Song Review - Steer

Watch the youtube.com film clip here


Read the Lyrics....


Steer
Feel it falling off like clothing

taste it rolling off your tongue

see the lights above you glowing

Oh and breathe them deep into your lungs

It was always simple, not hidden hard

You’ve been pulling at the strings playing puppeteer for kings

And you’ve had enough

But the search ends here

Where the night is totally clear

And your heart is fierce

So you know finally that you control where you go

You can steer

So hold this feeling like a new born

Of freedom surging through your veins

You have opened up a new door

So bring on the wind, fire and rain

It was always simple, not hidden hard

You’ve been played at a game called remembering your name

And you’ve stuffed it up

But the search ends here

Where the night is totally clear

And your heart is fierce

So you finally know that you control where you go

You can steer

‘Cos you’ve been listening for answers

But the city screams and all your dreams go unheard

But the search ends here

Where the night is totally clear

And your heart is fierce

So you finally know that you control where you go

You can steer

Yeah get out of the box and step into the clear

‘Cos now you finally know that you can steer

Why I love it?

At the beginning of the youtube clip (link above), Missy briefly explains why she wrote this song.  But, I believe that one story can mean different things to lots of different people, so this reflection is what I have learnt from this song....

Firstly, only an Aussie would use the phrase, ‘Stuff it up’ in a song and where thongs.  I love that about Aussie music.

This song came out in 2007 when my extended family was going through a bit of crisis. It wasn’t an easy time and both my husband and I were feeling that we had some choices to make about our future and our little family. So this song was really inspiring.

Although the gyst of the song may seem a bit humanistic, in that it outlines that we can ‘steer’ our own path, I can see that this is how God works with me. Over the years, there have been many times when BF#1 and I, have been faced with a major decision like; which car to buy, how long to stay overseas and where to live.  These are big questions in our human lives, but when BF#1 and I have prayed about them, the answer we have been given time and time again is, “You decide.” We really believe that God has blessed us with intelligence and that we are in the zone of his favour and that these decisions are not going to change that.

There have also been times when God has specifically laid on our hearts the specifics of what we are meant to do - and these are times when we don’t have to decide on things, we are steered by God. But, this too is a choice, as we all have choice about everything. Unfortunately, there have been times when we have ignored this steering from God and have tried to forge our own path, only to come across the same forks in the road over and over.

Moral of the story: If we align ourselves with God - He will steer us in the direction he knows is best for us. Thank goodness that he has a plan for us, because most of the time, I have no idea where I am going and threaten to 'stuff it up' if I work on my own.


This also comes back to a notion that faith is linked with a weakness. I am learning more and more that to have faith is not actually the easy option, it is a day to day choice and an aligning of thoughts to a force way beyond comprehension. By letting go of the steering wheel and letting God do the driving seems so brave and adventurous. Giving away some of our control and our desire to 'steer' can actually open up a world of new possibilities for us.  Something to ponder.

Sunday Mornings 2

I am not very good at church. I mean, I am quite well behaved when I am there, I am just not good at the whole getting ready and then being ready to listen thing...  I am hoping I am not alone or I am going to look like a right numpty.  If you really want to know what I am like on Sunday mornings click here.

At cell group the other night - by the by, I do love calling our group ‘cell’ group - it has a rough gangster type feel about it - like we all had cells on H block and can share stories of communal showering - but I digress. I shared a bit about how I just can’t seem to get us all ready on time on Sundays and how stressed I was feeling about it. I have gotten to the point where I am thinking of abandoning church to eliminate some stress from my life. 


Then I decided I should probably pray about and not just make decisions like that willy-nilly.  So I did, and I thought God would find it preferable to have me spend the hours of 9am-11am on a Sunday in quiet reflection on the back deck sipping tea and talking to my children about why Samaritans were seen as bad. But no, I found myself feeling really sad about the way I have been treating Sunday mornings. They have not been a time of preparation to hear from God or to spend time with his peeps. I had turned Sunday morning into a stress filled, frustrating and sometimes teary time of a parent behaving badly. So a new solution came to me.

Now, you must understand, I don’t want to come across as some nutter who claims to ‘hear’ from God about which type of bread to buy or which shoes will help me to fulfil God’s purposes for me. But, I have been in churches and around God enough to know that the still quiet voice that pushes us into a new line of thinking, is God. 

So, this new solution. Instead of me trying to get as much sleep as humanly possible on Sunday mornings and staying in bed as long as I can get away with, the solution is, to get up earlier. Can you believe it? That had to be from God, there is no way I would think of that on my own. So, this week I tried it. I set my alarm for 6am. I was going to give it a burl. And, God being a God who knows my inner workings, had me awake 10 minutes before the alarm. So I got up. 

I had a great morning. I made a lovely date slice for morning tea, I did some dishes and I got my heart ready for the morning rush. I was able to allow my brain to wander around the ridges for a while instead of harnessing it and trying to get it to go faster than it wanted to. My eldest daughter got up and we had the loveliest time together, we hugged a lot, giggled a lot, she kept me company while I shaved me legs (lucky little thing) and we chatted. At a reasonable hour we made coffee for daddy and laid out the breakfast things. Daddy, who was able to sleep in, was woken by freshly brewed coffee and a calm wife and bubbly five year old.

We were all in the car nice and early and, here I would love to say we had ‘No Tantrums’, but alas, we have a two year old princess diva, who did not like something or other and ruined our near perfect record. We arrived at church all in a calm and orderly fashion. It was a great success and this will be repeated. I am hoping that I can go for a walk to my favourite mountain top vantage point (want to say ‘look out’ but that sounds a bit seedy) and spend some time praying love over the valleys.

Thanks God for not giving up on me, 

thanks for always waiting for me,

thanks for the reminders that seem hard but are actually easy,

thanks for my beautiful family who I spent time with this morning,

thanks for the good things you pile into my life.  

Amen.

The 9:04am Sunday ramblings of a sleep deprived, fashion deficit, thirty something mum....

Oooh, I like that stripey t-shirt she is wearing, looks great with those cute shoes.  I don’t know if her bag matches, but I can see the look she is going for.  


Are they cut off jeans? Yes, but why roll them up so high?  Paired with a fluro t-shirt, now I feel old.  I wore fluro in Primary school, I used to wear fluro pink socks with my blue school uniform.  Cringe!  I do like the skirt that lady across the aisle is wearing, the chiffon really flows and looks dreamy, but burgundy and white?  I am not so sure about that. 


I wonder where Miss Z got that grape from?  I certainly didn’t pack any.  


Oh dear, my friend is wearing the same outfit that she wore yesterday.  I couldn’t do that, I would have to wash it.  She obviously doesn’t spill things like I do.  I don’t think she even has BO, she always smells good.  I should ask her what perfume she wears.

Oh a powerpoint, I wonder if there will be any photos, I like photos.  I must put our photos of New Zealand into a Powerpoint, dad has said he would like to see them.  Hmm, it would be lunch time in Auckland, it would be nice to have lunch at that little cafe on the harbour.  Boy I got sunburnt badly on the ferry.  


Hmm, Simon has a new shirt on... I do like blue.  I wonder if Mr Me would wear a shirt like that, probably not, actually then I would have to iron it.  I don’t fancy checking how high the ironing pile is, I bet it is higher that Miss Z by now.  Must get onto that after playgroup this week.  


Haha, Miss A just threw a sultana and it sailed 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 rows in front, she has quite an arm on her. Oooh, must must must not forget to send out an email about playgroup, have a few new girls coming, that will be nice.  I wonder if Mrs DE will come this year, she is lovely and has nice hair.  I can’t believe she says she doesn’t colour it, I bet she secretly does.  I could go and check her bins, no that would be creepy.

Oh, communion time.  Hmmm, yes, am very thankful for what God has done.  Agree with the sermon? Ummmm.... well..... I suppose I do, I agree with the philosphies upheld in the church.  Hmmm?  God been speaking to me?  Well.... does God really speak to people in the same way he did in the Bible? Yancey said something about that in a book I started reading a while ago....  Yes, the book with the nice cover, blue one with clouds.  I wonder if it would be too much to paint clouds on the ceiling in our bedroom?  Would I sponge it?  I might Google that when I get home.  Oh, communication cards... Prayer requests?  No, I am all good.  Nothing needing prayer for here.

Quote - Joanna Weaver

Discouragement is just around the corner from distraction.

Joanna Weaver from ‘Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World’

Sunday Mornings

I am about to admit something that I am not so sure if I should. I really don’t like Sunday mornings. I desperately want to say ‘hate’, but we don’t use that word in our house. 

I am not sure what it is about Sundays that turn me into a military sergeant wanting to be in charge of a vagabond band of unruly and unwilling troupes. To get my family out of the house requires all sorts of cajoling, pleading, tutt tutting and sometimes even yelling. So let’s look at a typical Sunday morning at my house...

7:30am – if the clock shows this time and I am not showered and at least dressed, I am already running late. Not a good sign. Children are usually up being their lovely needy selves expecting cups of tea and stories in bed. Daddy usually obliges while I blast around the house laying out clothes and shoes.

8:00am – must have at least started eating breakfast. Needs to be inhaled, I mean ingested, within about 15-20 minutes, shame my two year old cannot read the time and thinks mummy’s pleas to eat quicker are hilarious. No porridge, eggs or French toast on Sundays at our house, Weetbix or toast - don’t spill any crumbs.

8:15am – I finish getting ready and begin getting the girls into their clothes.  It is usually at this time that my husband, who is enjoying a morning not rushing off to work, disappears, for quite some time. I fluster about with our two daughters and their beautiful hair, requiring lots and lots of brushing, product and agonising over sitting still so styles can be performed in a reasonable amount of time.

8:30am – ensure all teeth are brushed and shoes are in place. Hide snacks in handbag in case service goes long or children become noisy.

8:45am – everyone in the car through a cloud of questions about toilets, teeth, hair, jumpers, permission to allow toy monkey church attendance and a final nappy bag check.

8:51am – walk calmly into church, shake hands with greeter, find seat (number 74, blue on aisle) and finally, look at husband and sigh.  Phew, made it.

Does this sound familiar to anyone? It is so hard getting everyone into their Sunday best and their butts on a seat by 8:59am. But why? I get my children ready for school all the time and we leave well before 8:45am.  I ponder these things between when the service starts and when my husband finally accepts that he has to love me despite my nasty pre-church behaviour.

I have two theories regarding my utter dislike of Sunday mornings.  

Theory number 1:  It is hard to keep it all together. ‘Sunday Best’ means just that. We have to look ‘right’, despite the pants kind of week we have had.  Lippy must be in place and hair done just right; ensemble selected and pressed on Saturday. Who makes up these rules? Me. I was raised believing that getting dressed in our best clothes was a sign of respect to our faith, which I still accept. And, I like to look as if I do have it all together; I mean really, what would people think if I turned up in my Oscar the Grouch pyjamas with bed hair, eating yoghurt straight from the tub? I would be whisked away into a quiet room given a cup of tea and a comforting hug from the pastor’s wife. Yipes! Not that Wendy isn’t totally lovely....    

I know that I say I don’t care what people think of me and I want to be as individual as the next person, but I don’t want to rock the boat. I want to look as if everything is okay, even when it perhaps isn’t. It can be easier to carry the illusion of togetherness rather than be vulnerable about where we really are at.  It is a shame, but an unfortunate reality in big churches.

Theory number 2: The Devil loves Sunday mornings at my house. I truly believe that Satan loves heading to my place on Sunday mornings, in fact, I think he comes somewhere in the middle of the night so he can get front row seats for the show. He then lets fly with his trickery, spite and impatience, revealing the worst in our family (me in particular). Why would he bother? Have I mentioned anything about God at all in this diatribe about church? Hair dryer malfunctions, spots on clothes, arguments with spouses, children who go crazy with Crayolas while wearing petal pink linen minutes before getting into the car, these are all things that distract me from thinking about God. Sunday is meant to be a day of rest and reflection, yet I have turned it into a mine field of potential disasters.

A few months ago I seriously considered not going to church again until both my children could tie their own shoes and make me a decent cappuccino.  It was all too much, but it was then that I looked down and saw my eldest daughter singing her little lungs out to ‘How Great is Our God’ and my younger daughter spinning in circles at our feet with her hands raised.  I realised that church is about worship and fellowship.  It wouldn’t matter to God how I was dressed or what my family ate for breakfast, but what does matter is that I give myself time to appreciate all that God has poured into my life.

I am getting better at Sunday mornings; don’t ask my husband, he may disagree.  But I am trying to learn the art of worship through the process of getting ready for church.  Beautiful music to listen to, earlier out of bed to calmly get myself together and taking the time to smile at my family have helped.  However, just for a laugh, one day I might turn up to church in my Oscar the Grouch pyjamas, ready to worship God and thank him for giving us a venue and an outlet to worship freely. Oh, and if I do, Wendy, I take my tea white, with ¾ of a spoon of sugar, not too strong please.

Quote - William Shakespeare

There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.

William Shakespeare

Being a Christian

I was raised in a Christian home. My family worshipped at the Reformed Church. For those who are not familiar with that flavour of church - it was established by Dutch immigrants. They are very conservative, follow various Catechisms and base a lot of their faith on Calvinist - Lutheran philosophies. In a nut shell.

Looking back, I always believed there was a God. I loved the creation story and just knew that I knew that this is how the world came to be. I loved Sunday school and earned lots of rulers and stickers for remembering memory verses and I particularly enjoyed the colourful booklets we were given each week.

When I was ten, I was allowed to join the girls’ group run by the church, it was called ‘Calvinettes’ - I did not think it was at all amusing, for some reason my husband still laughs and thinks that this a hilarious name for a girls' group. I thought it was an honour. I loved it. I loved the uniform, the scarf, the badges, the singing, the creed - the whole thing. And I learnt more about God.

When I was 16 I stood before my church and my friends (and the cute guy I was dating) and did my ‘Confession of Faith’ which was the culmination of a couple of months of intense bible studies with the Pastor. It was a proud day for me, and my parents, as I was able to publicly declare my faith.

Throughout my teens and twenties I was part of various churches and married that cute guy who was at my Confession of Faith. We moved between Baptist churches and Pentecostal churches and learnt lots of things. Some of the things we learnt were great, like grace and forgiveness and how God cares about every detail of our lives and about healing. Some of the things we learnt were not so great, like how Christians can be weird, spiteful, hurtful, wicked and down right juvenile. I went through a period of time, and I am still not sure if I am through it, where I could not say that I was a Christian - I tell people I follow Christ, because Christians can be down right awful.

So, I am the classic Christian right? Pfft.

We are doing a series of studies at church at the moment on the parable of the prodigal son (The Prodigal God by Timothy Keller). It has been great, but something has been grating on my heart. I thought the story was about a son who wanted money, asked his father for it, got it, squandered it and then found himself having to ask for his father’s forgiveness. I thought it was a story of how we take our Godly inheritance and squander it and only when we have nothing, do we come back to God. The lesson being, stay close to God.

But, no. There is the older brother. He stays at home. He carefully watches his father and how he manages his remaining inheritance. The younger brother is seen as the wayward vagabond who squanders what he is given. The older brother is seen as the legalistic one, he stays at home and is obedient to his father. 


This can be taken further. The younger son is rebellious because he leaves and lives an immoral life, but the older son is rebellious in that he stays but only cares about what is going to be left to him. In a church context, this may mean forgiveness, or heaven.  Ouch, this is starting to hit home....

I have started seeing how much I demand from God and how much I squander the wealth of things he has given me. I live my life the way that I want, but tell people I go to church and that I do 'this and that' for God. In reality, the things I do fit nicely into my week, I schedule them and really do not much more than my fair share. In a lot of ways I am a pew warmer. 

It is easy to look down our legalistic, religious noses at those people who are not ‘saved’ or who don’t go to church. It is easy to think that we are better than others because we go to church and pay our tithes. But, are we squandering what God has given us on the other six days a week? 


I sometimes wonder if the younger son became closer to his father because for a time, he was away from his father... I sometimes wish, in a would never wish it in a thousand years kind of way, that I knew what this felt like. I have always gone to church, I have always believed and have always believed God loves me. What a luxury, what a blessing. But can this hinder me from fully knowing and seeking out God?

The series continues and I am hoping to hear more about this and come up with some real life things I can do to be more real with God and myself. Stay tuned.