Pity Party

Tonight after work, I walked down to where Gus was parked with a big grin on my face. I'm not sure why, but I just felt really happy. I'd gotten a lot done at work, I was on my way home, and I was going to spend the evening with K. I grinned the whole way home, thinking about how much I loved riding Gus, how much I loved living in Launceston, how the air smelled nice, and how I was going to cook one of K's favourites for tea.

Then I rode up the driveway, and saw an empty space where our car is usually parked. My heart sank. I realised K was at work. Again. I thought he had the night off, but I was wrong. So I went inside and nuked a microwave dinner and sat on my BFA in front of the computer all night, doing nothing in particular. Sulking, mainly.

K texted me and asked how my night was going, and I poured out my pathetic story to him. He suggested I go and visit someone - put in the effort, surprise a friend, that sort of thing. But why doesn't anyone ever put in the effort with ME? I feel like I'm always the person who organises to meet up with people. If I don't arrange to see friends, then I'd never see them. Don't my friends ever sit around and think, "Gee, I haven't caught up with Rebecca in a while. I might pop around and see what she's up to!" I guess not, because it never happens. I mustn't be a very nice person to be around. I thought I was nice. Well, sometimes at least. Maybe I was wrong.

There are easier things in life than being a nice person. Nailing jelly to a tree, for instance.

Still Shopping

I only went to a morning service today. And I didn't go to church at all last Sunday. I know, I know, form an orderly queue in the 'recommitments' section, while every head is bowed and every eye is closed. Hell, going spasmodically has got to be better than not going at all, some might say.

Today's church was randomly selected by means of being the church that my boss goes to. I'm aware that I'm treading on dangerous ground here – If I hate it, I'll either have to lie and say it was great, which I'm not very good at doing, or tell him how much it sucked, which will hurt his feelings. Or get me sacked. But if I like it and want to go back, then that means I'll be going to my boss's church. Hmm. He's invited me along a few times though, so I thought I'd get it over and done with on a day that I knew he wouldn't be there.

• Nobody tried to grope me at the door this time, which is always a good sign. But that was probably because I was walking to find a seat as fast as my little legs could carry me after my last experience.
• There appeared to be three main age categories – ninety, forty five, and twelve.
• The building was nice, but the auditorium had an unnecessarily high ceiling. Plus, it was back to front – behind me was a beautiful view of bushland through huge floor to ceiling windows. In front of me was the stage, framed by some ugly panel board. I was tempted to turn all the seats around. Or my seat at least. Maybe start a trend.
• The unnecessarily high ceiling had those radiant panel heaters on it. Great idea, I thought, if you're SIX METRES TALL. It was FREEZING in there. I hate being cold.
• There was a very annoying child sitting in front of me. Yap yap yap, I wanna go outside and kick my ball, I don't wanna go to Sunday School, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I need to go to the toilet, and so on. I wanted to pick him up by the back of the hair and give him something to complain about. Communion came around, and upon seeing the loaf of bread, the annoying kid whinged about being hungry. So the lady next to him broke off a big bit and shoved it in his mouth (probably more for five seconds of peace than for concern about his nutritional welfare). Then the juice came around, and whaddya know? He was suddenly thirsty. But the lady drew the line at the juice – "No, you CAN'T have any of that!" she exclaimed, shocked at the mere thought. It puzzled me to think that the body of Christ could be shoved in a whining child's gob to shut him up, but the juice was evidently nothing to be trifled with.
• The musicians showed the enthusiasm of a bowl of socks. Not that I blame them – "The Best of Hillsong 1995" was probably a great album, but I didn't feel it terribly necessary to relive it note for note twelve years later. In fact, the service up until the end of the songs was the spiritual equivalent of chewing on a dry Salada. At one point, a forty year old woman wearing pigtails got up and gave a monotone mini-sermon about how we should be worshipping. I think I dozed off halfway through, but I'm pretty sure her main thrust was the promotion of the raising of hands. During the next song, she raised her arms as if to say "See? It's not so bad!" However, everyone else's arms remained superglued to the sides of their tweed jackets. It kinda reminded me of the nerd at the footy who tries to start a Mexican wave, but it doesn't catch on.
• Then the sermon began, given by a visiting speaker named Darren. It was actually one of the best sermons I've heard in a long time. And not because he was a particularly gifted speaker, or because the spirit of the Lord was moving mightily through his mere human form, hallelujah-amen, but because everything he said was the truth. He spoke about how seventy something percent of Australians claim to be spiritual, or believe in God or a higher power, yet only nine percent attended church regularly. Then he said, "And I don't blame them, to be honest with you". I was grinning from ear to ear. He spoke about how people don't want to come and sit in a cold, boring service for a quarter of their weekend every week, and that if we didn't start meeting people where they're at, then it'll be too late before we know it – God would start taking it to the streets. I felt like applauding. However, I'm fairly sure I was the only one – the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees, and I'm sure it wasn't just because of the lame heaters. I guess people don't like being told they're doing a crappy job of something. My favourite bit was when he was trying to illustrate the point of God not being all harsh and condemning, and how he made things for us to enjoy in life. I believe his actual quote was, "For example, God made orgasms". The oxygen levels in the room suddenly depleted to accommodate the collective gasp of the congregation. Preach it, brother!
• After the service, a girl came up and introduced herself to me, and we got chatting about the whole 'church really blows' thing. She doesn't attend church very often, and I really enjoyed talking to her as we had similar views on things. We swapped numbers, and I hope I see her again on my Gulliver's travels.

Hard to rate this one I had to take into consideration the dreary service versus the fantastic sermon, keeping in mind that it was a visiting speaker, so I can assume that the usual sermons at that church are not quite up to that standard. But everyone was really nice, and nobody seemed fake at all. And that's the main thing. So 3 Joy Gems. ***

Gavin's Progress

I got an update on Gavin recently.

A couple of weeks ago, he opened his eyes and smiled at his partner in recognition! He still can't talk and is recovering from another operation on his skull, but he is communicating by squeezing people's hands.

I was so happy to hear that. It means that he's still Gavin, and that he'll get better.

A Lemon

It occurs to me that the reason I don't appear to have any sort of solid purpose for being on the earth is because the reason I am on the earth in the first place is no longer valid.

I was born because my parents believed that having me would bring them fulfilment in some way. This did not happen. They now lead their own lives, doing their own things with their own new families. So seeing as my original purpose for being born no longer exists, and probably never did, I guess I'm just destined to live out my years, trying to have as little negative impact as possible until I die. I don't feel deserving of good things happening to me, as I don't believe I'm really 'earning' them, because I have not and never will achieve my original purpose. I shouldn't really be here – I was born under a misconception.

Something in the back of my mind is saying that this is a lie, that I do have a purpose for being here, that I have as much right as anyone else to exist and be happy. I think this is due to sitting in church for a number of years, listening to the 'God has a plan and a purpose for your life' drum being beaten. I'm not saying that's not the case, it could well be. It just hasn't shown itself to be true for me as yet. So I can only draw the aforementioned conclusion.

It's kinda like the guy who really loves apricots, and goes out to the nursery to buy an apricot tree to plant in their backyard. As the tree grows and becomes established, its first fruit reveals an error on the nursery's behalf – the tree is not an apricot tree after all, but a lemon tree. The man is disappointed. Nevertheless, it would be foolish to rip the tree out now. Instead, he leaves the lemon tree alone, occasionally picking a lemon to put on pancakes, or giving them away to other people who might like lemons. It's not a bad tree. It has its good points. But it's not what the man intended it to be.

The lemon tree produces lemons that some people find useful. But if it had never been planted in the first place, those people could have sourced those lemons from somewhere else. In fact, they might have even planted their own lemon tree, if they loved lemons so much. Therefore, by being mistakenly planted, this lemon tree might be taking up a spot that could have been filled by another, more wanted lemon tree. That lemon tree will now never have a chance at life, and all because of a tree that was mistakenly planted.

The thing that sucks the most about it is that it's not the lemon tree's fault. He didn't ask to be planted. He would have loved to have been the chosen tree, but he wasn't. It was someone else's mistake, but he has to live with the consequences.

Supermarket Christian

I went to two churches on Sunday. How spiritual am I!

First impressions count, so here they are:

Morning Church

(randomly selected by means of being the closest church to my house. I'm quite lazy really. No, really, I am. We can hear their services as clear as a bell from our deck, so I thought I'd go and see what all the hoo-hah was about).

• There was no sign telling me where the entrance was, so I kinda had to lurk around like a flasher in the bushes and wait for someone else to go in before I knew where to go.
• The person I'd followed inside got groped at the door by a lady on the 'welcoming team'. Avoiding the welcoming team was like running the gauntlet – the team consisted of about five people, all staring at me intently as they shook my hand and clapped me on the shoulder. My hand was sticky by the end of it. I was annoyed. I'd just washed my hands! I'm a bit OC about these things.
• I'd found a seat and was reflecting on the fact that having a sticky hand was getting off pretty lightly really, and that it could have been a lot worse, when an eighty five thousand year old man came up and mauled me welcomingly. I'm struggling to think of a part of my body that didn't come into contact with his hands. I'm scared of old men and paranoid about being touched by strangers, so by the time I'd had my hair ruffled, my back slapped, my shoulder petted and my cheek kissed, I was ready to run out the door. Instead, I sat there and thought of England.
• I sat one seat away from a girl around my age, who soon introduced herself and invited me to move across and sit next to her so that I didn't look like I was by myself. I told her that it was appropriate really, seeing as I was by myself. She laughed and patted the seat next to her. I thought I'd better cut her some slack. She turned out to be really nice and ended up being my tour guide for the morning.
• The worship team consisted of two rhythm guitarists who were also singing (one guy and one girl), a bass player and a drummer. They all looked around 20 years old. The drummer was really good, and kept me interested in the songs. Even the song they played continuously for 25 minutes. The songs were simple and the musicians were skilled. I didn't not like it.
• There were two teenage boys sitting directly behind me who saw the songs as an opportunity to catch up on what had been happening during the week at the top of their lungs. I turned around a couple of times and glared at them in an 'I-know-I'm-just-visiting-but-you're-really-giving-me-the-shits' sort of way, but that didn't seem to do anything. I will consider adding them to my list of people I'd like to punch instead.
• The people in this church seem big on reproducing. There were offspring everywhere. Erk. Generally they seemed fairly well behaved. Just as well… (thumps palm with fist)
• During the slow 'reflecting-on-your-walk-with-God' part of the worship (aka "What Should I Cook For Lunch?", some guy got up and said that he "sensed" that some people in the congregation had a "word to bring". Well, it was a race to the front! There were evidently some very keen prophets in this church. Most of it was the usual unmemorable white noise, but one lady had a 'word' about peas. I laughed. I liked hearing about peas.
• The first 20 minutes of the sermon were really good. The last 20 minutes probably were as well, but I'll never know because my concentration span simply does not last that long. It was about trees. Peas and trees – an interesting theme for the day.
• After the service (and the ensuing relief that the seemingly eternal tree sermon had finally reached its zenith), my new friend took me to the morning tea area and got me a drink. I chatted to lots of people, and I still remember their names. Everyone was really friendly, and I didn't loathe the service, so I reckon I'll return for a second go.

All in all, 4 Joy Gems ****

Evening Church

(randomly selected from The Examiner on Saturday, 14^th April 2007 (ibid. et al ad nauseum), for having a name that starts with 'Z')

• This church wins the prize for being one of the largest church building I have ever attended. It was seriously huge. The service was held in a kind of stadium thingie, and there were other buildings with cafés, museums, all sorts of stuff. Massive churches seem all the rage these days. I don't understand the attraction myself.
  
• I saw about five people I knew within the first ten minutes of arriving. Then, I was introduced to someone I had never met in my life, and they said to me "you must be Carly's sister!" Harrumph.
• Everyone seemed pretty friendly. The four of us found a seat. Then WHAM! The music started. It was so loud, I could feel my hair blowing backwards with the force of the noise. A little kid had his fingers in his ears – it seemed like a great idea to me. I would have done the same if I wasn't worried about appearing rude. The worship lasted around 45 minutes, and in that time they played three songs. The second song was about dancing, and I swear the tap water in that neighbourhood must contain amphetamines, because the four of us were the ONLY ones in the entire building not dancing like lunatics. EVERYONE danced like it was coffee day at kindergarten for the entire length of the song. Then, they cracked out the banners. The friend to the left of me was laughing into his chest. I thought the dancing song had gone for an eternity, but I soon took that thought back when the next song started – they sang one line in the song for about half an hour. ONE LINE! HALF AN HOUR! I really wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not.
• Right, I thought to myself, this church could still redeem itself in my eyes – it's sermon time. We were informed that we would be watching the eleventh video in a series of twelve. Two words in that sentence rang alarm bells for me straight away – 'video' and 'series'. Yawn-o-rama. But no, I chastised myself, don't be cynical all your cynical life, you cynic. Give it a chance. Well – half an hour later, after being shouted at and belittled by an American televangelist style preacher about how we would receive TENFOLD if only we would give away all our money, preferably to his God ordained ministry (which grossed $120 million last year, praise the Lord), and that really, none of us gave nearly as much as we should be, and that God SEES this, and we should be giving offerings over and above our tithe, which should go to the STOREHOUSE (everybody say "storehouse") which is the local church, but the offerings should be given in PARTNERSHIP (everybody say "partnership"), preferably to his ministry, and could everyone give the Lord a half-hearted round of applause, hallelujah – all four of us walked out. We just couldn't take any more.

One good thing came from attending that church – the four of us went out for a meal afterwards and picked it to bits, which led to a really great chat about all sorts of stuff. It was worth sitting through an hour of 'Banner Betty and the Hearing Loss Posse meets Mr Shouty' to have that outing afterwards.

The people were friendly, and they were genuinely trying hard to build a great church. So I won't be totally heartless. 1 Joy Gem *