas to go 'round. There were quiet kids with their noses in a book, and loud kids with their noses in your face. There were cliques and loners, BFFs and children discovering their inner fascist dictator.

In other words, there was enough work for a Chaplain to do.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Great mis-heard moments in the bible


(copyright unknown, but God bless the farker that created this one)

THIS is crouched outside my toilet as I write...


What can I say but "AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYOHDEAR
LORDNOOOOOOOOOOOOGETITOFFBWAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAUUUGHHHH
HELPMEJEBUSNAAAAAAAAAOHHEEEEEEEEEEEELPGETITOFFFFFFFFAAAAHHHHH
BBBBBBBBBBBGAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKK!!!!!!!"

I mean, its the only sensible response.

And I am SO not using our toilet until 2008.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Let's paaaaaaaaaarty!!

One facet of my job is spending time in a classroom setting with children that have emotional, spiritual or social issues; getting to know them, spending time with them, developing a trust relationship with them.

Another facet is the care relationship with our teachers, so sometimes, on "wet days" (where lunches and morning teas must be taken indoors), I like to go 'round to the classes and help with the kids - letting the teacher have a break and giving me a chance to get to know the kids.

Yesterday, was my kindergarten (or "prep" class) day. I spent the morning and lunches drawing pictures of pirate ships, making play-doh pizzas, dancing a conga line and learning the YMCA dance.

This is apparently part of the core curriculum in Queensland. Who knew?

But the real joy was excitement of the little ones about their "prep disco" tonight. They are ecstatic about heading off to the community hall to "boogie" (yes, a child actually dared use that word), and to "shake their butt" (although, with Oscar's speech impediment, I heard him say "shave my butt". Knowing little Oscar, I wouldn't put it past him...)

I asked them what they would be wearing, and some said they were going to wear a pretty dress - including one boy, oddly enough; some said they were going in swim togs, and a surprising number will apparently be going naked, or with underpants on their heads.

Australia is a social minefield, I tell you.

And children are weird and wonderful creatures....

Monday, November 05, 2007

The SAS of God's Army

This is how school chaplaincy has been described here in Australia: as a covert force operating behind enemy lines. Where ministers try to bring people into churches - safe territory for the Godly - the chaplain's mission is to go out into the community where there is no safety. Chaplains are charged with learning the language of the schools we are in so we can speak of God in a way that will be heard; we are under fire from those that do not believe that religion has a place in schools; we are wary of children and parents that might make false and damaging accusations against us; and we are sometimes the only person of faith charged with speaking the Gospel in a school community of thousands.


And yet we are part of something incredible here in Australia. The Australian Federal Government has poured 165 million dollars over three years into school chaplaincy. That means that in Queensland alone, 140 of us hit the ground running in early October, and the next round of hiring begins in a few weeks. Over 500 schools now have access to a Christian of faith as part of their regular, daily life. Thousands upon thousands of children, school staff and families now have the Gospel planted in their communities, and that number will explode over the next year. The Lord is just pouring out His Spirit on this country, I believe; putting His Word where it matters so much: our schools. He is reaching out to the children, their families and those that care for and educate them.


What an incredible, awesome God we have.


And as for me? Well, as many of you know, being turned down by the Diocese of Brisbane was the most hugely liberating moment of my spiritual "career". Indeed, I am in awe of the fact that within six months, I have come from a country that has never heard of "school chaplaincy" and been transported across the planet to become a minister in a school. And yet, doesn't Acts 17 tell us to expect that?


"26From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. 27God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. 28'For in him we live and move and have our being.'


I had always expected to be classified as a "minister of religion"; but I suppose that I always understood that to require the collar. Here, legally, in the eyes of the government (and more importantly, the taxation office!), chaplains are classified as ministers of religion; and I am thrilled to realize that I need no collar, no denomination (Scripture Union is an ecumenical Christian organization), no affiliation to any particular church.... to be a minister here in Australia, all I need is a bible, my scruffy old jeans, some hand sanitizer, sunscreen, and a heart for God's work in the lives of families and the community.


As a primary school chaplain (Prep 1 (kindergarten) to Grade 7), I am hoarse by the end of morning tea, my bible has glitter paint all over it, my chair is sticky, there are animal cracker crumbs stuffed into my filing cabinet, I write bible study notes in crayon, my office (and I am one of the few chaplains blessed enough to have one) is furnished with bean-bag chairs, stuffed animals and posters of the word "LOVE". My typical day can involved anything from helping a young child understand why his mother walked out on the family while he was at school one day, to a day-trip to Sea World. In striving to be open to the Holy Spirit, I am learning to shape the message of God into something that children, the unchurched, the God-fearing and the religion-fearing can all hear and accept.


I am part of an incredible ministry team, from the "Local Chaplaincy Committee" that works to raise funding for the chaplaincy in the community; to Scripture Union that administers the hiring and training of chaplains; to the local churches that have come together to ensure that God is entrenched in the local school; to the parents, friends and families that pray for God's work to be done here in the local community.


And the incredible gift of being able to live and minister in your own community has proven to be both thrilling and disturbing. I cannot go to the fish and chip shop, the chemist or the local supermarket without a dozen children (many of whom have names I am struggling to remember) coming up for a hug, a chat or to tell me about something that happened to them that day. I run into parents wherever I go, many of whom I see later in my office for a quiet talk. I can no longer go out without makeup, or in my track pants, or cross the road against the lights, or use colourful gestures to the driver that cut me off in the parking lot. And last Friday, we took my husband to the local pub to celebrate his birthday, and I found myself facing a real moral dilemma as I queued up at the bar to buy him a birthday cocktail, and spent the time chatting with the half-dozen kids and their families that came up to say hi.


And today, my biggest challenge is to decide which Scripture Union camp to volunteer for over the Christmas break: do I want to go the beach? Rollerblading? Enjoy a day trip to DreamWorld? Learn to surf? Naturally, on all these camps, my job is to be there to care for the kids as they enjoy a summer holiday; to talk to them about life and God, to listen to them, love them, play with them, coach them, and model the fact that Jesus loves each and every one of them deeply and completely.


It may be my job, but it’s certainly not work!

Operation Christmas Child

Operation Christmas Child is an extraordinary endeavour that it is my great privilege to be a part of here in Australia. It is a simple act of kindness and giving of the sort that truly shakes the foundations of the world. And there is an amazing poignancy in watching the magic unfold.

As part of the life of Samford State School, acts of service and giving are not only encouraged, but built into the curriculum. Operation Christmas Child is one such initiative. For the last few weeks, as we ramp up to Christmas, our school assemblies have been forums in which a deeply touching video from Samaritan's Purse (the organization that oversees Operation Christmas Child) is shown again and again. It shows the amazing joy that comes in the third world with receiving an unexpected and unconditional gift; it shows the happiness, the ecstasy, and the delight that children in deeply underprivileged societies feel when presented with a simple shoebox filled with delights that we, in the first world, take for granted.

And yet, were I administering this project, there is another video that I would make to show people; and it would star my own hero - Bruce.

We are not rich people - Bruce works very hard to earn a decent living for us - and a Chaplain's wages are almost an insult to Christ's own teaching - but there is an incredible "other side" to the story that I think needs to be told as well.

This weekend was Bruce's birthday, and on a day on which we should have been celebrating his special day, we walked into Crazy Clark's (a local discount chain, and one much like "Dollar Stores" everywhere") and I reminded Bruce that we needed to pick up items for our own Operation Christmas Child shoebox.

Bruce was immediately engaged.

"Boy or Girl?" I recall him asking. I told him it really didn't matter as long as the package was filled with age and gender appropriate items.

"Right, then. A boy. " he said, the father of a nine-year-old boy himself. "What do we need?"

"Well," I said, as we steered into the toiletries aisle, "something for personal hygiene. What do you think a boy might like?"

"A toothbrush" came the immediate reply, and I watched as my husband scanned row after row after row of children's toothbrushes to find just the one "a boy" might like.

"How old?" he asked me again. I replied that we could simply decide on say... somewhere between six and nine, and fill the box with suitable items.

"Right," he said, and I watched in amazement he carefully looked over each toothbrush to see if it was not only a "cool" design, but had a head that would fit into the mouth of a little boy that he would never meet. He rejected the "duckies" and the "bunnies" immediately, but gave serious thought to the snakes and robots before finding the exact one he thought a little boy might like.

The toothbrush decided on, he asked what was next. Following Samaritan's Purse guidelines, I said "something to play with". Off to the toy aisle it was, and my suggestion of a selection of "jungle animals" or "dinosaurs" was rejected as being "too lame" for a little boy. So I watched in amazement as Bruce took his time looking over each and every model car before deciding on a replica taxi.

"A taxi?" I asked.

"Well, yes," Bruce replied. "I don't think he'll have TV, so these 'monster trucks' won't mean anything to him; and he probably won't know what these modern, North American cars are. But he'll know what a taxi is, won't he?"

I was deeply moved by the love, care and thought that Bruce put into selecting Christmas gifts for a little boy he'd never know, in a country we may never visit. And as we worked through the list (something to write on and with, something sweet to eat, something to wear and something to love) I had the immense privilege of watching an incredibly loving, giving heart search out just the right coloured paper and pens to draw with; just the right kind of shorts to wear; just the right flavour of lollies a little boy might like... and watching Bruce walk up every aisle and sift through every table of merchandise to find just the right singing toy elephant a little boy might want made me realize that there is so much more to God's giving than meets the eye.

And as we walked out to our shiny, new, less-than-a-week-old car, I told Bruce that I was really touched by his immensely giving heart and caring soul; and his response floored me yet again:

"Baby," he said, "If I could afford to send 30 of these, I would."

And while Bruce is my hero, he's not the only hero out there. In fact, its hero's like him that make Operation Christmas Child the success it is.

And that is the documentary I'd make: not the one that shows the incredible joy of receiving an unexpected and unconditional gift; but one that shows the immense joy in giving it.

Sunday, November 04, 2007

"We of the Maybe Maybe"

"We of the Never Never" is famous Australian novel from the turn of the last century, detailing the adventures of an Englishwoman, "Mrs. Anaeas Gunn", as she moved to rural Australia to live in the outback with her rural Australian husband, erm... "Mr. Anaeas Gunn". It is also a wonderful movie, directed by Igor Auzins; and was for a very long time a favourite of mine, mainly because it featured a very young John Jarratt and Lewis Fitz-Gerald stuffed into tight trousers, spitting in a manly fashion and wrestling horses.

*sigh* But I digress.

In her classic novel, "Mrs. Anaeas Gunn" describes her challenges as a new wife, and more importantly as a new settler in this magnificent land. Through her eyes, I felt - as a new settler to a rural area myself - that in some small way I had connected with her; and curiously, it was as though this remarkable woman were reaching across the centuries to teach me about the dangers of rampaging livestock; the culture clash between the white man and the native, the risks posed by angry bulls and the fact that some men viewed trousers as a privilege rather than a necessity.

What she failed to warn me about, however, was snakes in your toilet, spiders the size of chihuahuas, moths in your pants, flies in your ears, and the dangers of rampaging possums.

Indeed, as I reflect upon my own "settling in" period here in wonderful, rural, Samford; I am reminded of the words of that great philosopher, Melman:













"Ahhhhh! Nature! It's all over me! Get it off!"

I wish I could convey to you, dear reader, just how...erm.... "natural" life is here is beautiful, rural Samford.

Why, simply going to the toilet after dark qualifies as a National Geographic Special; and the experience has actually taught me that there are indeed some nature encounters where only the word CRIKEY!!!!!!! will do.

Many of you have heard about the time I woke up with a fly in my ear. (For those of you dear readers that haven't: I once woke up with a fly in my ear. It was a moment filled with new understanding of God's creation, a deeper connection with nature, and me running around like a five year old girl shrieking "BRUCE!! THERE'S A FLY IN MY EAR!!!! THERE'S A FLY IN MY EAR!!!! "

Good times, good times.

Then there was the time I cavalierly zipped myself up after a pleasant enough period of meditation only to discover I wasn't alone in my trousers. As kinky as it sounds, it isn't as thrilling as you might think to discover a tickle in your trousers that you are at a loss to explain; only to discover - after some hasty investigation - that you aren't the only creature zipped into your pants.

In all honesty, my heart goes out to the wee moth. NOTHING that I am not married to should have to suffer like that.

And it gets better: I have learned what it is to enjoy the al fresco experience of a toilet which is not only an outdoor adventure playground, but also an entomologists research lab. I have shared my most vulnerable moments with many a species of moth, spider, skink, cockroach and gecko; and will in all honesty admit that I will never take going to the toilet for granted again.

You see, for most of you, this basic biological function consists of simply entering a private room, doing what you need to do, and exiting gracefully.

Not so in Samford: for me, simply going to the toilet involves asking myself:
a) how badly do I really need to go?
b) can I outrun a huntsman spider with my pants around my ankles if I have to?
c) how likely is it that the toilet/ my pants will be filled with wildlife, and
d) WHAT THE #$(#^ IS THAT GROWLING SOUND OUT THERE?????????

Thank God I have a nature expert like Bruce around to tell me that if we simply turn out the lights, those thousands of tiny flies clustering around the overhead lamp will stop annoying us by falling off the ceiling and into our bed; and that that huge ground tunnel three feet from the house (big enough to admit John Goodman) was likely made by a snake; or that that awful smell from the back cupboard is "not a worry".

I feel much better now .....................

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

God is LOVE

Its been a bit of a down day; "being there" for children in need - children whose parents are splitting up, children whose grandparents are dying, children who are being beaten at home or who are being bullied in class - can be wearying on the soul.

And yet the job is just as uplifting. And standing as a testament to that, may I introduce "Chaplain Annie's LOVE Project."




This is my personal crusade to paper the walls of this - the Chaplain's Room - room with the word LOVE.

I pray that each person that walks into the room when this plan is complete will be assailed from every corner by the word LOVE: drawn, crayoned, pencilled and sparkly-painted by tiny hands and enormous hearts. They pile in here each morning tea and every lunch time by the dozens - tiny, perfect little creatures with sticky fingers and bright eyes, hats askew and uniforms stained with chalk, chocolate and magic marker - chattering like cockatoos nesting in an ancient gum tree. Their eyes and their hearts are focused so intently on finding just the right piece of paper and just the right marker, so that when they commit themselves to the task, their picture of LOVE is the prettiest of all.





I only wish that people could hear the musical accompaniment that goes with this celebration: dozens of sweet, high, sing-song voices packed into a room no larger than a bus shelter, all calling out at top volume:

"Chaplain Annie, can I colour with you?" "Chaplain Annie, this is my friend Amelia and she wants to play with you!" "Chaplain Annie, Renee is being mean to me and I feel sad. Can I draw a picture with you?" "Chaplain Annie, I can spell love without any help!" "Chaplain Annie, Charly helped me make this LOVE just for you!"

And the sweetest voice of all, the one that lifted me out of my doldrums today and reminded me why it is I am here:

"Chaplain Annie, my best friend is Jesus! And I am drawing this LOVE for my best friend!"



And as I blu-tacked them to the walls, glitter paint sliding off the glossy paper and onto my jeans, I caught myself humming that wonderful ditty "Praise Him Praise Him all ye little children, God is Love, God is Love", and realized that on top of everything, I now have a theme song!