The early bird

Drat the early bird. What's so good about morning? Why do people look so smug when they say how early they get up and how beautiful it is and how much they get done?
Okay, I know the psalms talk about praising God early in the morning. And I often do some praying then, usually because I woke up way too soon to the song of the birds or sooner and it's a good thing to do when I'm tucked up in my cosy bed and it's way too early to get up.
But sunsets are wonderful too and does it matter when I do stuff as long as I accomplish what I set out to do? And does it matter if I do it in my dressing gown against the cold morning, waiting for it to be warmer before I dress for the day.
Maybe that early bird is in her nest soon after sundown while I burn the midnight oil. Somehow no-one looks smug about working on into the night hours. Those who do are more likely to be pitied than praised.
Besides even the birds don't get it right. For years we had chooks and because we raised our own chickens (Oh, the miracle of seeing those little chickens emerge from the eggs!)  often we had more roosters than was a good idea. Roosters are early morning birds, right? Not in our back yard as the neighbours would testify. In the middle of the night there would be a cockadoodledoo as our rooster talked to the one across the block. You could have wrung its neck - and eventually one of our neighbours did just that on our behalf. 
So surely there are times that suit different people (or chooks). What works for one may not work for another and why should one be thought of as superior unless of course there is a risk of neck wringing rather than hand wringing.
So, I'm not an early bird and I love my mornings - preferably in bed, with a cuppa, a good book and the cat at my feet. 

Thank you, my dear doctor...

"What is your purpose?" he asked.
I visit my doctor roughly every 6 months for the routine stuff. So this time he worked through his list: results of blood test, liver function  good, cholesterol still improving, sugar levels dodgy; checked BP and lungs, whacked in a flu shot ("because I knew you needed one"); organised scripts required and a referral and papers for the breast cancer checkup.

But in amongst all that he asked, "So how have you been?" I hesitated a little. Physically fine but a bit measly a while back over all this retirement stuff.
Then that question about purpose. So what is my purpose in life ("What's it all about, Alfie?") Sure I love having more time to read, am enjoying Sing Australia and learning to conduct. I like slow starts to the day and have projects and church and so on. But purpose. My mum ended her days saying she asked the Lord every night to take her home. At the age of 95 she was ready and had done enough.
So is it all about doing? I have been reading The Path of Celtic Prayer by Calvin Miller which I got from the library. In one chapter he lisst three things which struck me as giving meaning to life:

• to live to complete the dream I have for you, God
• to live until my season of worship is complete
• to live long enough to bear a saving work to those outside of your grace

[The language reflects the usage of St Patrick.]

So we spoke of this and the fact that physical health does not stand alone but is part of the whole and the wholeness that we as humans long for. 

In amongst the talk of what gives purpose I listed the things I do and heard myself saying how I'd intended to write  (including blogging) more in my retirement, so her I am. Thinking out loud and realising that being is as important as doing. Who do I want to be? What do I want to do? What excites and energises and brings life?

So the longish consult ended. How grateful I am for my doctor who cares for me in such fullness.
And then when I went to the counter to settle up I discovered he'd bulk billed me. Thank you so much, dear doctor.

Ek is lank; hy is kort. Languages fascinate me.

I speak English Aussie style and that was fine for the first 12 years of my life. Then it was high shcool and Latin and French were not an option - just what was expected of the class. So I persisted with both languages on into University and ended up with a Latin major. My hope was to be a language teacher but we were sent (that's how it happened in those days) to a small country town high school where no languages were taught - although I did learn a few words from the students that had not previously been part of my vocabulary.
One of the other teachers and I decided the students needed some exposure to a second language so we carved out a few minutes from our lessons each day and taught them Indonesian using vinyl 45s and a workbook put out by the ABC. No matter that neither of us had known the language before.
Apa kabar? How are you?
Kabar baik.
Sounded fair.
I did get a chance to study Indonesian for a year by distance from Adelaide Teachers College which still existed in 1974 but the exam came two weeks after my first baby arrived and the supplementary exam was on the day we moved from that town to another nearby. That was the end of that.
Then the Primary School my children went to thought it would be good for kids to learn a language. This was before all primary children had exposure to another language. I offered to teach some French on a voluntary basis and had visions of myself singing  Frѐre Jacques and so on. But no. There was a change of principal. He rang to thank me for offering to teach a language - German. Okey-dokey. Guten Morgen. Wie gehts?
I read the grammar book and went to my friend Brigitte who had arrived in Australia at age 11 not knowing a word of English. So I learned ahead of the children. Eins, zwei, drei.....
Next came Greek - New Testament Greek as part of my theology studies. Fabulous once I got used to the script but I knew α alpha and β beta and π pi and a few others from Maths and the language had similarities to Latin. What shivers went up my spine when our teacher read the beginning of John's Gospel.  Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος. In the beginning was the word.
So we moved to the Riverland and I thought that was the end of language study. But there was an advertisement for Italian classes so after a term I could just about read it - again closely linked to Latin - and  order two cappuccinos. Due cappuccini per favore. Pretty handy if I ever get to Italy.
And at last Hebrew. During my theology studies I had been frustrated not to be able to read those strange symbols none of which appeared in geometry formulae. There was a 3 week intensive and I was between jobs. The bliss of being able to concentrate on working it all out. I was the dunce in the class when it came to reading Hebrew aloud but loved decoding and deciphering; even reading from right to left didn't phase me. And the shivers came again with the blessing at the end of each class. The Lord bless you and keep you spoken in Hebrew and ending with שָׁלוֹם shalom.
And suddenly it's Afrikaans. Ernest and Hannelie joined the singing group and then came to dinner with us bringing their charming children. I couldn't resist. 'How do you say hello?' 'Hallo.' Well that was fine. And 'My naam is....' and 'Wat is jou naam?' So here we go again.
I wonder how much use 'Ek is lank' (I am tall.) 'hy is kort' will be? Dankie, Ernest en Hannelie!!

Pray for ........the headline says

"Pray for Phil" is the headline of the morning paper because a beloved cricketer has been injured and the double page spread has it as the banner across the top. At other times we have been exhorted to 'pray for our boys' when they are fighting fires or in some other emergencies.
It makes me wonder what this means. Do they expect people for whom prayer is not a part of life to suddenly discover  its power and sense of connection? How is it than in our increasingly secular society prayer is seen as needed in a time of crisis?
Yesterday it was announced that a well known football personality is battling with a health issue. It was not suggested we pray for him. Why not? Can we only pray for one person at a time or is it because his situation isn't seen as so dire. Another footballer commenting said that he'd relied on the strength of the club when facing heath problems 'because there was no better place to go for help'. Camaraderie is wonderful in such places, I'm sure.
So what about prayer? A last resort, a reaching out for something more beyond ourselves or just a way to express the seriousness of a situation that is so bad only prayer (or good luck?) will help.
Comments alongside the article feature 'thoughts and prayers' as though they are the same thing, and one mention of fingers crossed. So in this context the urge to pray is more about good wishes and intentions and hopefulness.
For me prayer is a deep connecting with the Divine One who walks with me day by day, the Companion of life's journey, such that prayer is as natural as breathing and sustains me daily. It's so much more than crying out in desperation, but maybe that headline will be the start of something wonderful for those who heed its call.

Trinity

"God and Jesus." A couple of people recently have used this expression - and not as an expletive. Another one on Facebook today made it a trinity and so I decided to have a serious think about this. My immediate reaction is that is implies that Jesus is not God. I notice that people often talk about Jesus to children perhaps because the stories of his life on earth as recorded in the Gospels are tangible whereas the concept of God may be more abstract. I wonder if this is where the dichotomy begins.
The early church fathers (and mothers) struggled with the person of Jesus and his divinity/humanity and so do we. But if we believe Jesus is the divine in human form, then to talk of Jesus AND God is a nonsense. Jesus IS God.
Then, of course, there is the question of trinity. The plot thickens. To talk of "God and Jesus" ignores the Spirit of God, imaged in so many ways as brooding bird, fire and wind, companion on the journey....
The traditional way of speaking of the Holy Trinity is as Father, Son and Holy Spirit, but there are many others eg Creator, Lifegiver, Sustainer. Whichever way is used each of the three is God ie God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit.
I am no theologian (that may be obvious) but the way we use words shapes our thinking and so wise choices are important.

Saving water

Such a good idea. Save water by not washing towels every day. So the sign at the Hilton in Darwin seriously told us about this and invited us to hang our towels up if we were happy to use them again and not have them go out to wash. The first day I hung them up. They were removed and fresh ones hung up.
The second day I saw the housekeeping person as I left the room and gently reminded her that I didn't need my towels replaced. When I returned...... yep, towels removed and replaced with fresh ones.
Mind you, on arrival, when I was hot and flustered there was not one cool beverage in the fridge  -  no water, no jug, no iceblock tray. And that night when room service arrived with meals for us both there was but one glass of water supplied. Ah, so that's how they save on water.

It's not that hard....

What is it about Aussies and getting people's names right? Are we lazy or what? Is it really that hard to get our tongues around the names of those from other cultures? We say we can't do it and OK some are tough but so are Knauerhase and Featherstonhaugh, which are names of people I taught years ago. and seem to have been assimilated.
We had an exchange student from Thailand whose name was Sirilak "But you can call me Anne," she said. Why? When she told me how to say it, it wasn't that hard.
People also complain that with some of those 'foreign' names they can't tell if  when written if they are male or female. I had that problem recently at  an event for which I had created names tags.There were names where I wasn't sure either whether they were male or female (names like Chris and Alex.)
One of the name tags at that event was for Rahmah. She was the last to arrive and I greeted her - a small woman wearing a head scarf. "Hi Rahmah," I said (rhyming it with 'calmer'). She pinned on her badge and sat down. Later when  participants introduced themselves I noted the way she said her name and over morning tea I moved to check it out with her. It was nearly as it looked but the syllables were separated with a short stop, more like Ru Mu (the 'u' as in 'up'.) I repeated it a few times after her and she shyly told me I was the first person who had ever tried to get her name right. Seriously?

Surely we can do better. Care enough to try, listen carefully and ask to hear it again. Just do it. It's not that hard.