for those who don't want to just wait it out

like the song says this is a blog for someone who wants to say something (anything) and who's happy to wait and see what time will bring...

Thursday, August 27, 2009

What happens when you learn a part of your own story?

I’m one of those confused people. I call myself an only child (which is pretty much how I was raised) and yet I also talk about a much loved sister and brother, their spouses and nieces and nephew (I don’t do ‘halves’). There have been times when I’ve felt a little out of step – not only with my society but also with my family. I write this full well knowing that one day they may see of read this and so I write hoping not to cause offence but to say things as I see them, hopefully as accurately as possible.

My family wouldn’t exactly class themselves as a religious family. In the past we have gone to Easter and Christmas services together, but I’m the only one who would go to church regularly and would want to talk about, or raise, matters of ‘faith’ and ‘religion’. And so, I think it would be fair to say that there have been times when not only have I felt a little out of step with my family ‘norm’ but also been encouraged to not raise certain issues, to not take faith “so seriously” and to think about careers choices that don’t involve ministry. I always know that I'm loved, accepted and valued but never quite understood in terms of how and why I think so much about Jesus and have Him influence my life so much.

Until today.

As you’ll know, I’m in Scotland – thinking about the future and how it’s shaped by people of the past. Today we took a drive through the highlands (I was just keen to see Hamish) to get to what is probably one of the oldest churches in Scotland that had it's foundation in Druid worship (oh yeah, and it's also famous because of some other character, Rob Roy, being buried there).

You can read about the history of Balquhidder here, but the most important thing that came out of my time there today (other than just being at a cool site!) was that this place is literally the birth place of my family - both in name and generational span. Not many families throughout history can trace their lineage to an exact place and year, but I learnt that I can.

More than that though, I was able to learn about the ways in which the family was born - and what was their basis of daily life. It was their faith. It was Who the stood for (and who they stood in opposition too) that gave them the name.


Standing in the cemetery, looking at the gravestones and thinking of ancestors who had stood for something in the name of Jesus I felt…. Relief. Joy. Hope. A longing to get to heaven and meet my family not only in the Spirit but also in blood. I felt a kinship to this land that I have felt before, but never breathed. Does that make any sense or does it just sound nutty? Standing in the glen, the foothills of mountains, running water and stories from generations gone by, I felt like I could breath the air of McLarens before me. This was their land. They stood for something. They stood for Jesus. I wont know anything really about them while on earth, but I will be able to meet them in heaven and hear their stories... and that will be awesome.


I was able to spend some time with some closer McLaren relations too. My Pop's brother and sister and their families. It was special to be with them at the one year anniversary of the death of a man that we all loved greatly and made it easier being away from home. One of the things I remember about my Pop is his hugs. No one, and I mean no one, could hug me the way he did. There was just something unique about it - until his younger brother John managed to do it in the same way... Must've been something in the way their parents raised them!

I've said goodbye to the rest of the group that I spent the week in 'conversations' with. It was a great week and great friendships have begun, been renewed, re-strengthen and re-understood because of these last few days. More and more I'm feeling the absence and difficulty that comes with different time zones - but I'm thankful for each glimmer of times I get to spend with special friends. Hopefully you've been able to check out some of the stuff on you-tube - more snippets of the group will be coming up when I get the chance to edit stuff and hopefully it will make you smile as you get a glimpse into what was a great week.

So I'll be saying goodbye to Scotland in a couple of days time. It's been fun - but I'm definitely looking forward to heading down to London and the next part of this coming 'journey'. It's going to be interesting to see what He has in store.

x j

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Have you met Miss Jones?

I’ve had a soft spot for Ms Jones ever since I read her diaries while living in London in 2000. I empathised with her highs and lows and just loved the ways in which the character expressed herself so fully through the words she placed in her diary.

There’s another Miss Jones who bounced into my life in 2005 on the concourse at UTS. Which is where I expected her to be the other day; in Sydney and most definitely not in Scotland.

Imagine this for a scenario. You’re a bit tired, cold and damp, you have thongs on and have just been informed you’re walking up the 287 steps of a Scottish monument just to ‘check it out’ to see if others in the group would want to go later. You probably are acting a little like a petulant child (ok, let’s face it I could have been on the verge of a tanty) as you stomp up the narrow (one way up, same way down, let’s get really close to a bunch of strangers on the way) staircase to get to the fourth level.

So you can imagine that I was somewhat distracted when I did eventually get to the top and realise that it was a pretty good view and worth taking photos of. I’d managed to snap off one or two of Edinburgh castle when a fellow tourist said “Nice view isn’t it?” I abstractly agreed before turning to face the chatty tourist…. Here’s a rough transcript of what went through my head in the next few milliseconds:

“She looks like Alex”

“She looks a LOT like Alex”

“That’s Alex”

“That’s not Alex, I’m in SCOTLAND”

“Alex is in Sydney and NOT in Scotland”

“That IS ALEX IN SCOTLAND!!!”

“What is Alex doing in Scotland???”

“Shut up voices and give her a hug!!!”

Hugs, and the inevitable tears, ensued as both Alex and Nigel kept congratulating each other on doing so well in giving me what has to be the biggest surprise of my life. Turns out, Alex was indeed here for the week to join in the conversations that 14 or so of us from around the globe have come together to have. Conversations about the bible, about how the bible shapes and informs what we seek to do, and how what we seek to do is actually be people who will stand up, show up, and influence those around us for the Glory of Christ.

I like that Alex is here, of course I do, I like it a lot! But aside from liking it because this is a young women that I mentored for 5 years, cherish and laughed with, what I like about it the most is that is shows the passing on of things. Alex is here not for me but for her, to see how God will guide her, and how she will respond… Any number of people from Credo could have come because through the ministry at UTS they have grown and matured to be the new generation of those who will stand, lead and serve in all sorts of different ways. It’s not about me, it’s not about the other staff, it’s about the way that Jesus has been working in their lives and how He will continue to use them to speak into the lives of others.

More reflections from our time together will come a bit later – but in the meantime you can check out some of what we’re thinking through here

The day I meet the IRA

You see movies of the IRA (Brad Pitt comes to mind in one of them) and I’ve always had the image of them being hardened snarly criminal looking types… not nice older men who offer you a cuppa, tell you your ‘grand’ and want to have a wee chat in the early morning light.

I don’t know what I was expecting last week when I got up early to wander around L’Derry/Free Derry (or just plain old Derry). I wasn’t expecting to feel like a fraud and I wasn’t expecting to want to weep with a stranger. I got up early on a day when I needed to drive for ages to get down to Galway. And so before the rest of the town and the tourist were up and about, I headed over to some well-known artwork that display and describe some of the pain that this town has seen over the years. I felt like a fraud as I walked around and took photos, somehow turning someone’s tragedy into a tourist happy snap…


As I kept walking though, I came across a man hoisting up a republic of Ireland flag. Now, if you’re slower on your Irish political history (like I am) then what you need to know is that, as far as I can tell, this is an illegal act because Derry/Nrth Ireland is a part of the UK and so shouldn’t be flying another countries flag. So I walked up to the man and politely asked him to fill me in – “was the flag actually raised each morning and night, or…?”.

I saw him take in the innocent confusion on my face as well as the camera and backpack and watched him decide whether or not to talk to me. He decided to share and informed me that no, the flag wasn’t supposed to be up, but there was a small group of people that would raise it on the anniversary of “one of the death’s” as he nodded to the moment with the names of, I think, 12 people. These were the people who, as political prisoners along with Bobby Sands died as a result of refusing to eat whilst in jail as a protest to British occupation of Nth Ireland.

I’m not going to get into politics, into the rights and wrongs, but what I will say is that I felt like weeping with this man who has seen, and struggled, more than most – and almost certainly more than you and I combined. I found him on a morning where he was remembering those who he had played with as a child, had grown through puberty and first loves with and watched as they slowly and painfully died for their cause.

It was a sharp reminder that we go to places, we see their beauty (and Ireland is certainly a beautiful country) but we can’t forget to scratch below the surface and see what makes up the blood as well as the beauty of the place we find our selves in.

My time in Ireland was wonderful. It was full of beauty and discovery and I’m thankful that I got to share some of it with a wonderful friend from Sydney… But I also can’t help wishing I could go back to that morning, stay on the bench a little longer and hear more of the stories of what makes Ireland as unique as it is.