Finding Hope in Suffering

On the weekend, Shu-en asked me if I have blogged recently. My response was a very dull "No.", followed by a wimpy excuse about 'lacking inspiration'. Well, as we all know, God has a divinely-wicked sense of humour, and He has provided me with some 'inspiration'.

On the weekend, Mark and I attended an Impact conference. For those who have managed to escape a life dictated by the health system, Impact is a Christian medical/dental conference for students and recent graduates. I enjoyed playing the role of 'supportive and mildly cynical' wife. The cynicism was mostly aimed at the lame medical jokes, which I politely smirked at from time to time. The Bible teaching at the conference was fantastic, and Mark and I both came away feeling very encouraged.

We returned from the conference last night, and had dinner with my Mum and Grandparents at Mum's house. Just as my Grandparents were leaving, I noticed that someone was at the door. The woman was clearly upset, and was on the phone to the police. She explained to us that her brother-in-law had just threatened to kill her sister and her three children, who were trapped in a house down the road. We tried to coax the woman into explaining the situation to us, but she was clearly upset. She walked back to the house, and screamed at us to help her. We ran to the house, and realised that the man had left the house, and was threatening his sister-in-law from the driveway. Mark distracted the man, who was clearly inebriated, and began talking to him whilst keeping a distance. This allowed the mother and three children to leave the house and follow me into a near-by neighbour's house. The man was very aggressive, and came quite close to Mark a few times, but Mark kept calmly talking to the man; distracting him until the police came. When he realised that his wife and children had gone, the man snapped and started yelling that he was going to kill himself. He went back into the house and slammed the door, and at that moment the police arrived. Praise God.
Why the woman decided to knock on our door is a mystery. Our house certainly wasn't the closest to hers. God is so good to have led her to us, and to allow us to pray for this family.

The focus of the Impact conference was "Finding Hope in Suffering". We listened to numerous talks which encouraged us to put aside our own fears for the sake of others. Mark and I certainly had an opportunity to put this into practice. However, our fears, at the time, do not compare with what this family will now have to deal with. A broken marriage, children legally restricted from their father, a man's life in shreds. Where is the hope here? After things had calmed down, we spoke to the two women, and said that we would pray for them. We then learnt that the women are Christians, and that the abusive situation had been on-going. From what we could gather, these two women are trusting in Christ and His redemptive power - knowing that this life is not where the story ends.

This is where we find hope. Not in our circumstances, but in God's sovereign and just reign over our lives and, thus, our circumstances. Our hope is in the life to come, not in the trials and hurts of our present life. We long for the day when everything hostile to the glory of God will be destroyed. What a day that will be.

Please keep this family in your prayers. My heart breaks for the children - to hear your father say that he is going to murder you, your siblings, your mother and your aunty would certainly be traumatic.

I'm very thankful that God gave us the opportunity to practically consider suffering and how powerful it can be in the life of a family. Although, I hope that the topic for next year's conference isn't martyrdom, or something of the like.

Shadows Prove the Sunshine

Yes, I have succumbed to the cromo effect (otherwise known as "jumping on the bandwagon" or the less flattering "herd instinct") and have decided to blog again.

I'm currently sitting in the hospital library, feeling quite content after a solid day of research. No, I haven't crossed over to the dark side (i.e. become a med student). I'm not sure that mere education students are allowed to study in here. The librarian hasn't yet pointed at me and yelled "Impostor!", so I figure I'm safe. This is certainly more civilised than the education campus, which is on the brink of being overrun by turkeys, wallabies and feminists. I've previously written a post about the education campus computer labs, which can be found here.

I'm currently writing a research paper on environmental education for early childhood students for one of my final subjects. I have been madly reviewing online journals for the last few hours. The last article that my search located was titled "The Conservation Knowledge and Attitudes of Teenagers in Slovenia Toward the Eurasian Otter". As interesting as it would be to read about human-otter interactions in Slovenia, I opted for a study break.

From my desk, I have a nice view of the front of the hospital. It has been really interesting to watch all sorts of people come and go throughout the day. Hospitals certainly attract people from all walks of life. There are people who are quite clearly patients wondering around in the pursuit of fresh air. People without shoes (no, I wasn't one of these people today), searching the ground for dropped coins and hurriedly storing them in their pockets, should they be fortunate enough to find one. Anxious children, and even more anxious parents. Stressed students, desperate to pass their practicums. Loneliness, tears and fear. They seem to be ever-present here. This doesn't negate the absence of joy, but it is true that pain is particularly apparent in a hospital. As I watched some of these people come and go, I prayed that I would never lose my compassion for those who are hurting. We are all given trials in life, and it is very easy to become desensitised to the needs of others. May we never become unable to look beyond our own circumstances.

As I'm writing this, I hear a scream from outside. I look down from my elevated position in the library to see two women hugging below my window. They appear to be very close friends, perhaps they haven't seen each other for awhile. The joy on their faces is palpable, as they begin to talk and share in each other's lives. I'm very glad to be reminded that joy can exist in the darkest of places. I'm sure that every worker here could attest to that.

The Return!

Hello my admittedly neglected readers!

Upon realising that Mark and I have quite ridiculous lives, I have decided to keep a journal. I thought that I would include an excerpt here, enjoy!

Saturday 7.8.10

9:30pm

We've had a very busy, yet very nice Saturday. When Mark finished work, we decided to satisfy our hankering for Sizzlers. Over lunch, Mark animatedly explained how he had healed a patient during his night shift earlier in the week. The patient had been complaining of chest pain and involuntary movements. Mark rushed to the bedside of the patient, who seemed to be convulsing periodically. The patient again complained of chest pain, as his body continued to jerk. After a while, Mark began to notice a noise coming from the man. "Sir, are you hiccuping?". In a Dr House-like fashion, Mark had solved the case. After some deep breathing and a touch of "distraction therapy", the patient was cured. I always said that he would be a brilliant doctor.

Sunday 8.8.10

8:24am

Last night Mark came down with a case of the hiccups, just as we were trying to go to sleep. The irony was quite amusing. I think it's important to note that Mark's hiccups are quite alarming. It sounds as though a giant protesting frog is demanding release from inside of his throat. This was the perfect opportunity for Mark to once again demonstrate his medical prowess in the field of hiccups. With impenetrable focus, he calmly dissolved a teaspoon of sugar on his tongue, and within minutes, the hiccups were gone. Amazing!

Monday 9.8.10

9:31pm

Yesterday we went to church. Our friends, Craig and Teagen Ferguson, were rostered on to collect the offering. They had indirectly asked Mark if we could both help, and Mark had indirectly forgotten to mention it to me. When offering time was upon us, and Mark casually asked "Are you coming?" as he rose from the pews, there was no time to hesitate. Nor time to put my shoes on. I proceeded to collect the offering barefoot, alongside my husband, who was sporting a shirt that read "Damn, I look good today!". The inappropriateness of this scenario only occurred to me when the youth pastor, Dave Hopper, expressed his mock disgust at "alternative types" such as ourselves.

Ability, Not Disability

"Focus on a child's ability, rather than their disability".

We hear this phrase often at University, yet many of us don't feel particularly convicted by these words. The truth remains that many of us haven't worked with children whose disabilities are so severe that their abilities are easily forgotten. Whilst this phrase is teetering on the edge of the "over used" basket, I think that it's hugely important. I'll explain by sharing a story. As you read this, please bear in mind that this was quite an awful moment for me at the time, however the lesson that I learnt is extremely valuable.

Most special needs teacher aides will agree that one of the most hectic parts of the schooling day is toilet time. Some children have very specific needs and routines when it comes to toileting. Such an everyday procedure can very quickly become a juggling act, as you try to supervise/change/wipe/wash/dry/encourage/keep quiet a handful of excited/grumpy/stubborn/loud little ones. On this particular day, there were three grade one children with special needs who I needed to take to the toilet. One child needed to have his urine drained through a catheter, another child had a severe intellectual impairment and was still in nappies, and another child needed assistance as he was born without arms. I'll refer to this little boy as J (incidentally, each of the children's names begun with J, so toilet time very quickly became "triple J time"). Anywho, as I'm sure you can imagine, "triple J time" was a very busy time indeed. Fortunately I didn't need to help the little boy with the catheter, as you need to have a special qualification to this.

On this particular day, a group of four 5 year olds with autism were using the small toilet block at the same time as us, so it was quite tricky to keep an eye on my three kids. Changing the nappy of a little boy with an intellectual impairment requires a huge amount of patience. We try to encourage the child to be as independent as possible so that he can learn to go to the toilet himself, however this takes time. Lots of time. In the chaos of that bathroom, it can feel like an eternity. Amidst the hustle and bustle and noise, I was trying to encourage this little boy to pull up his pants as he joyfully danced on the spot, evidently quite pleased with his lack of pants. Through the noise, I asked the boy with the catheter if he had washed his hands, and when he told me that he had, I asked him to sit and wait for me. Without looking up, I asked J if he had also washed his hands. Silence. After a few moments, a quiet voice replied, "I don't have any hands". I froze. I could not believe what I had just said. Even as I write this, I feel the same horrible ache in my heart. I also feel the same disappointment in my lack of tact. I stopped what I was doing to look at J and told him that I was so sorry for what I had said, but at that point I couldn't safely leave the child with the intellectual impairment, so I couldn't speak with J properly.

The following day whilst I was on playground duty, I said hello to J and called him by his name. He looked up at me, clearly surprised, and said "You remembered my name!". I replied with a smile, "Of course I remembered your name!". J then lowered his head and said "You remember me because I'm the one without any arms". I knelt down to his level, lifted his chin with my finger, looked him in they eye and said "No J. I remember you because you are the boy with the beautiful smile!". My words seemed to physically effect J, as he sat up and gave me a demonstration of his wonderful smile. From that point, I made a conscious effort to encourage J about the things that he does well, rather than focus on the things that may be lacking. This wasn't a particularly hard task for me, as there were many things that he did brilliantly. J and I very quickly became quite close, and I really enjoyed working with him.

"What's your point Carly!!". Good question. You wouldn't be the first to ask it. I'm certainly not saying that you should tell kids to find their worth in the things that they do well. But children need to feel that they are capable, and that they can positively contribute in many situations, in the same way that we need to feel like this. All children need to be encouraged, however this is particularly applicable for children with disabilities. This situation showed me very clearly how important it is to focus on J's abilities, not his disabilities. The hand washing comment was a sincere mistake, yet these kinds of mistakes can be very damaging to young hearts.

"Focus on a child's ability, rather than their disability" - This is can be very simple to do when the most significant problem you have in your class is a learning difficulty. However I'm confident that there will come a time when we will have to work extremely hard at convincing ourselves of this phrase. For some of us, we may have already experienced how difficult it can be to place a child's ability above their disability. It's hard work. But it is worth it.

News From The Pews

Mum and I have recently been going through our old papers in the hopes of giving our house the appearance of organisation. Today Mum stumbled across a letter that I had written to one of my Aunties when I was 17. It made us laugh, so I thought that I would share it here.

Just to give you a bit of context for this letter, at the time Mum and I were going to a different church together and we had recently returned from a Hillsong conference. I've only been to Hillsong once, and you've got to take the good with the bad. There were things that I disagreed with, and things that I found incredibly helpful. Hillsong has a strong community focus, and seeks to encourage people to be involved in their local churches. I wrote this letter to my Aunty after returning to our church fresh out of Hillsong Conference:

"Hello Lyn!
Well it's been an interesting day. Today was our first day back at 'our local church', and with it came the exciting prospect of bringing a renewed zeal and enthusiasm to the congregation whilst driving out the spirit of criticism. Mum was allocated on the church roster to be part of the welcoming committee on the door, and I agreed to come along and greet our burdened congregation with a cheerful smile.
Never,
Ever,
Again.
The morning began like any other, with Mum and I taking our place beside several other women designated to hand out the church notices. However it soon became clear that whilst there was a crowd of people surrounding the church entrance, the pews were empty. This sad reality was reinforced by an aptly timed comment from the wife of a pastor, that there are "more people standing in the bloody door than in the actual church". I have to admit that I was thinking the same thing. Eventually a few people stumbled through the doors. My job as Welcomer was further complicated by an Asian named Ian who decided to engage me in conversation. Whilst he was a rather friendly chap, the conversation abruptly ended when he asked me if my eyelashes were fake, and, not believing me when I said that they were real, asked if he could touch them.
Very awkward.
Anyway, the service progressed as normal with two members of the congregation relaying their 'Hillsong experience' to the church. Listening to a description that consisted mostly of "like" and "stuff like that" was hardly inspiring. Apart from the offer of free chocolate from an Irish man called Terry to the entire congregation that had in fact expired (the chocolate that is, not the congregation), the service was uneventful, unemotional, unbearable.
Now as I sit here at home, all enthusiasm for supporting our local church and bringing along non-Christians has dwindled away and been replaced with criticism, snide remarks and complacency. Next week we're going to Emma's church. Please pray for us."

Just as a disclaimer, this was all very much in jest. Please don't misinterpret my 17 year old sarcasm. I have since changed churches, however there were more serious issues than this that provoked the move. No church is perfect, and part of the joy of church is interacting with people who are just as broken as I am. I think that most of us have had odd experiences in churches. My family and I shared a lot of laughter together after this paritcular day, and it's now a very fond memory.

Una

In 1 Thessalonians 5: 17, Paul urges us to "pray continually". He doesn't say "pray a lot". He says pray continually. Unceasingly. Never stop praying.

Do you pray unceasingly? Be honest. If you think that you are praying enough, it's probably a good indication that you aren't. I'm not sure that we could ever pray 'enough'. So often I need to reacquaint my knees with the carpet.

Recently I had the pleasure of meeting Una. Una lives in Gatton and is in her 80's. Una is unwell and her frail body would have you believe that her strength is beginning to fail, however her passionate love for the Lord is ever strong. Mark and I visited Una one afternoon while we were in Gatton, and she taught us a lot about what it means to "pray continually". Una understands the desperate importance of Paul's words, and persists in prayer with unwavering joy and conviction.

Every morning, Una prays for Mark. Una had been praying for me as well, however up until our meeting she hadn't been able to give me a name. As we sat in Una's lounge room, we listened as Una told us about her love for Christ and the delight with which she prays. Often, as Una is praying or reading the Bible, she hears God's voice telling her to "sing it to Me". So, she sings to Him. In a soft yet tuneful voice, Una sang to us some of the songs that she sings to her Father. Some lyrics she had written, others were inspired by Psalms and verses. The melodies had stirred within her heart. "Sing it to Me". I wonder if many of us stop to listen to our Father asking His child to sing for Him.

Una then showed us the diary where she keeps written accounts of visions and dreams. In one of her dreams, she likened individual prayers to balloons. In this particular dream, the prayers that lacked meaning and conviction sat idly on the floor, like balloons that were unable to rise. However prayers that are given from the heart, through faith in Christ guided by the Holy Spirit, rise heavenward with the ease of a helium inflated balloon. Una laughed as she told us that every time she sees a balloon on the ground, she can't help but kick it into the air.

As we held hands and prayed together, I couldn't help but let a few rebellious tears slide down my cheeks. This woman taught me a lot in the short amount of time that we spent with her. She encouraged me to persist with prayer. The only time when Una is less consistent with prayer is when she is in hospital, but "He understands those times". She reaffirmed to me the importance of listening, and of responding. She demonstrated to me that a passionate spirit can defy the fatigue of the body. This woman is strong, because Christ is strong in her palpable weakness.

"Closed for Cleaning"

Attention all students who frequent the JCU Western campus. This morning Townsville Education students were notified via email that one of the computer rooms on Western campus has been "closed for cleaning". Who would have thought that this magical day would ever come? Many years have passed since this room has been cleaned. Spider webs hang from the ceiling as proud trophies of neglect and dirty shoe prints line the floor, creating an intriguing pattern. The computer room has very little graffiti, however this could be attributed to the fact that most pens are unable to penetrate the thick layer of dust that covers, well, everything. Some may miss the unique, if not disgusting, qualities of this room. If this is you, do not despair. It will be 3 months before the room is once again in use, and almost certainly at least 3 years before it will be cleaned again. That is more than enough time for the mankiness of cockroaches, spiders, cobwebs, dirt, dust, wallabies and college students to reinhabit this space.

I must admit that I was speechless upon receiving the news that one of our rooms was being professionally cleaned. Perhaps the sparkling hand of cleanliness will one day be extended to the remainder of the rooms on Western Campus. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

All that is left to say are but a few words from a grateful student: "JCU... I love it."