It's not every day I speak with a Dame on the telephone, so I was hesitant at first to believe her. But I quickly googled her and found out that yep, she is in fact a Dame and the first black woman to be given the title, presented with the honor due to the immense amount of charity work she's done on behalf of the aged in this country. Hm.
Considering this situation for a moment, I was reminded of a time last fall when a regular guest at our conference centre, a middle-aged African man, began speaking with me. He would wander into the bookshop as I was manning the till and while perusing the merchandise, begin asking me questions about myself. I answered them as vaguely as I possibly could. I mean, this man was a stranger. But he began to encourage me and remind me of the hope that God has for me. I found out after he left that he's the head of a large group of churches in West Africa. 'He's what??' I thought when I found out. I had no idea.
Today we have an award-winning, tv-appearing, book-publishing celebrity chef in the kitchen. He's a friend of the conference centre and has come specifically to help us improve the way our kitchen functions.
To me, these people seem special and there's a desire within me to treat them as such. Realizing that, I began to question why I should feel they are important. In His Kingdom, the Lord makes no distinction. Rich, poor, famous, obscure, they're all the same to Him. So why should I care? Why should this person be any more significant, treated with any more regard than another, than, say, one of the children of the large group we hosted last week who kept running past my desk despite the fact that I continually asked them to walk, who kept pestering me for more snooker cues, who repeatedly asked my friend manning the bookshop what they could buy with their 15p? The answer: they aren't and they shouldn't be.
'Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels.' -Hebrews 13:2
So who are the angels? Are the angels the celebrities, those honored with earthly rewards, those who lead large groups of people? Maybe. But maybe they're the kid in front of the counter wanting more chocolate. How do I know? I don't. And because I don't know, how should I treat them? As if they all were angels.
Monday 25 February 2013
Sunday 10 February 2013
The Rain in Spain...
'The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain...'
But it's the rain in England that I love.
Eliza Doolittle, England's Cockney flower 'gel' cared more about proper pronunciation than European weather despite the fact that she talked about it so much. And whether or not Hertford, Hereford & Hampshire ever have hurricanes, I don't know, but rain in Spain? Really? Does it actually rain there? And exactly where, might I ask, is the plain? There are mountains somewhere, in the north I think. So the plain is in the south? I must admit I know pretty much absolutely nothing about Spanish geography. Or weather, come to think of it. So the fact that the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain means very little to me.
But English weather is entirely different. For me, and most people I think, England equals rain, and it doesn't stay in just one place. It rains everywhere. The last time I was fortunate enough to live in England, which was more years ago than I care to remember, the rain made quite an impression on me, as in, I was constantly wet, and my hair, of course, was frizzier than ever. So to prepare for this particular British adventure, I made sure that in addition to mousse and maximum-hold hair spray, I had an umbrella and a raincoat, neither of which I ever use at home. What I failed to buy were Wellies. In America, most people don't have Wellies. We pop from the house to the car to the shop to the car and back home again, enduring wet feet, knowing they will soon be dry. For us, the rubber rainboots are quintessentially British, and even now, British fashion (Thank you Duchess of Cambridge.). So I didn't think to buy them. But now that I've been trapped inside for seven months, not because I mind the rain but because I mind cold, wet & muddy feet, I believe perhaps it's time to invest in a pair. Yes, it's time to get out, to put on the boots and embrace the weather, because I live in England and there's no getting around the rain. The only thing to do is accept it and love it. Why love it? Because it's English, of course. Without it, England would not be England. The rain is part of what makes this country the way it is. It has contributed to the culture of the land and the pastimes of the people. It has helped shape a unique nation that I, for whatever reason, seem to be permanently attached to. And so to those who have allowed me to live here, to experience England (again) in all it's waterful glory, I have one thing to say: How kind of you to let me come.
But it's the rain in England that I love.
Eliza Doolittle, England's Cockney flower 'gel' cared more about proper pronunciation than European weather despite the fact that she talked about it so much. And whether or not Hertford, Hereford & Hampshire ever have hurricanes, I don't know, but rain in Spain? Really? Does it actually rain there? And exactly where, might I ask, is the plain? There are mountains somewhere, in the north I think. So the plain is in the south? I must admit I know pretty much absolutely nothing about Spanish geography. Or weather, come to think of it. So the fact that the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain means very little to me.
But English weather is entirely different. For me, and most people I think, England equals rain, and it doesn't stay in just one place. It rains everywhere. The last time I was fortunate enough to live in England, which was more years ago than I care to remember, the rain made quite an impression on me, as in, I was constantly wet, and my hair, of course, was frizzier than ever. So to prepare for this particular British adventure, I made sure that in addition to mousse and maximum-hold hair spray, I had an umbrella and a raincoat, neither of which I ever use at home. What I failed to buy were Wellies. In America, most people don't have Wellies. We pop from the house to the car to the shop to the car and back home again, enduring wet feet, knowing they will soon be dry. For us, the rubber rainboots are quintessentially British, and even now, British fashion (Thank you Duchess of Cambridge.). So I didn't think to buy them. But now that I've been trapped inside for seven months, not because I mind the rain but because I mind cold, wet & muddy feet, I believe perhaps it's time to invest in a pair. Yes, it's time to get out, to put on the boots and embrace the weather, because I live in England and there's no getting around the rain. The only thing to do is accept it and love it. Why love it? Because it's English, of course. Without it, England would not be England. The rain is part of what makes this country the way it is. It has contributed to the culture of the land and the pastimes of the people. It has helped shape a unique nation that I, for whatever reason, seem to be permanently attached to. And so to those who have allowed me to live here, to experience England (again) in all it's waterful glory, I have one thing to say: How kind of you to let me come.
Saturday 9 February 2013
Let the adventure continue!
Wait, what adventure? Is this an adventure? Day by day, this life doesn't seem so 'adventurous.' Nothing like you see in movies like Seven Years in Tibet or Eat Pray Love where people dare to go off to strange lands and experience new and different things. Sometimes they have a hard time of it, other times it seems they've found home, but it's always so inspirational(?) watching people completely change their lives in a matter of a few hours. But I'm coming to realize that life doesn't really work like that. I've lived in England now for 7 months, and I love it. I could stay here forever (and I just might, if I can figure out how!) but my life is not at all like a movie. I have my day-in, day-out, weekly routine. I have work I have to do. I have friends I enjoy. Although it's very much like a bubble, in some aspects it's not far different from 'normal' life. Perhaps it's over the years that the adventure happens; after all, it is called Seven YEARS in Tibet (can you imagine?). And how long did it take Julia Roberts to hit Italy, India & Indonesia? I don't remember, I didn't really enjoy the film and haven't read the book. But I'm thinking, adventure takes time. How long, I don't know. What I do know is that I'm willing to invest the time. It's worth it to me, this grand expedition I'm on. Where it will take me in this world, I have no idea. I just know two things: It's going to be good and my hair will still be frizzy.
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