Sunday, July 30

On Speaking & Not Speaking

Lacking words to speak I am contemplating speaking and not speaking.


"Ah, Sovereign LORD," I said, "I do not know how to speak; I am only a child." Jeremiah 1:6

" 'If a person sins because he does not speak up when he hears a public charge to testify regarding something he has seen or learned about, he will be held responsible." Leviticus 5:1

"Yet if I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away." Job 16:6

"my lips will not speak wickedness, and my tongue will utter no deceit." Job 27:3

"Like a scarecrow in a melon patch, their idols cannot speak; they must be carried because they cannot walk. Do not fear them; they can do no harm nor can they do any good." Jeremiah 10:5

"God is not a man, that he should lie, nor a son of man, that he should change his mind. Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?" Numbers 23:19

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal." 1 Corinthians 13:1

Monday, July 24

An anonymous reader has left a great story in the comments section on one of my posts. I was so taken with it that I feel I really must share it with you. It attests to the beauty of poetry, the joy of exploration and romantic sentimentality, the friendship between siblings, as well as the value of an inspirational teacher. It's a great comment. Anonymous writes:


I just came across your Site, that poem of Thomas Gray's brings me back to an evening in May 1961.My brother and I decided while working in Slough to visit the location of Thomas Gray's country churchyard. So on our Saturday off we took the barman's direction to Stoke Poges, he told us it was only a mile or so down the road, so off we went and being fit and young what was a mile or so. As it turned outit was more like three miles, but on a lovely May evening we soon covered the distance, and came to a field were in the gathering dusk we made our way through the gate leading towards the monument.


My brother managed to read the verses to an audience of cattle in the next field, and what a perfect setting with a mist rising in the surrounding fields his voice rang out loud and clear. I thought of our old school teacher and his great love for this poem and wondered did he ever believe that the words of the poem would register with this band of Irish raggy-muffins, but long after we left school to seek work in England we did his dedication proud and paid homage to a great poet.

Leaving the monument it was now almost dark we looked in on the churyard and then made our way back to Slough to enjoy a well earned drink and recall old Joe our teacher and imagine how delighted he would have been to learn that we had seen Gray's churchyard and he wasn`t wasting his sweetness on the desert air.



This comment is especially poignant for me today as I have just begun a placement at a new school in Sydney. My first day was great. The student's are a mixed bunch, some may be raggamuffin like and quite spirited but already I know I will enjoy teaching them. I only hope that my love for Literature and Drama is communicated to the children as Anon's teacher communicated his love for Gray's Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. Perhaps one day my students will trek miles and miles just to experience a play, or to see a site we learn about, or to learn more of a writer because they have been inspired by the passion of their teacher for her subject.

I also love that Anon. explored with his/her brother. This is something I do a lot of. I love my brother so much. He's a great adventurer and an amazing friend.

So thank you, Anon., for such a great story and for the encouragement and inspiration I found in it. I hope to see you here again.
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
by Thomas Gray
(1751)

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.


Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;


Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.


Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.


The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.


For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.


Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!


Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.


The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.


Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.


Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of Death?


Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.


But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.


Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.


Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.


Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes,


Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,


The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.


Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.


Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.


Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.


For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?


On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.


For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,


Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
"Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.


"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.


"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.


"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;


"The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne.
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."


THE EPITAPH


Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.


Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.


No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.

Sunday, July 23

The Beautiful Princess and the Oily River

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived amongst the rolling green hills of Ireland. She loved to meander from bank to bank chattering to the fish, admiring the wild flowers while turning her beautiful shining face towards the gorgeous blue sky. As she meandered through the countryside all creatures came to her for her beauty was irresistible, her bubbling chatter a delight to the ear, and her very presence refreshing and life giving. In this manner, loving all and loved by all, she idled away many a day in perfect bliss.

Then one day, a foreigner sighted the beautiful princess amongst the rolling green hills. The foreigner was a cartographer by trade and thus it was in his nature to love the land and the names associated with places he visited. As he travelled, he would map his journey in a small brown notebook, naming each place according to the custom of the locals he encountered. The cartographer was now so taken with the beauty of the princess that he determined he would be the possessor of her name. Once the knowledge of her name was his, he would record it in his book as a reminder of the place where he had first beheld her beauty. He sent his messenger, for he was on a journey of exploration and was equipped by his King with many helpers, to find out the name of this beautiful young princess with the following instructions:

“Go and determine the name of the beautiful princess I have seen meandering amongst the rolling green hills. She intrigues me. I will not rest until I know her name. Her beauty is exquisite and exotic. It is so in keeping with the beauty of the land that I would love to record her name here in my book so that I can always remember the place at which I first beheld her beauty. Go and do not delay, for the desire to possess this knowledge is such within me that I shall not be able to rest until I have her name, nay, herself, immortalised in my book. I must record her wild beauty so all may appreciate her. Go now and return to me without delay!”

So the servant went. He tore a path across the hills trampling many a rare flower under foot in his haste to find the beautiful maiden. He soon found the beautiful princess in her usual place chattering with the fish.

“Excuse me, Miss,” puffed the messenger quite out of breath. The beautiful princess looked up turning her shining face towards the one who had addressed her and with a pleasant countenance bid him speak.

“I am sent to ask your name,” the messenger continued. “My master requests the knowledge of your name. He is much besotted with you and desires to know the name by which you are known.”

“Tell your master, I am known as Áille,” stated the princess in a voice as pure, clear and melodious as a babbling stream through a meadow.

“I must thank you kindly, Miss, and thus depart,” said the messenger bowing and backing away, “For my master is so desirous of knowing your name that I fear he will not tolerate any delay. Thank you again,” he said bowing once again in courtesy beginning his journey back to the cartographer even as the words were still upon his tongue.

He was afraid to lose time and encounter the anger of the cartographer, for the master was answerable to the King and the King had sent the men on a mission to document every crevice of the landscape in this foreign land and had not given them enough time to comply. The King could be a harsh ruler. And so, the messenger raced back to his master’s lodgings as fast as he could. Indeed, the messenger made good time and before sunset he was able to report his findings to the cartographer.

“So, have you obtained the name of the beautiful maiden who meanders through the green hills?” asked the cartographer leaning forward eagerly tantalised by the realisation that he was about to possess that which he so eagerly desired.

“Her name, dear Sir, is Oily,” announced the messenger.

“Oily?” questioned the cartographer.

“Yes, Sir. Oily.”

“Oily,” sighed the cartographer somewhat deflated. “But that’s not beautiful. That is not exotic! That is not the name for a beautiful princess! Argh!” The cartographer stood up, stamped his foot and stormed out of the room cursing as he went. “Oily! I cannot love anything known as ‘Oily!’” Then, turning back towards the messenger, he ordered him to, “Record the name of the place where my love for all that is beautiful was smeared as Oily and let us move on. We have much more work to do and I have developed a sudden abhorrence for this place. Oily, indeed!”

So the obedient messenger wrote the word ‘Oily’ on the map next to the river where he had found the beautiful princess speaking to the fish and thus named one of the most beautiful places on earth -- Oily.



This story was inspired by a lecture given by Coilin Parsons, Word Maps: J.M. Synge’s Prose Writings and the Ordinance Survey, in which he related the sad tale of the Áille River in Ireland being Anglicised and recorded as the Oily River by British cartographers and orthographers due to the similar sound of the words. Sadly, due to the lack of time to complete the task with accuracy the meaning of the two words was overlooked. So a river which was known as the Áille, meaning the beautiful princess, became an Oily river. It is a sad reminder of the importance of ethics in translation.

Irish President, Mary Mc Aleese's, in an interview with Miranda Moore reminds us "There's a lovely expression 'a country without a language is a country without a soul.'" She then goes on to share her childhood memories of the Oily ; a river she would pass on her way to Irish Lessons. Moore writes:
McAleese first learnt Irish at school but continues to study every year at summer school in Gleann Cholm Cille. There is a river up in Donegal that she passes on her way to the school, which reminds her of the significance of language. Set in the Irish-speaking heartland of the Emerald Isle, the river, she says, is marked 'The Oily River'. Passion pushes through the President's conservative blue-suited appearance, and her soft Irish lilt quickens with indignation. "Now if you saw a sign for the oily river would you take out your fishing rod? Would you put on your swimming togs and go for a swim in it? Would you? I mean the word 'oily' yuck! It has you shivering", and the President visibly shudders, running her fingers up and down her arms. The word 'oily', she explains, comes from the Irish word alainn, meaning beautiful, "and some prat translated that as 'oily'!"


Is it any wonder Declan Kiberd refers to the mapping of the Irish landscape by the British forces as a deracination.
“Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone.”
The Importance of Being Earnest (1895) act 1



The IASIL Conference was amazing. I found myself amongst speakers who had travelled from all over the world to deliver papers on Irish Studies. Surrounded by such accomplished people I felt completely out of my depth. I felt like I wore my ignorance all over my face. More than once I opened my mouth just to confirm that yes, I am completely ignorant. However, I loved being able to soak up all that was going on around me. It was a great experience.

While ‘Intertextuality’ was the predominant theme, the topics were as diverse as the places from which people travelled yet a common love of Irish Literature, History and Cultural Studies fostered a great sense of unity amongst the group. Many in the group have known each other for years through the Association yet that did not hinder them from welcoming newcomers into their midst. I was most touched by the way even the most accomplished delegates, such as Christopher Murray, mingled and spoke with the least accomplished attendees, such as myself. The people really were lovely.

As well as meeting some amazing people and enjoying socialising, I also heard some very good lectures. Amongst my favourite lectures were:

Prof. Coilin Parsons, Word Maps: J.M. Synge’s Prose Writings and the Ordinance Survey

Dr Eamonn Hughes, At Swim-Two-Birds in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction

Dr. Masaya Shimokusu, Dublin Bohemia

Dr. Cliona Ni Ríordáin, Intertextuality and the Ethics of Translation

Tom Keneally also spoke about Revisionism and the esteemed Christopher Murray presented a lecture previously given at the National Gallery of Ireland, on Beckett and his passion for the artwork of J.B. Yeats. The work of Beckett was also compared to that of O’Casey, Friel and Kavanagh and was considered with reference to intertextuality, and modernist ideas of representation and aesthetics.

I have only mentioned but a handful of the papers presented. There were many more I heard and many that I didn’t hear but would have loved to. Sadly I missed the talks given by John Tranter and David Malouf. You can find the abstracts for the papers presented at the IASIL website, simply click on the speakers name for more details. I am not going to go into the specific details of the theses presented as I am not comfortable publishing the work of others, some of which have not yet been published, in a public forum; however, there are a few amusing quotes I am able to share.

One of my favourite quotes came from At Swim-Two-Birds, by Flann O’Brien. In his paper on O’Brien’s work, Eamonn Hughes read the following excerpt from At Swim-Two-Birds:

Characters should be interchangeable as between one book and another. The entire corpus of existing literature should be regarded as a limbo from which discerning authors could draw their character as required, creating only when they failed to find a suitable existing puppet. The modern novel should be largely a work of reference. Most authors spend their time saying what has been said before – usually said much better. A wealth of references to existing works would acquaint the reader instantaneously with the nature of each character, would obviate tiresome explanations and would effectively preclude mountebanks, upstarts, thimbleriggers and persons of inferior education from an understanding of contemporary literature.

On hearing this quote I immediately imagined a very strange montage of unlikely characters meeting in uncanny situations. Imagine, for example, Elizabeth Bennett sitting down to tea with a Froddo in a hut, in the Australian outback, or even in Sydney today. It’s a strange but not impossible idea for literature. I have not yet read At Swim-Two-Birds but have wanted to and have a renewed interest and determination to do so after my brief introduction to the text through Eamonn’s presentation. But then again, perhaps it is better to preserve the delicate and exotic beauty of my ignorance.

Wednesday, July 19

I am off, at the request of one of my professors, to assist him at an up coming conference. It's very exciting. I'm very excited! I hope to hear some great lectures on one of my favourite subjects - Irish Literature.

As I know Yeats will be discussed at some length with great passion and committment, I will leave you with one of my favourite Yeats poems.


He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven


HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899.

Tuesday, July 18


What's your favourite play?
Let the little children listen

Amanda at Wittingshire has a great post on Sayers on Children, in which she observes a point with which I identify strongly. Amanda states that in her house, “we [adults] talk over our children’s heads all the time, and eventually they begin chiming in. We read poems and passages of prose that are over their heads, and they like the sound even if they don’t catch the meaning – and already I’m seeing the rhythms of good prose coming out in their own young attempts at essays.” While my children are yet too young to write essays I do observe the enjoyment children obtain from good literature.

As a mother of two who is also involved in full time study I realise that I am often exposing my children to literature that is beyond their means of comprehension. My children will regularly ask, "What are you reading, mama? What does it say?" and will then listen keenly as I read a portion of a text from my university text list. The language is inevitably over their heads and the plot is often complex. Yet, as Amanda has observed, the children enjoy the prose or poetry and take from it what they can. Whether it be an appreciation of the melody created by the words, a sense of rhythm, an image which livens the imagination, or the basics of the plot, children appreciate good literature.

My youngest was exposed to Paradise Lost, when he was four. He would sit listening wide-eyed as I recited heavenly battles to him and while it was impossible for him to understand the language, he absorbed the drama and asked a multitude of questions. He then discussed the Cyclops of the Odyssey -- we skipped the very gruesome parts -- and Ulysses with me when he was five and kindly lent me his Cyclops character toy for a university tutorial. He is now keenly interested in The Hobbit and enjoys the elements of high fantasy which spark his imagination and enliven his play.

My eldest son is fascinated with transport. As is our custom in the school holidays the boys choose a book, a classic, for us to read together. This little man, spying maps and boats within the pages, was drawn to Gulliver’s Travels by the promise of experiencing Gulliver’s many adventures by sea. He insisted upon me reading the Oxford version to him while he looked at the pictures in the children’s version, saying he wanted to “hear the whole story in the real words.” While I read Swift’s novel and laugh at the satirical portrait’s of society, Master 7 appreciates the funny people, the transport, and the adventures.

My boys also enjoy theatre and opera. In fact, it is my youngest who adamantly insists that I play “the song that the statue sings to the naughty man,” from Mozart’s Don Giovanni, over and over again. It is a powerful aria, full of passion and drama. My little man does not speak or understand Italian. He does not understand the words sung. But he enjoys the dramatic tension, the passion, and the music and he is sure to reprimand me if I play a different aria – he can tell the difference.

What I truly see evidenced in my children’s enjoyment of these texts is encapsulated in a quote from Dorothy Sayers which Amanda cites at the end of her post. “Children”, Sayers states, are “the only audience perhaps in the country whose minds are still open and sensitive to the spell of poetic speech…the thing they react to and remember is not logical argument, but mystery and the queer drama of melodious words.”

This so true!

I would love to hear about the books, plays, or poems your children enjoy or even those you do. Which books, poems or plays sing to you or your children with the “mystery and…queer drama of melodious words?” I’d love to know.

But for now, if you will now excuse me, I must go and read to my children.
a curiosity

most intellects do not believe in God
but they fear Him just the same e.badu

Monday, July 17

I love Huey!
You'll be happy to know, I have a new love!
He's quite tall, blonde, very strong, so beautiful, so rugged. He is quite a bit older than me. He has a very rough exterior but he has an incredibly soft heart! He always smells nice and he is a great healer...if you ever need antiseptic, he has it. He hardly ever gets sick. He loves the outdoors and the water. He really is a rare breed and I love him soooo much!


Isn't he beautiful! You may not understand my excitement. This may just look like a bit of old dead wood to you but to me he's gorgeous. This is a Huon Pine log and he just became mine!

Huon Pine is a very amazing timber. It is a slow growing wood which can be found only in a few small regions of Tasmania. It needs to dwell in the cold climates along the south and west of Tasmania. This gorgeous conifer prefers water views. In fact, Huey needs to have his feet wet all the time.


Huey, as we affectionately call him, grows only 0.3-2mm per year! So you can imagine how old this 2m log I bought is! Apparently, "The Huon pine can reach prodigious ages, often in excess of 2000 years, making it among the longest-lived organisms on Earth. Only the bristle-cone pine of North America exceeds it in age."

As if this were not incredible enough, Huon Pine also has an amazing oil which prevents rotting in the tree. This special quality was so valuable for the ship builders in early Australian history. This oil also gives the wood avery distinct smell. Due to the antibacterial qualities of this oil, it was also rare for men working at felling the trees to ever get sick! If they were to get a splinter from this wood it would not get infected. However, there was a downside to the amazing qualities of this oil: it was so strong that it would make the men blind after lengthened exposure to the oil.

Huon Pine has a beautiful golden grain. It really is a beautiful and amazing timber. Unfortunately, Huon Pine resources are scarce. In order to save these beautiful trees logging has very wisely been prohibited. The tree is completely protected. The only way to get Huon Pine any more is to salvage it from the forests or rivers after it crashes to the ground naturally. So, the timber is extremely rare.

It is possible to buy Huon Pine in Tasmania for a fraction of the price that it sells for on mainland Australia, but the added costs of shipping make the timber expensive. I was able to buy this log at an amazing price in Sydney! I am so excited!

Now can't you see it's beauty?! I already know what it is going to become. What would you do with it?

Friday, July 14

FRIDGE POETRY

Rebecca has the BEST word games over at her blog! Her latest one is fridge poetry. I love fridge poetry, so I decided to play along. Like anyone could have stopped me!

Here is my submission:



(sorry you will have to scroll, at full size it was messing up my sidebar)


Play along! It's great fun. Go to The Fridge and see how poetic you can be. Make sure you let Rebecca know you're playing so we can link to all the posts.

My precious catty

Thursday, July 13

Fairy Penguins, Low Head, Tasmania


These little guys are pretty gorgeous but they sound terrible! On a recent holiday to Tasmania we decided we would like to encounter as much wildlife as possible. These were some of the fellas we met.

Fairy Penguins breed between October to December and as we were down in Tassie in January we were able to see these parents toddle up the beach to feed their young who were nested on the shore.

It is possible to get quite close to the penguins as they waddle up the sand dunes as long as you stand very still as they go by. These little guys above actually trampled my feet! Lucky for me they are the smallest of all penguins. Trampling included, it was quite an amazing experience.

The whole feeding process was pretty noisy and a little violent - the young penguins beat their parents as they fight to get the food they need to grow into chubby little birds - but very worthwhile. Incredible even.

To hear these birds sing - if you can call it that - click on the audio link at the bottom of the page here.

Had to update just to say: Did you know that Fairy Penguins do not have eyelids? It's true, they don't which is why I couldn't use a flash when taking this picture. It would hurt their little eyes. The red light is from our cellophane covered torches. So, now you know no penguins were hurt by the taking of this picture.

Resources on divorce that I have found helpful:

Bob Burns & Tom Whiteman, The Fresh Start Divorce Recovery Workbook, 2nd edition, Nashville; Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1998

Ken Crispin, Divorce: The Unforgivable Sin?, Ryde; Hodder & Stoughton (Australia), 1988

The Bible

Bible Dictionaries and Commentaries are also invaluable.
IN the year leading up to my divorce, I spent a lot of time searching the Bible for answers to my numerous and multiplying questions. As mentioned in my previous post, “It was a year I spent investigating every little detail of God’s intentions for marriage, Jesus’ instructions regarding divorce (Mark 10), Paul’s writings on divorce, and quizzing my pastor on the exact meaning of this Greek word and that Greek word.” As some of the questions I had have been raised by various readers in the comments on this previous post I thought they may be worthy of a post of their own. This is that post. Before we begin, let me say upfront that I do not have all the answers, I am not a theologian, but I am a woman who has struggled through divorce with the intention of being godly, even in the midst of it. I wanted to have my acts dictated by God’s good and right instructions. My greatest fear during this time was that I would divorce out of bitterness and hurt with a hardened heart and that I would ignore God’s word, or get it wrong out of ignorance.
. . That is not to say I didn’t have any hesitation about obeying God’s word. I had plenty! I was angry, confused and disillusioned. One of my biggest questions was, “How can I trust and love a God who says I can divorce my husband if he commits adultery but not if he tries to kill me?” It simply did not make sense. How could a good God make such a rule? Surely, murder, or attempted murder, abuse and assault were just as bad as adultery?
. . I knew I had Biblical grounds for divorce as my ex-husband had been unfaithful; however, I couldn’t help thinking, “What if? What if he had never cheated on me? Would I be forced to stay with him?” These questions lead to others, such as:




If I left my ex-husband to keep my children and myself safe, would I be forced to stay married but separate from him permanently?
Would this mean I could never have the hope of remarrying, if I ever wanted to?
Isn’t it kind of hypocritical to be separated but not divorced?
How is permanent separation different to divorce anyway?

But the most aching cry of my heart came from the question, “Why doesn’t God care if my husband tries to kill me?” It didn’t sit right with my experience of God as a loving, caring God. He must care. He does. Slowly, I began to learn this.
. .. The Bible passages I was stuck on were Matthew 5:31-32,



"It has been said, ‘Anyone who divorces his wife must give her a certificate of divorce. But I [Jesus] tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery.”


...and Matthew 19:3-9



3Some Pharisees came to him to test him. They asked, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife for any and every reason?"
4"Haven't you read," he replied, "that at the beginning the Creator 'made them male and female,'[a] 5and said, 'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh'[b]? 6So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate."
7"Why then," they asked, "did Moses command that a man give his wife a certificate of divorce and send her away?"
8Jesus replied, "Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning. 9I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, and marries another woman commits adultery."


...also Mark 10:2-9



2Some Pharisees came and tested him by asking, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?"
3"What did Moses command you?" he replied.
4They said, "Moses permitted a man to write a certificate of divorce and send her away."
5"It was because your hearts were hard that Moses wrote you this law," Jesus replied. 6"But at the beginning of creation God 'made them male and female.'[a] 7'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife,[b] 8and the two will become one flesh.'[c] So they are no longer two, but one. 9Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate."


and Luke 16:18


18"Anyone who divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery, and the man who marries a divorced woman commits adultery."


Then there is also 1 Corinthians 7:10-15 to consider:


10To the married I give this command (not I, but the Lord): A wife must not separate from her husband. 11But if she does, she must remain unmarried or else be reconciled to her husband. And a husband must not divorce his wife.

12To the rest I say this (I, not the Lord): If any brother has a wife who is not a believer and she is willing to live with him, he must not divorce her. 13And if a woman has a husband who is not a believer and he is willing to live with her, she must not divorce him. 14For the unbelieving husband has been sanctified through his wife, and the unbelieving wife has been sanctified through her believing husband. Otherwise your children would be unclean, but as it is, they are holy.

15But if the unbeliever leaves, let him do so. A believing man or woman is not bound in such circumstances; God has called us to live in peace.


These words are hard. They seem to state very clearly that there is no other grounds for divorce than that of adultery or abandonment by an unbelieving spouse.

. . Some scholars argue that Jesus’ words in the gospels seek to regulate the occurrence of divorces already prevalent in society at the time in which he was speaking. It is thus important to understand the historical context of the text before trying to figure out how the text applies to us today. Let us do this now.
Jesus is referring to the practice, as communicated in Deuteronomy 24:1-4, of men divorcing their wives because they “dislike” their wife and wish to trade her in for a better model. Divorces were occurring for trivial reasons and these kinds of divorces were leaving women destitute.

. .. Ken Crispin, in his book, Divorce: The Unforgivable Sin?, observes that this passage in Deuteronomy states the grounds for divorce as being that the man finds something “indecent” in his wife. Crispin states that “the Hebrew words so translated were ervath dabhar,” meaning, “the nakedness of the thing,” “some uncleanness”… ‘or “some indecency,’” (p26). Apparently there had been an historical disagreement as to what these words actually meant: followers of Shammai asserted that divorce was only permissible in cases of adultery; the followers of Hillel asserted that “a man should divorce his wife only if she had been guilty of some misconduct but the misconduct might be quite minor,” (Crispin, p26); and finally, “Rabbi Akiba had the wonderfully [note the scepticism] straightforward view that a man may divorce his wife for no other reason than he found another woman more beautiful,” (Crispin, p26). Isn’t it funny how similar these reasons are to those we often hear today. OK funny is the wrong word. Sad. These reasons were prevalent in Jesus’ day too. Thus, the Pharisees try to entangle him in the debate on divorce. This historical debate is widely recognised and may be found in numerous Commentaries.
. . Crispin then argues that in the Matthew 5 passage in which Jesus addresses this historical debate, “the word which is translated as “adultery” or “unchastity” is actually poerneia,” (p28). Earlier Crispin has explained that the word poerneia is a Greek word “from which …we derive our modern word pornography,” (p28) He continues, “That word referred to sexual immorality and like the Hebrew concept of ervath dabhar would have included adultery but have extended to other forms of misconduct.” He states that we do not have an English word with “comparable meaning,” (p28). Crispin asserts that Jesus’ use of the word poerneia is deliberate. For, Jesus could have used the word moichea, which “meant simply adultery.” In fact, this word “moichea was used by Jesus only three sentences earlier when Jesus said, ‘But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.’”
. . This is all very complex and has been the subject of much scholarly controversy. However, if Crispin is correct and Jesus is deliberately using poerniea instead of moichea then our reading of the Matthew passages may be influenced. Essentially Crispin is arguing that something is lost in the translation of Jesus’ words from Greek to English and that Jesus’ intended meaning involves more than just adultery. Crispin then asks the question, “If Jesus intended to permit divorce only in cases of adultery, why did he change to the more general word only three sentences later? The only possible answer to that is he did so because he wanted to express a wider concept, namely the concept of shameful or indecent conduct already contained in the Law that had been given to Moses,” (p 29).
. . Crispin then asks, “What then are the limits of this ground of shameful or indecent conduct? Neither the Old Testament nor the New Testament contains any further explanation other than that implicit in the meaning of the Hebrew and Greek words. The most difficult question,” he states, “is whether it has to be misconduct of a sexual nature,” (p 29). So as not to misrepresent Crispin’s argument and befuddle it with my own words I will quote Crispin extensively until his conclusion:


“Both the Hebrew and the Greek word have strong sexual connotations and that seems to have prompted various translators to pick words such as “unchastity” or “adultery” as the closest English synonyms available. It seems to me, however, that the concept should not be looked at in the abstract but in the context of a marriage which is, of course, an essentially sexual relationship. In that context it seems to me that the word may be taken to include any kind of misconduct or immorality which is so serious that it pollutes or perverts the marriage relationship. If that construction is correct, it would mean that a Christian should not contemplate divorce unless there was a misconduct that was so serious that it virtually undermined the whole marriage. On the other hand, it would mean that a [husband or] wife need not feel locked into a marital relationship with a [wo/]man who was repeatedly guilty of gross violence towards [him/]her and/or their children merely because [s/]he had not committed adultery.”

. . Crispin’s contention is well worth considering. It fits with the idea that marriage is a covenant between two people and reflects the idea that gross acts of abuse or violence against a partner whom someone has promised to love, cherish and be faithful to break this covenant in such a way that the two who were joined together may be torn, perhaps irreparably, apart. This is not to say that reconciliation should not be sought. Our God is a God of restored relationships and love and he can restore broken relationships. Reconciliation should be sought especially when we realise how serious God considers the breaking of a covenant, as discussed in my previous post relating to Genesis 15. If we keep all of this in mind I think it is possible to have a scriptural view of when it is permissible to divorce without watering down the commands of Jesus while at the same time avoiding the legalism of the Pharisees.
. . In reading this, please remember that I am not a scholar of Greek or Hebrew which is why I have quoted Crispin rather than assert my own opinion. I do not claim to hold an absolute answer. I am a Christian woman who seeks earnestly to follow the example of Christ, to live a life of obedience that honours God because I am convinced that He loves and cares for us, moreover, He is God and deserves to be worshiped for that fact alone. In the year leading up to my divorce I sought to understand the Bible and act accordingly, I did not want to divorce because my heart was hardened. What I have written serves simply to share some information I have found. I do not feel competent in advising as to how others should act. If the issues and questions discussed here touch you, please seek advice from trusted pastors, ministers, counsellors and friends; read widely; interrogate everything asking God to guide you and give you wisdom - and pray.
. . Finally, the only advice I wish to give is to those who may be experiencing abuse: If you are faced with a dangerous situation find somewhere safe you can go to give yourself time to think and consider your situation. Do not put yourself or your children at risk. Seek safety.
. . What I can say, without a doubt, is that whatever position you are in God is interested in you. I know this because I see how Jesus treated people when he walked the earth. Remember the woman caught in adultery. Like her, we are able to approach Jesus and find forgiveness, comfort and life. I know this is how God would treat us because Hebrews 1:3 tells me that “The Son [Jesus] is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being.” He shows us, as Kim discussed not so long ago, what God’s nature is like. When we look to Jesus and see how he treats those around him we see how God would treat us if he were to walk the earth, for this is who Jesus is: God become man. I find this so comforting and so compelling. I am drawn to Jesus because of his great love, compassion and mercy. I am sure he would never turn away a hurting heart.

Just a few of the a m a z i n g things I saw in Sydney yesterday:

The Mexican Navy's very impressive training ship The Cuauhtémoc


A Sea Turtle

Lots of Butterflies!


A Pretty Insect


Lots more Beautiful Butterflies

Some Gorgeous Cicadas

We saw many other amazing things at the Australian Museum but these are some of my favourites.

Wednesday, July 12

More on Divorce - forthcoming

Thankyou for all your comments on my recent I cringe when I hear the word 'divorce' post. I am so glad that my story can have a positive impact on those that are hurting or have been hurt through divorce or/and abuse.

Your stories touch me as well!

I plan to post again on my ideas, which are grounded in scripture, on when divorce is permissable as one of the big questions for me on divorcing was "How can I trust and follow a God who allows me to divorce my husband if he commits adultery but not if he tries to kill me?" It did not make sense. I wrestled with this issue for a long time.

In some upcoming posts I will share my struggle and the hope and comfort I found in searching for an answer to this, and so many other, questions. I will address Marie's question here.

The post will appear in the next couple of days, so please, stay tuned. For now, the sun is shining like a spring day rather than a winter one, and there are amazing ships on the harbour and dinosaurs in museums so my children and I are having an excursion.

Hope your day is grand!
Till anon.

Tuesday, July 11

Je parle français comme une vache espagnole.



If clouds are full of water,
they pour rain upon the earth.
Whether a tree falls to the south or to the north,
in the place where it falls, there will it lie.
Ecclesiastes 11:3

Do you think this could be the 'heaventree of stars'?

Monday, July 10

In response to the learned Mr Thorpe, whose book Why Literature is Bad For You is being discussed here and here and here and here, and his claim that:
An underlying message of much literature is that a substitute for action, a sensation of having acted, is better than action itself...

I would like to submit a rather large excerpt of Monsieur Diderot's "Eloge de Richardson" which first appeared in the Journal etranger (Jan. 1762).

In this very fine article, Monsieur Diderot esteemes the virtue of sentimental reading. He sees it not as an indulgence which absorbs one's capacity to feel and think and act in real life, as Mr Thorpe contends, but as an indulgence which absorbs our capacity to think and feel and then encourages us to act upon what we have experienced, through reading, in the real world.

Mr Thorpe states that:

[Some writers] temporarily remove from your mind the fact that all you [have] done is sit on your posterior and read a novel. [They give] readers the illusion that they [have] done something....From [there] it is only one more step to the kind of literature that gives us the impression, not of having done something, but of having thought or felt something. Maybe one reason why Gray's "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard is said to be the most famous poem in the language is that it succeeds so brilliantly in giving us the illusion that we have emoted over the graves of obscure villagers--when in fact we have done no such thing. It's possible that when we finish the "Elegy" we are so steeped in "having felt" that we can feel no more.... Armed with the feeling that we have already performed, we can't see the need of performing further.


Monsieur Diderot would agree that a masterful fiction has the power to absorb. Consider the following description of his experience of reading the novels of Samuel Richardson:



In the space of a few hours I had been through a host of situations which the longest life can scarcely provide in its whole course. I had heard the genuine language of the passions; I had seen the secret springs of self-interest and self-love operating in a hundred different ways; I had become privy to a multitude of incidents and I felt I had gained in experience.


Monsieur Diderot has indeed felt and thought that he has experienced more than he actually has; for, he has probably not arisen from his posterior in all the time he has been reading. However, before we conceed that Mr Thorpe is right, let us also consider that it is this immersion in the text which Monsieur Diderot claims provokes action; for he states:



[T]hanks to this author, I have loved my fellow beings more, and loved my duty more; ... I have had only pity for the wicked; ... I have developed more sympathy for the unfortunate, more reverence for the good, more prudence in dealing with the things of the present, more indifference for the things of the future, more contempt for life, and more love for virtue, the only good which we can ask from heaven, and the only one it can grant us, without punishing us for our ill-considered requests!
Reading fiction has wrought a deep change in the heart of Monsieur Diderot. A change which influences every feeling, every thought and every action since his introduction to the works of the esteemed Richardson. Diderot goes on to observe how the reading of literature influences the friendships made and maintained in life:


Since I have known [Richardson's novels], they have been my touchstone. If anyone does not like them, my judgement on that person is made. I have never talked about them to any man I esteem without trembling lest his judgement might not be the same as mine, I have never met anyone who shared my enthusiasm without wanting to put my arms round him and hug him.



Finally, let us consider Diderot's contention that it is from this sentimental reading that we gain a sense of morality, not just pertaining to the circumstances within the text, but for every occasion we shall encounter after having read and responded to the text.


"I have observed that, amongst people who read Richardson together or separately, the conversation was all the more interesting and lively.


I have heard, as a consequence of their reading, the most important questions concerning morality and taste being discussed and analyzed."


Diderot asserts:


If it matters to men to be convinced that, independently of any concerns beyond this life, the best thing we can do to be happy is to be virtuous, what benefit Richardson has brought to humankind! He has not demonstrated this truth; he has made us feel it; with every line he leads us to prefer the fate of virtue oppressed to that of vice triumphant. Who would wish to be Lovelace with all his advantages? Who would not rather be Clarissa, despite all her misfortunes?

I have often said, as I read him: I would happily give my life to be like this woman; I would rather be dead than be that man.

If I am able, despite the selfish motives which may disturb my judgement, to apportion my contempt or my esteem according to just standards of impartiality, it is to Richardson that I owe it. My friends, read him again and again....

Mankind, come and learn from him how to come to terms with the evils of life; come, we shall weep together over the unfortunates in his stories, and we will say: 'If fate casts us down, at least honest folk will weep also weep over us.'



Indeed, let us all read, feeling the plight of the characters deeply, for though it be fiction, though we be absorbed, we will be changed, we will consider the right way to act and what we discover in word will be rendered in deed.
A little man's prayer:

Dear God,
Please help Miss Nic's dad to be better in the morning straight away. And please give the sick to sin so he knows how mean he's been to us. And please help Miss Nic's dad to be your friend. And please help everyone in the world who doesn't know you to be your friend and love you until we touch your hair.
Amen


Sometimes it is very hard not to laugh.


Update: 11th July, am.

The little man's prayer was answered!
This morning I received a call from Miss Nic who said,


"Miss _____, my dad is fine! There's nothing wrong (they thought he had, and indeed removed, a cancerous growth in his intestines! They then thought there was more but it disappeared - We were praying it would disappear completely!). Tell ________, thanks for praying."


To which I replied with a scream of joy which distracted a cyclist riding by and nearly caused him to crash his bike, oops.

God Rocks! We're dancing!

Sunday, July 9

A picture is worth more than the few words I have today...

I don't have many words to say today. I am really enjoying looking at images though. If you have not already seen these sites you really should check them out. The photographs are amazing!


Open Eyes... has some amazing images. Like this one:






The photos are taken by David Aldeia. This is what he says about himself: "I am David Aldeia, 30 years old. I'm living in Rueil Malmaison, France.I started photography three years ago with a canon EOS300. Now, i'm using a digital camera.I like to take picture of life in order to share my vision of what surrounds me.Don't hesitate to criticize my photographies: it's the better way for me to progress."

You must also check out A.Stark Photo.
Andrew Stark's photos capture the amazing beauty of the Yukon as well as the creatures, people, flora and fauna he encounters in his many adventures, which can be read about in his blog, A.Stark Place.

There are also some amazing images here @ ShutterView. Finally, Dale Hudjik has an incredible picture of a beautiful green insect @ Spun With Tears.

I love to browse through the works of all of these photographers. It's rather like taking a holiday, without the hassel of packing a suitcase. I hope you enjoy these sites and they make up for my lack of conversation. Enjoy!

Just as the sun was rising this morning, I received a text message from some of my good friends.

The text read:
Our little miracle is here!

Their first child, a precious little man, had just been born! I am so excited. We've waited so long for him to arrive. At one point we thought these two would never be able to have children. Yet, now they do. My friends are elated. Their baby is indeed a miracle. I can't wait to see his gorgeous face, give him a kiss and say hello.
Today in church we sang this song:

BEFORE THE THRONE OF GOD ABOVE

Before the throne of God above,
I have a strong and perfect plea,

A great High Priest whose name is “Love,”
Who ever lives and pleads for me.
My name is graven on His hands,
My name is written on His heart;
I know that while in heav’n He stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart.
No tongue can bid me thence depart.

When Satan tempts me to despair,
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look and see Him there
Who made an end of all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died,
My sinful soul is counted free;
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.
To look on Him and pardon me.

Behold Him there! the risen Lamb,
My perfect, spotless Righteousness,
The great unchangeable I AM,
The King of glory and of grace!
One with Himself I cannot die,
My soul is purchased by His blood;
My life is hid with Christ on high,
With Christ my Savior and my God
With Christ my Savior and my God.



I absolutely love it.

This SonicFlood version, is the version I love the best. It's great to play and sing!

See what others have been singing @ Rebecca Writes. You can even vote for your favourite version of Blessed Assurance.

Saturday, July 8

The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit.

James Joyce, Ulysses (1922)
What do you think this looks like? I have an image in my mind but I have not been able to find a representation that fits. The words are beautiful.

Friday, July 7


Seven Mile Beach, Tasmania
It is nearly the anniversary of my Nan’s death. I miss her. Today, I’m wearing a massive cardigan she knitted. It’s very chunky and very warm. It reminds me of her. She was a great knitter. She was also a very prolific knitter. We have kept so many of her jumpers. Some are quite hideous: remember the bright fluorescent wools of the 70s? You know, the ones that look like they’re made from the fur of Elmo and are then combined with the feathers of Big Bird. We have a lot of Sesame Streetesque jumpers. These ones have been made into cushions, so we can appreciate them without having to wear them.
Some of Nan’s jumpers are gorgeous cable knits. All of them are itchy. My Nan left us a legacy of itchy jumpers! Enough to keep us warm forever.

One of my favourite Nan knits is my beanie.




It keeps me warm against the wind that tears through at uni. I seem to get some funny looks when I wear this cosy little hat but I wear it nevertheless. I wear it with an air of defiance thinking, but never verbalising, something along the lines of:

“I defy you all, beanie scorners! My Nan knitted this so laugh if you will, I’ll love it forever!”

On arriving at uni one day adorned by my beloved beanie, I was greeted by a friend in the following manner:

“Hi, ________! You look like a mushroom today!”

To which I replied in good humour, “Why thank you, _________. What a lovely way to be greeted of a morning, as a mushroom.”

He explained that mushrooms were friendly and thus it was a compliment to be greeted as a mushroom.

“Better than a toadstool,” he clarified, “Toadstools are so mean.”

I had to agree. Toadstools are mean.

My Nan loved it when little toadstools sprouted in her garden. She’d let them grow under the trees and we’d pretend they were a little village. But they were always scary: poisonous and the like. She liked mushrooms much better. Mushrooms are soooo tasty. My Nan was also a fantastic cook! She cooked everything well. Mum cooked mushrooms with dinner tonight. We both miss her.
On Friends, Coffee, Poetry, Music, & A Day Well Spent

Spent indeed! There has been a wonderful outbreak of $10 cd shops around Sydney over the last few years. I love $10 cd shops. In fact, I have become so spoilt by the proliferation of these treasure troves that I refuse to spend more than $10 on a cd anymore. The only trouble with a rule such as that is I probably end up spending more money on cds because they are so wonderfully cheap. Yesterday is a case in point.

Yesterday, I had some business to do about town so I planned the path of my journey around the location of these shops. I found some real treasures at these shops; for remarkably, I bumped into a good friend at each one! The guys I bumped into were all musicians, some were guys I used to be in bands with. It was so amazing (on second thoughts, maybe it isn’t that amazing to bump into musicians in music stores; however, as I hadn’t seen each of them for sometime I’m calling it amazing). It was so nice to see each of them - even if they did catch me dancing in the aisles to daggy music - and chat about bands and our longing for good music and the need to satisfy this deep craving we all have for great cds, and good musicians to play with, even if you do sometimes need to keep a mouse near by to eat the cheese.* We also bought cds.

Here are some gems that I found:

Charlie Mingus, Tijuana Moods



Mingus is one of my favourite Double Bassists. I love him! This cd is jazz with a latino feel. Nice. Of this album, Mingus says, “This is the best record I ever made.” Charles Mingus, 1962.


CoreaHancock, is the next album I bought. This album is “the second album from the heralded Chick Corea-Herbie Hancock concert series of 1978.” If you like jazz piano you have to listen to this cd! It is awesome!



And don't they look pleased with themselves!


Of this album, Tony Cohan states, “Art, and jazz especially, has always held the promis of the spontaneous, the unexpected, the transcendent, the spirit of play. Chick and Herbie take us once again, in a whole new way to that magical place.”


Lastly, I bought The Best of Carly Simon. I bought one of these for my mum too. ‘You’re So Vain’ is such a good song!


I also bought another book of Milton’s poetry. I am dying to read ‘Comus.’

After all my running around I was in dire need of a good coffee and no one makes good coffee like a friend of mine who has just opened up his own Café, Luxe, in Bondi Junction. If you ever find yourself in Sydney, you simply have to visit Luxe...

...grab a table outdoors, and have a coffee and a bite to eat there. The menu is great:

The coffee is the best. I had a day well $pent!


*One of the guys I bumped into was the drummer in a band I was in. Together we used to try to turn every song into a funk song – we were the renegade rhythm section. Sadly, it is sometimes not appropriate to make every song a funk song. We were forced at times to play cheesy music. It was torture! Luckily, this clever drummer had thought of a way to combat this terrible evil: he kept a stuffed toy mouse on his kit – to eat the cheese.

Homines dum docent discunt.
Even while they teach, men learn.

Seneca (‘the Younger’) c. 4 bc–ad 65
Epistulae Morales no. 7, sect. 8


. . I spent the first week of my holidays working as a casual teacher in a Christian school and while I hope the students learnt something about decimals, or geometry, the performance of a dramatic text, how to make a parachute, or at least how to play soccet, somehow, I think I ended up learning as much from the students as they did from me.
. . Here are some of the things I learnt from the fantastic children I had the privilege of teaching throughout that week. Here is the first:

. . It was the last week of term and a production to upstage all productions was finally being performed after months of preparation. The children from K-12, and some teachers, were involved in the performances. Kindy to Year 5 performed songs from
“Meet the King” and the older years, 6-12, staged the musical “Dreamer,” the story of Joseph.
. . A little boy in a Year 4 performance caught my eye. The class was singing about how Jesus healed the leper and proved that he has the power to forgive sin also. All of the children were dressed in white skivvies and each child had three red crepe paper rectangles stuck onto their tops: one on their chest and one on each sleeve. As the children sung about Jesus washing our sins away they tore off the red paper and screwed it up showing that we are left white – like a clean skivvy – and pure when Jesus takes our sins away and forgives us.
. . Yet as the children were symbolically emphasising this profound truth I saw a tall boy in the back row who was sticking the red paper back on to his shirt just as it was at the beginning of the performance. My brother, who noticed this little boy in the same moment that I did, leant over and whispered in my ear, “That’s what we do.” I smiled realising that the little boy who was sticking his ‘sin’ back on actually demonstrated a profound theological truth as well:
we, despite Christ’s forgiveness, return to our own ways (sin) and mess up our nice white skivvies continually, even moments after we’ve been forgiven. Yet all is not lost! For as this little boy’s teacher reminded him later, once Jesus wipes our sin away it’s gone forever…it doesn’t come back. The little man must have learnt this truth because in the next performance the red paper stayed off after Jesus’ forgiveness was sung about.
. . Although I only had them for a week, I grew quite attached to the Year 7 class I had. They were sweet as. One little boy took a liking to me, probably because I bought chocolate from him every day: he was raising money for his sister or sister’s friends to go on a mission to Thailand…it was for a good cause, and from him I also learnt a profound truth. On Friday, after buying two bars of caramel centred chocolate, seven Caramello Koalas, two white Freddo Frogs, and a twin strawberry frog over a period of five days, I finally said,
“You know, ________, I can’t keep buying chocolate from you EVERY day because even though I love chocolate and the money is going towards a good cause, if I keep eating this much chocolate I’ll end up the size of a small house.”
He looked up and replied,
“Awe, Miss, that’s ok, you’ll still be pretty,”
and my heart melted like a Caramello Koala in the palm of a child.
. . Young ________ demonstrated a truth that is so missing from society today: people are lovely, pretty, attractive regardless of how well they fit socially endorsed views of beauty, how much they weigh, and how much chocolate they consume. Admittedly, ________, is a shrewd little business man and was probably interested in making a sale; however, his comment did illustrate how consumed we can be with chocolate, I mean, appearance and how very little it actually affects who we are…unless we let it take over. His comment reminded me that it is more important to establish a good character and build beauty from the inside rather than focusing on external qualities. So, with this in mind I bought another chocolate.
....... . As well as buying copious amounts of chocolate on Friday, I also attended the school sport carnival. The weather was inclement! The rain was icy cold and the sun refused to shine. The wind blew straight through the seventeen layers I was wearing and froze the very marrow of my bones. We ran to stay warm but with icicles for bones, no one was particularly agile. Despite the freezing conditions, I was reminded of another spiritual truth.
. . Time keeping for the track events was quite an exciting job. Standing close to the finish line, counting the runners as they crossed, making sure the times recorded were accurate. There was a sense of anticipation at the beginning of each race and an increasing excitement as the race drew to a close. There were some very good finishes. Some children raced with all their might. The determination was etched into their face. At the end they threw themselves over the line relieved that the race was over and satisfied that they had run their best. Some students lost shoes but kept on without so much of a glance backwards. Some fell and were helped up by others. Some entered races we thought they’d never finish. Once a teacher entered a race – this is a teacher whom I have heard say, “I don’t know why anyone would EVER RUN! It’s sooo unnatural. Running should be reserved only for matters of survival” - just to encourage a student who though running her best was feeling the pain and struggling towards the finish line. It looked uncertain that she would finish. So, this teacher, possibly sensing it was important for the student’s survival that she finish the race, joined in and ran alongside the last student encouraging her all the way. They crossed the line accompanied by the applause and cheers of teachers and students. Some of us broke into a little happy dance (ok, ‘some of us’ means me).
. . It was great to see so many children finish well. However, a lot didn’t. Many children would run their little hearts out right up until the last moment in which they would look down at the finish line, come to a comfortable pace and jog casually over the white line marking the end of their race. They’d finished the race and some of them in first position, yet the finish was disappointing. It was a great anticlimax to be waiting for an energetic finish that matched the rest of the race and to be faced instead with mediocrity. You know what I learnt, right? There is not much need to say it but I write it here to remind myself: It’s so important to finish well.
. .

Wednesday, July 5

I am Construction Woman!

Today I built a shed!

OK, so, I really helped my Dad build a shed.

I built the roof.

OK, so, I helped build the roof.

Alright, I held bits of wood in place while my Dad built a roof around me.

...can I still keep the title? I kinda like it.

Tuesday, July 4

. . Every time I hear the word ‘divorce’ I cringe. I cringe because it is a word that is so laden with judgement and so laden with pain. Within the church, the grief associated with divorce is two-fold. There is the pain of a lost relationship and the guilt for having broken what God Himself has joined. The torment is at times excruciating. In the Blogosphere I come across a lot of well meaning posts about the evils of divorce, the pain and torment for children who come from broken families, and the selfishness of adults who do divorce. I am drawn to them all like a moth to a flame, and like a moth to a flame I end up burnt.
. .Burnt because, I am divorced. Moreover, I am a Christian who is divorced.
. .I didn’t want to write about this but now I feel compelled. I am writing this blog with a nom de plume so that I can share details of my life while maintaining some degree of privacy. Today, I want to share the struggle divorce entails. I do not necessarily want to refute those who write about the evils, the pain and the selfishness of divorce. I simply want to share a story so that those of you who are unaware of what it is like to divorce may gain a little insight and those of you who know the pain of divorce may find some comfort. This is a story I have been trying to write for years, but have not found the words to do so until now.

. .When I was younger, I lived in a Christian community where we studied theology for five hours of the day and worked on a farm for another five hours of the day. Our work on the farm paid for our studies and our living expenses. At the end of each week we were given a small allowance. The community was made up of families, older couples, and a lot of young adults. It was in this community that I met the man I was to love. He was from another country, we looked quite different, spoke quite differently, had grown up quite differently, yet we loved the same God. The one true God. This man I met was gentle but strong, loving, generous, and kind. He loved to pray. He understood and studied theology with me. We worked together in the vineyards; amongst the cauliflowers; the lettuce; the beans; and the turf. We went running in the rain. We climbed trees and gazed through the opening in the branches to look at the stars. We felt closer to God in our tree as we looked up through ‘the window to heaven.’ We sang together. He taught me songs in his language, I taught him songs in mine. We harmonised. We became very good friends. And then I moved away. We stayed in touch. We met up again. We knew we loved each other.
. .He went home to his country and we spoke daily on the phone. We sent love letters and gifts across the ocean. We prayed that if it was God’s will, we would be married. Eventually we became engaged. Still, there were numerous obstacles, visas, money, the vast expanse of land and ocean between us. After many long months the visa was granted, the plane tickets bought, we were to be married. And married we were.
. .Yet two years into the marriage the man I loved became increasingly violent. He started by throwing objects at me: things I liked: cups, pictures, our baby’s toys. Then he started to punch holes in the wall right next to my head. His fist would fly past so fast that I would feel the breeze on my nose and wait for the blow to land on my face. His fist would go through the wall next to me instead. Then he took to backing me against the wall and putting his fist through the picture frames I stood underneath till glass showered down upon my head. He’d restrain me, hit me about the side of my head till thunder resounded between my ears with such mighty clasps I thought my head would explode and then I’d hear nothing but ringing. The blows got steadily harder. Somewhere amidst all this I fell pregnant with our second child. Then the man I still loved threw things at my child-laden belly. Our second child was born. The violence continued. I told my pastor’s wife. She said the violence had to stop. I said, “I know, but how?” Her solution was to “love him into change.” I loved him. He didn’t change. I prayed for him. He didn’t change. I cried and pleaded with God, “This is your will, God! We asked you….we said, ‘If it is your will…’” He didn’t change. In fact, he got worse.
. .The violence increased to fortnightly instead of monthly and the strength of his blows increased also. By the time we had been married for three years I was convinced that the only way I was ever to get out of this situation was if I died. I was distraught. Every place that I had sought help had failed, my church and my God had both abandoned me. My family fought to keep the children and myself safe and often caught the brunt of the violence in their attempts to get us out of the house. But there was no solution. Divorce was not an option. I had no Biblical grounds for divorce: there had been no adultery. I had married for life, till death us do part. And I thought death would.
. .Death was my only way out. It seemed to me that the best solution to this problem would be if I was killed at the hands of my husband, he was found guilty of my murder and my parents took responsibility for our children. I was waiting for him to kill me, trying to keep the children safe as he did.
. .It all seems so ridiculous now, that I could ever have been thinking that way. Why didn’t I just leave? My conviction about marriage was so strong that I was unwilling to break my commitment to my husband for anything – even if my life depended upon it. So, I stayed.
. .Until a final assault. My injuries brought me to the emergency department of the local hospital where my mum decided to call the police. Two burly male officers and a female police woman surveyed my injuries and took no pains to mask their shock. They gasped at the marks of four long fingers and one thumb that were left around my throat. They swore at the state of my eye which was swollen shut and blackened half of my face. They perused my other injuries and took the matter out of my hands, arrested my husband and placed an interim Apprehended Violence Order (AVO) between us. I didn’t see him again till court two weeks later.
. .He turned up, with our minister for support who tried to convince me to forget about an AVO: it wasn’t godly, it wasn’t in the best interests of the children. I explained that I had no choice it was a matter for the courts to decide. With my injuries still clearly visible the magistrate decided to prolong the AVO for another two years. I was relieved but devastated. I couldn’t understand how a secular agency could determine the fate of my marriage. I wanted to defy it and live happily forever after. I wanted to reconcile with my husband. Two weeks later I discovered my husband had also been cheating on me for the duration of our marriage. I was broken. Completely.

My heart cried the words of Psalm 55

“If an enemy were insulting me,
I could endure it;
if a foe were raising himself against me,
I could hide from him.
But it is you, a man like myself,
my companion, my close friend,
with whom I enjoyed sweet
fellowship
as we walked with the throng at the
house of God.

…My companion attacks his friends;
he violates his covenant.
His speech is smooth as butter,
yet war is in his heart;
his words are more soothing than oil,
yet they are drawn swords.” (v12-14 & 20-21)

. .It takes a year of separation to be able to apply for a divorce in Australia. It was a year I spent investigating every little detail of God’s intentions for marriage; Jesus’ instructions regarding divorce (Mark 10); Paul’s writings on divorce; and quizzing my pastor on the exact meaning of this greek word and that greek word. I continued to wear my wedding rings but every time I put them on, I’d vomit.
. .My husband made it clear that he was not interested in reconciliation. To be honest, after discovering the extent of his adultery, I was unable to imagine reconciliation unless so many things changed dramatically. He considered our marriage over already. He was unwilling to seek help and change.
. .It took me a very long time to recognise that the divorce took place the moment my husband decided to break his vows to me; the moment he cheated; the moment he broke my face; our covenant; our home. We divorced and I discovered what it really means for the two who have become one flesh to be ripped in two again.
. .In Bible study some time later, a friend was explaining the traditional Jewish way of making a covenant. In Genesis 15, God makes a covenant with Abram. God promises Abram that he will have an heir from his own body and his offspring will be as numerous as the stars (v4&5). In order to seal this promise God instructs Abram to “bring …a heifer, a goat and a ram, each three years old, along with a dove and a pigeon,” (v9). So Abram brings them. Then he cuts them into two, except for the birds and he lays them out with each half facing the other (v 10).
. .Traditionally in Jewish culture, when a covenant was made between two parties, the animals were laid out as described and both parties walked between the halves of the carcases. As they walked the lesser party would say to the greater, “If I break my covenant may it be so done to me,” meaning, if I break my promise may I be torn in two like the animals beside us. It was a bloody and graphic reminder of the enormity of a promise. Moreover, it was a graphic reminder of the consequences of breaking one.
. .What is interesting in Genesis 15 is that although Abram is clearly the lesser party, in this instance, God sends Abram into a “deep sleep,” (v12) and God, in the form of a “smoking firepot with a blazing torch appeared and passed between the pieces [and] on that day the LORD made a covenant with Abram” (v17&18). By this stage you may be asking yourself, “What does all this have to do with divorce?” A very good question…
. .When my friend was explaining Genesis 15 to me, suddenly, a light bulb came on for me. My friend said,
“It’s really quite amazing because it is like the way God is making a covenant with his people. Yet God, by passing through the animals instead of Abram, is actually saying, ‘If YOU break your covenant with me may I be broken in two like these animals.’ He is taking the consequence of our broken promises upon himself.”
He went on, “I get it because it is what happens when Jesus comes to earth as a man, but I don’t get the tearing in two part ’cause they were never really torn apart…”
At this point I gasped, and said, “But they were!” remembering Jesus’ cry on the cross, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” – which means, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34).
. .It was at this point that I realised that God knows what it is like to be divorced. He knows it because he has experienced it both through the way we choose to live apart from Him, and through Jesus’ death, when two (three including the Spirit) who are also one are torn apart. God has experienced the unity of fellowship and the pain caused by the breaking of a covenant. It is profound. The pain of divorce is profound. The pain of a broken covenant is profound. The fact that God, a perfect promise keeping God should subject Himself to being torn in two is amazingly profound. Yet what is even more amazing still, is that God being torn in two also provided the means of repairing the broken relationship between us and God. It is completely amazing.
. .I now understand that when God says, “I hate divorce” (Malachi 2:16), He doesn’t mean He hates me. He hates divorce because He knows how destructive it is, how painful, and how it leaves us so broken like the bloodied animals. It is because God knows this pain that I can approach Him with mine and find comfort. Moreover, I can approach Him if I have broken a covenant, my covenant with Him, because He has been torn in two so we can be restored to a right relationship with Him.
. . Divorce is painful, being ripped in two is, but there is comfort for those who have felt the pain of a broken covenant and forgiveness for those who have broken covenants. And because not one of us can say, “I have been faithfully obedient to God in every area of my life forever,” we find ourselves all covenant breakers in need of forgiveness. Thank God he offers it.