Last week I had dinner with Chrispy and Prisca, and probably the thing I most enjoy about meeting them was the conversation, because we never indulge (quite the wrong word... 'simmer' would be better but it isn't contextually right...the state of wasting time yet getting somewhere, something most aggravating and almost ugly) in small talk, but we got to talking about things we confront and trouble ourselves over.
commercial break: HOW TO AVOID SMALL TALK
One of the things we talked about was joy. Honestly, I consider my life to be full of joy.
I am happy with my family (Things could be better but I love them and they love me and that I think is pretty great. There are also very few better feelings than having your sister lean her head against you in the bus after a long evening at fellowship)
I had a wonderful 12 years of high standard education with caring teachers, stalwart friends and opportunities abundant.
I have the clarity of knowing what I love and want to pursue in the future.
I love my body. (Still working on it sometimes but at this moment right here this year I've never been more accepting of my body)
I love the earth. (Vegetarianism makes me more AWARE of this beautiful earth we live on and my god-given stewardship of it...to make it a kinder and more humane place. Also working on this though...because milk and eggs.)
And God has blessed me hugely by making himself known to me as a King and Saviour with whom I can dance and celebrate in his presence rather than cower in fear under his shadow. (something i discovered last year and was reaffirmed by in Youth camp 2014)
And I know we talked about how there is indescribable beauty in sadness but I think joy in sadness is more beautiful still, a sort of resistance and strength that appeals more than the vulnerability and frailty of grief. I used to sort of want to be sad - strange but true. I wanted to exclusivity that arrived with sorrow - the ability to wrap myself in a soft yet sharp blanket of tears and be able to say to others "I am sadder than you, you can't help me, leave me alone and admire my grief." when in truth I had nothing to be sad about (don'tcryformeargentina) And then there are people who desperately want NOT to be sad but are stuck with memories that won't leave or people that have left. I am sure, so sure, that God will give them a deeper healing than the one that they crave. Not one that will reinstate their previous happiness but that will provide them with greater and more sustainable joy. He won't come back, Jesus will come in. And in his presence there is fullness of joy.
We also talked about how
Not everything that has been broken has to be fixed
which seems strange to me, because I'm an idealist. I want perfect relationships especially, I can't bear the thought of embarrassing someone else, or leaving things unsaid, or leaving an argument undone. But it's true. Sometimes you have to just leave things broken and move away to avoid cutting yourself on their edges. Or you have to leave things broken and see the beauty in it's petalled jagged edges (abstract art hullo). God meant for those breaks to happen.
We also talked about how
Dizzying happiness comes with fear
Sometimes when we are so so happy we feel frightened because happiness is exposing and it leaves you vulnerable too (and yet we see beauty in the vulnerability of sadness hmmmmmmm) But as I thought of this sort of happiness cliff (economic allusion to fiscal cliffs hohoho) I remembered this quote that remains one of my favourites:
“Come to the edge, he said.
We are afraid, they said.
Come to the edge, he said.
They came to the edge,
He pushed them and they flew.
Come to the edge, Life said.
They said: We are afraid.
Come to the edge, Life said.
They came. It pushed them...
And they flew.”
― Guilliame Apollinaire
And of course peppered throughout our conversation were choice quotes by Prisca such as
"A lot of people are sober when they're drunk."
and
"It's good to think once in a while."
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