On Sunday one of the passages I'm using is 1 Corinthians 12:12-27 which is something of a favourite, guaranteed to cheer me up with its crazy images of talking hands, feet, ears and eyes.  It really lends itself to some wonderful cartoons, but try as I might there are few if any to be 'Googled' though two I found are on this post.  I love the anthropomorphism of body parts - a foot than can presumably see and understand that it is not a hand, can express this verbally and then hop off because it feels useless, an ear that can see the eye can do what it can't (superb irony) and then flap away.  Definitely some real humour here - but humour with a real point to make.  Talking ears, eyes, feet and hands are a ridiculous concept, and in order to imagine them they have to become bodies in their own right, complete with... eyes, mouths, ears and feet.  How ridiculous then that people feel valueless because of what they're not - but we all do.  How crazy that as individuals or as churches we think we can go it alone, don't need anyone else - but we do.

Paul often has a reputation for being a misery guts, but the humour of this passage resonates with my own, and makes me think, which is, after all, what the best humour does.

This blog has now been in existence for three years - which is probably at least 2.5 more than I anticipated.  Looking back over the posts, it is fun to see what has been on my mind at various times and how some themes recur over time.  Since I still enjoy it, and since it is still a place where I feel able to express things, play with ideas and share some of the things that happen in my world, it will continue for the foreseeable future.  Thank you to those who are generous enough to read this stuff and sometimes even comment on it: you are always encouraging and gracious and I value your friendship 'real' or 'virtual.'

So, happy birthday little blog of mine!

No, not literally, metaphorically.  I am suffering from the challenges of trying to please too many people all at once and in the end being left unsure who I am any more!!  It seems that what I write is simultaneously too much like a report and not enough like an essay, is too narrative and too formal, not 'sharp' enough and not 'soft' enough, is too complex and too facile, too detailed and not detailed enough.  I am confused, bemused and now, bruised.  I am sure that all the commenters on stuff I have written in various contexts recently have valid perspectives, but somewhere in all of this I am losing my voice, losing the freedom to say what I want to say how I want to say it, not in the sense of ignoring the requirements of specific audiences, but in being able to be authentically me.  I never was much good at creative writing, though better at poetry than prose, but could produce a decent factual account and deduce inferences from information.  Maybe having a little sister who is fantastically good with words, and will hopefully soon have her first book published, adds to my sense of inferiority?

So, this becomes my safer place to write, where I use my own mish-mash of styles, grammar and vocabulary, can blend bullet points with paragraphs, creativity with commentary, and generally find some freedom of speech.

Verses from a couple of hymns come to mind, which speak to me today:

Take my voice, and let me sing

Ever, only for my King;

Take my lips, and let them be

Filled with messages from thee.

...Take my intellect and use

Every power as thou shalt choose.

Frances Ridley Havergal

Take my talents, takes my skill,

Takes what's yet to be;

Let my life be yours and yet,

Let is still be me

Iona Community

Now I will return to my latest rewriting task, and try to balance the intent behind the comments with it still being my voice that is heard...

Like many of my friends I am an eldest child, and, like many of them, am by nature mainly sensible and responsible.  Also like many of them I have a younger sibling who has a more prodigal nature, is endless rescued by my surviving parent and causes me a mixture of anxiety and irritation.  Compared with many, my younger sibling is not that extreme, but without my mother's unswerving compassion it might be a different story.  Recently I've found myself getting annoyed by the situation, more that it is unfair to her than to me, and last night found myself identifying with the older brother in the Prodigal Son parable.

As I pondered this, and decided that the older brother was justified in being miffed, even if ungracious, I began to think about other older siblings in the gospels and decided we get a pretty bad press.  It is generally assumed that Martha was the older sister and/or oldest sibling, and she is more remembered for her grumbling at Mary's perceived laziness than for her recognition of Jesus as Christ.  In another short parable, the first (older?) son says he'll do what his father requires and then doesn't whilst the second (younger?) son says he won't and does.  You'd kind of hope that Jesus, being an eldest, would have been a bit kinder to/about us - and maybe his treatment of Martha reflects an understanding of her role - but on the whole we don't come out of it looking too great.

So, the upshot is that I'll endeavour to be a little kinder in my attitudes to my sibling, accept more generously that my mother does something Godly and try not to sulk when I feel like the grumpy older brother!

This is fun!  HT Maggi Dawn