Who is my neighbour?

People in the first few years away from home learn a lot of things through experience. Through scrapes they didn’t see coming.

One young man took a train to another town to spend New Year with some Uni mates. Now, he was totally skint, having blown his loan and interest free overdraft on Christmas presents for his family and a real sitar he saw on ebay. Fortunately, his mate had promised to put him up and buy him drinks for the night, so he was on his way.

He’d got to about Colchester when he noticed his phone had switched itself off. He turned it back on just in case his mate had sent him a text. Plans were pretty vague – he’d just ring when he got there and his mate would come and pick him up. ‘I’m only 5 minutes’ walk from the station.’ Fine.

Then the young man noticed his battery was low. Ok. Let’s turn it off now so it’s definitely got enough when I get there. He’ll probably have a charger at his house.

The young man sauntered out the station in his check shirt and best jeans, ready to party. He turned on his phone and rang his mate. Answer phone. He tried again. Answer phone. He started writing a text... the phone died. He got to the Nokia screen before it died again. Oh dear.

The young man had never been to this town before. The street lights were pretty dull, and there were already plenty of drunk groups swaying past. A little guy in a beanie was slumped on a bench, talking to himself. No cash either. He figured his mate would work it out soon enough - especially with two missed calls - and come pick him up.

30 minutes later. No sign of his mate, and it was getting cold. Worse, he started feeling his chest tighten. Not now. It had been a couple of years since he last had an asthma attack, and he assumed he’d got over it.

A minute, 2 minutes, and he was bent over, straining for breath. Panic had set in. He desperately tried to breathe deeply but nothing came. A bunch of skirts passed. ‘Help,’ he gasped. ‘Asthma’. They cackled at him and kept walking.

The young man turned back to the station entrance. One attendant was locking up for the night. He tried to pull himself together and communicate clearly.

‘Help… asthma.’

‘Sorry, I’m afraid we’re not allowed to give out inhalers.’

‘Please…’

‘Why don’t you just use a paper bag?’

Then the attendant was gone. The young man looked around. Nothing. He grabbed a timetable, then tried breathing through his shirt. No good. He collapsed against the wall. His vision was starting to fizz...

An inhaler hovered in front of him, an arm behind it. The young man grabbed the thing and shoved it in his mouth. Oh…

When his vision recovered, the young man saw his saviour was the little guy in the beanie. He smelt of stale beer. And the guy was staring at him; full on; without a blink.

The young man handed the inhaler back. ‘Thanks,’ he said, still breathless.

‘Hold onto it,’ the little guy said. ‘You still need it.’

‘It’s not my prescription,’ said the young man.

‘You’re still not breathing right.’

The young man gave in, and took a couple more pumps. The little guy was still staring at him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked the young man. ‘Why don’t you have your inhaler?’

‘I left it at home. I don’t need it very often.’

‘I saw no one would help you. You need help, don’t you?’

‘I’m here to see my mate, but my phone died and he hasn’t picked me up.’

‘So what are you going to do now?’

The young man started to say something, then stopped. ‘I don’t know’.

‘You don’t want to stay here. Those drunk people will do anything to you.’

The young man was still cautious. He asked the beanie, ‘Have you got some change?’

The little guy looked pleased, and started patting his pockets. Then his face fell. ‘No.’

‘Don’t worry mate,’ the young man said; then coughed violently. ‘Something will turn up.’

‘I can show you anywhere you want to go. I really wouldn’t stay here. The police will come and you don’t want them to find you.’

‘Where else is there to go?’

The little guy thought hard for a second, then relaxed. ‘I can put you in a hotel.’

‘What?’

He was getting a little excited by the idea. ‘Yes. There’s a Travelodge by the river. I’ll use my credit card. Yes.’

Now the young man was feeling bad. ‘No… you can’t.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘Because… It wouldn’t be right.’

‘What wouldn’t?’

‘…’ The young man realised there was no good way to say what he was going to say, so he didn’t say it. Another gust of wind shivered through him, rattling his ribcage. ‘Thank you. I’ll come.’

At the Travelodge, the beanie man was undeterred by the lack of attendants and called out. ‘Is anyone going to serve us?’

Eventually a young girl in a uniform sloped in. ‘What do you want?’

‘My friend needs a bed for the night. What rooms do you have?’

‘We’ve got a couple.’

‘Are they comfortable?’

‘They’re all the same.’

‘My friend has asthma. He needs a comfortable room.’

‘They’re not the Hilton.’

‘But they’re comfortable?’

‘Yes they’re comfortable.’

‘Okay, one night for my friend. Does that come with breakfast? He needs a good breakfast too.’

‘No, you have to pay for breakfast.’

‘Right well I’ll pay for a breakfast now as well then.’ The guy looked back at the young man, sitting there with his jaw on the floor. ‘And anything else he needs, give it to him. I’ll pay when I come back tomorrow.’

The little guy in the beanie handed over his card, and the young man got safely home. He never saw that guy again; but he could never see the world the same either.

Band of brothers

I've spent the last few sunday nights watching the TV Series Band of Brothers with some mates. A sober experience, but a good one. A few things that made a big impression on me:

1) This is not another world. Some of these guys are still alive. It is not fantasy. People organised and ran the concentration camps. Maybe there was a particular evil at work in Nazi Germany, but it's still got to give us some serious questions about the nature of humanity.

2)There were a number of events in the series that made me angry, and I think that's appropriate. Some things are unjust and should not be allowed. The concept of 'holy discontent' is a handy thing going round church circles: 'If it makes you mad, that's probably because you're supposed to do something about it.' But in the face of sickening injustice in our world, 'holy discontent' is insufficient. We need righteous anger*.

3) Pacifism is not necessarily always right. Saving Private Ryan really hammered this one into me. Film is a contrived medium making a point, and it maybe the film has convinced me of something that isn't true, but you can read a logical argument of the point if you can get hold of CS Lewis' essay 'Why I am not a pacifist'. Essentially, I experienced for the first time the realisation that I could kill. Theoretically troubling. Yes. But in certain circumstances, perhaps the appropriate action. I'm not going to try and define those circumstances! And I hope I never have to kill anyone. But I also hope that I never lack physical courage in a situation where it's needed.

4) Two heads are better than one. Both on screen and in our freezing lounge, it was obvious that doing things with other people is far more enjoyable than alone, even if less efficient (I actually think like that. Isn't it shocking!) I got completely overwhelmed with the last performance I organised, and watched as God sent me people each day to lighten the load. Made me realise I'd been trying to do it all alone again. I confided this to my friend Simon and he said yes, stuff is always more enjoyable done in team. And in fact, the family is like the ultimate team. When I potter round the house for an evening doing bits and bobs, I get in a wierd negative fuddle. When Simon does the same with his family, it's lovely. This is the reason the thought of 'going travelling' on my own fills me with dread. The misery is only 'part of life's rich tapestry' if you've got someone to joke with about the horror (when I went to the Great Wall of China, the 7th wonder of the world, it was covered in cloud. Me and my sister decided it should be called the 'shy wall of china'). Throughout my time in Uganda in 2009 I was thinking, 'next time I'll come with my family and it will be much better still'. And at this year's Everything conference, Andy Crouch described in detail how it takes several groups of people to make a vision become reality. Never just one person alone. I've got to learn.

Now I wonder what I'll learn from The Pacific...

*Thanks Chris and Lorna!

Who can go to Africa?

When you think of adventurers in Africa, what do you picture? If you're like me, you picture a young single or a hard bitten single reporter. But not a family. So I found this article stimulating reading.

I can understand why you wouldn't think this was a good idea, a good thing to do with your kids. But if you've got confidence that your safety is in the hands of a mighty Father, and if you're not holding tightly to your comfort, then doesn't it get you going.

I'm lucky enough to have had cousins live in Tanzania when I was a kid, and that my parents didn't value our comfort over our ability to really experience life: we went over for christmas when I was 12, and my sisters were 10 and 7. I haven't stopped going since.

Because of that trip, and other less glamorous but more risky choices my parents took to follow Jesus, we've got stories that will set us up for a life time of adventure. And surprisingly, I think I'm not that unusual. Many, many of the adventurers I've met in Africa have been families just like mine, actually living there long term. And loving it. They may not feature in the films, but families are out there changing the world.

Scumprobe reports

For fellow fans of CS Lewis' book, The Screwtape Letters (I think I once described it as 'a proper christian book - makes you laugh then kicks you in the balls'): A new letter...

Foolishness #3

It's another poem from Steve Turner today. Ties in very well with those thoughts I had on foolishness, so we'll get it down before that's completely forgotten...
gg
7/8 of the Truth, and Nothing but the Truth.
If you are sitting comfortably
I suspect I am not giving you
the truth.
I am leaving you two poems
short of disagreement
so that you can remark upon
the likeness of our minds.
I am being kind.
I am giving you the truth
in linctus form - strawberry flavour.
I am being unkind.
am ignoring the correct dosage.
g
I want to be liked.
That's my trouble
I want to be agreed with.
I know you like strawberry,
I quite like it myself.
It's nothing but the truth
but it's not the whole truth.
gg
No one admires the whole truth,
No one ever applauds.
It takes things too far.
It's nice but where would
you put it?
People who neglect the strawberry
flavouring, do not get asked back.
They get put in their place,
with nails if necessary.

Ouch poems

I'm continuing my homage to/theft of Steve Turner. Tonight, another of my favourite categories of his poems. Poems that make me go 'ouch'. Let me show you what I mean:

gg

The God Letters

The Lord God says:

'Share your bread

with the hungry,

bring the homeless poor

into your house,

cover the naked.'

gg

Dear Lord God,

We have got

new carpets,

so this will

not be possible.

gg

gg

See what I mean? Try getting through this one, without an ouch:

gg

Lord, Lord

You were hungry

and I was sorry.

You were thirsty

and I blamed the world.

You were a stranger

and I pointed you out.

You were naked

and I turned you in.

You were sick

and I said a prayer.

You were in prison

and I wrote a poem.

gg

gg

How many of those have you done? I count 5 for sure. The naked guy at the crossroads in Jinja wasn't just short of clothes, and I don't think trying to turn him in would have been a good idea, but still...

gg

On several occasions I've pointed out one lady who sleeps rough in Norwich as a way to look smart. It is very easy to let caring become just my job. Or, realistically, to carry on working and stop caring. Not that my feelings matter. But when I stop caring I stop trying to actually help people and just try to run a tight ship. That could keep me busy my whole life. God forbid. Please.

Short poems

I was weak last tuesday night and slipped into the amazon. I emerged an hour later having bought 5 books and 2 CDs. That's the cosumerist trap I'm stuck in. Ah well, it does have some advantages: I finally bought a book of poems by Steve Turner and I'm loving it. He's like my favourite bits of Brecht and Blake, with an even more similar worldview. Let me share some of my favourites.
gg
Tonight: short poems.
gg
Short poem
Short poems
are fun.
You can see
at a glance
whether you
like them
or not.
gg
gg
Depression
Came here
to write
a poem
on depression
but
gg
got fed up
and left.
gg
gg
Sticks and stones
Sticks and stones
only break your bones
but words
can tear your heart out.
gg
gg
History Lesson
History repeats itself.
Has to.
No one listens.
gg
gg
Gun
What is a gun for?
A gun is for making things.
What does it make?
Orphans, widows,
grief...
gg
gg
Wait
These are
the good
old days.
gg
Just wait
and see.
gg
gg
Truth
There's no
such thing
as truth.
gg
No.
Not even
this.
gg
gg
Prayer
Fell fast asleep
While saying a prayer.
When I woke up
Found God was still there.