why I love universities

I love universities.

I love the long, echoing corridors, the book-lined offices, and the ridiculously steep lecture theatres. I love the lawns and paved areas spotted with students chatting, eating lunch, reading, or kissing. I love the beautiful old stone buildings, and the funky modern ones, with their round windows and lime-green fittings.

I love university libraries. I love working in the far, dim recesses of the library, where the silence is broken only by the rustle of turning pages. I love the eye-boggling microfilm screen, filled with tiny, wavering, impossible to read words. I love the dark shelves devoted to journals, where you pull a cord to turn the lights on, only to have them turn off half way through searching for that elusive article...leaving you imagining someone creeping up behind.

I loved visiting my father's university as a child. White concrete stairs led to his office, with its linoleum floor and sunny window, smelling of ink and paper. A glass cabinet near the building's entrance displayed crystals in a mind-boggling array of colours and shapes, from magenta fuzz to silver cubes; some glowed mysteriously under ultra-violet light. Outside the door, my brother and I played on the huge rocks which dotted the lawn, pretending they hid buttons which produced any food and drink we desired.

I love to walk and pray amongst the ancient red river gums which grow in the university near our home. I love to sit at our back window and watch the rising sun reflect from the university building's curved walls, tawny orange tiles glowing against the deep velvet blue of the sky. I even love the car park lights shining like stars brought to earth, glinting through the trees behind our house at night.

I love the feeling of intellectual discovery which hangs over a university, the sense that great ideas are taught in the shabby lecture theatres, and wonderful discoveries made in the laboratories and libraries.

I love students, their enthusiasm, idealism and readiness to learn.

Of course, this is only half the picture. Students don't usually go to uni to pursue intellectual discovery; they go to get academic recognition, or a ticket to a more prestigious and better paid job. In one philosophy class I attended, the Christian doctrine of sin was openly mocked and attacked. I was also exposed to pornography publically displayed without warning (twice!) by lecturers who took great delight in shattering our innocence.

But I feel immensely privileged that Steve and I work with uni students. We enjoy helping students to find their way through the bewildering moral and intellectual climate at uni, to teach them about a true knowledge which lasts forever, and to encourage them to live for someone outside themselves.

Meanwhile, I get to hang around universities for the rest of my life.

pushing 40...

Here's a 39 year old diary entry my Aunty Dot sent to me today:
"Last night at 20 to 10 Ruth had Jean Dorothy. Ruth was in the labour ward 1 day(?) - having contractions main labour 9.10. 8lb 8 oz dark hair, loooks like Dad, round face. Colin came in last night. Robert is very excited. At school I told everyone, even Mrs Stanton."

Today I turned 39. It's amazing how insignificant birthdays feel these days! To remember exactly what age I am, I have to think of Lizzy's age and add 30. She asked me this morning, "How could you possible forget how old you are, Mummy?" I told her it gets very easy once you're in your 30's.

But my birthday is very significant to my kids, who are out with Steve choosing a cake from Safeway (without cream from a can, I hope), some small gifts (chocolate, please? or perhaps another mug or candle to add to my Mother's Day gift collection), and some lollipops for a treasure hunt (games being essential to a party, according to Thomas). And Steve and I will have a "date night" - that rare and precious thing - this Friday evening.

Birthdays are a reminder that this life, which flies past more quickly year by year, doesn't last forever, but that there is a better life to come. God's faithfulness to me during the last 39 years has made me certain of this: that he will continue to hold me safe in his hand, whatever may happen in the future. I look forward to discovering more and more of the breadth, height and depth of his love as I grow older, and to enjoying that love in all its fullness in eternity.

The Briefing gets cheeky

I want to draw your attention to a wonderful article in this month's issue of The Briefing. It's Katie Stringer's "Wives and lovers", one of those short "Couldn't help noticing" articles at the front of the magazine.

I love The Briefing, I read it every month with anticipation and pleasure, but I must admit it sometimes feels a bit "boy's clubbish" to me (am I the only one?) - you know, serious, masculine, and a bit self-conscious. So it was refreshing to read this article, which burst like a firework into the sometimes sober world of The Briefing.

Smart, sassy, femimine, fun, witty, light-hearted, but also thoughtful, challenging, thought-provoking, and thoroughly Biblical, this article made me think, repent and giggle, all at once!

Should be read by every married woman who sometimes struggles to meet (or to want to meet) her husband's physical needs. Also by anyone else whose curiousity was piqued by the last sentence. That's you, right?

Well done, Katie, keep up the good work!

a poem

Something short and sweet today, a poem I wrote 11 years ago, at a time when I felt uncertain and scared about what my life would be like. Today it struck me how faithful God has been to me during my life so far, through all the times of pain and happiness, as I know he will be to the end. One day I may take this "pom" and put it in iambic pentameter (if I ever find out what that is) but here it is for now, in all its unadorned amateurishness.

The future

The future:
a road of shadows,
sudden beams
of light break through.

Joy, suffering, no guarantees -
save that Your company
the journey long
beside will be.

Your love, sweet draughts,
life-giving drink;
Your words to hear,
Your work to do.

The joy of Your dear countenance.

At journey's end,
an open door,
a sudden light,
home -

and You.

in all honesty?

Dear bloggees,

I've been thinking about what honesty does and doesn't mean (Is it appropriate to blog about ... ? Do I really want to write about ... ? Do you want to read about ... again? - you get the idea!) so I thought it might be time to explain what I mean by "in all honesty".

Honesty should not be taken to include:

a) slanderous or whining remarks about other people, even if I think them;
b) insteresting gossip about other people, although I enjoy gossip as much as the next person;
c) any information which I am legally forbidden from sharing with you (this is more relevant than you may think, I'm giving evidence in a committal hearing soon, if I told you more I would have to kill you);
d) information of such tedium, insignificance and occasional grossness that you wouldn't want to hear it anyway (I'm picking my nose. I'm scratching my bottom. That kind of thing. For such information see my facebook profile.);
d) yet more, repeat more, examples of things I have told you about many times previously (e.g. Today I got cross with my children. Today I got cross with my children. Today I... Silence on such topics should not be taken to imply that our family has now reached perfection.);
f) revelations of major sins which may prove embarrassing to me or you, or break the confidence of others (sorry about that, my self-disclosure agreement only goes so far, just don't imagine I'm nearly as godly as may be suggested by the relatively minor sins I agonise about in my blog);
g) lots of things, really, I just can't think of them all right now.

Humourous comments should not be taken as an expression of honesty (in point c above, I won't really kill you, this is an example of humour, not honesty). And while I will honestly tell you what I think to be the facts, factual claims may be shown to be innacurate. Also, while I will honestly share my views on God, the universe and everything, all I say should be checked against the Bible.

I do promise to try not to lie to you. Not consciously, anyway (can you subconsciously try not to lie?) But I don't promise not to occasionally and insignificantly distort the facts, in favour of humour, succinctness, good writing, sweeping generalisations, or when making a particularly good point. Like this one.

In all honesty,

from your friendly neighbourhood spiderm...I mean blogger.

P.S. I also don't promise to be honest about my super hero double life. Except to say that my alter ego is beautiful, charming, witty, intelligent, and spends far too much time hanging around libraries.

spiderman and me

*Spoiler alert* don't read this if you haven't seen Spiderman 3, unless you have absolutely no interest in seeing it, in which case read on.

During the last couple of weeks Steve and I watched all three Spiderman movies. Yes, I know, don't tell me, I'm a wonderful wife. Actually I enjoyed them, I'm a sucker for a corny action movie, and I made him watch "Miss Potter" in payment. And he enjoyed that too, we're very movie compatible - except for that movie about intergalactic bugs disembowelling people, I wasn't so keen on that.

Steve and I are catching up on all the movies we didn't see while raising babies, using Blockbuster vouchers from the back of packets of Just Right, the only cereal our kids will eat regularly, and also the main reason we're now in debt. Hey, maybe I should get Kellog's to sponsor my blog, with all this free advertising!

What struck me about Spiderman 3 was how eerily Spidey's life story echoed my own. You know, super smart nerd with super hero double life, complete with sexy partner...hey, if it wasn't for my arachnophobia (and gender) I could, like, so be him.

Seriously, I thought the film was an interesting (if somewhat obvious - I have to say that so I sound sophisticated) illustration of the dynamics of humility and forgiveness (note the use of film critic speak.)

The film opens with Spiderman as an arrogant and insensitive young man, puffed up with adulation and success; followed by a descent into evil, forcing him to realise the depths of his own hatred and desire for revenge; and ends with his new-found humility enabling him to forgive the man who killed his uncle.

You may have heard my own story (too many times, no doubt) - how I prayed for humility as a young, proud woman, sure of my own desire and ability to do what was right; followed by years of struggling with my sinful tendencies; resulting in, I hope, deeper humility and a greater willingness to understand and forgive others.

But Spidey and my stories diverge at a very important point: the film reminds us repeatedly that Peter Parker is really a "good" young man, and it's only the evil suit which brings out his aggressive tendencies. (If you haven't already seen the movie, surely you want to now - I mean evil suit, who wouldn't want to see that!) And in the end, he is able to forgive his enemy because he realises he wasn't really so bad after all, only sad, desperate and misunderstood.

The "evil" characters in the three movies do get their just desserts - death and destruction - but never really through Spiderman's hand, and they are all good people at heart, turned to evil through no great fault of their own.

Whereas I have no doubt about my inner tendency to self-love and self-centredness: it goes right to the core, as it does for all of us. There is no "evil suit" which can conveniently be removed to reveal the good within. Death and destruction are exactly what I deserve, for I have committed the ultimate evil: I have failed to serve the God who made me, and have served myself instead.

Which is why I, like you, and every else on this planet, desperately need a different kind of super hero: one who, instead of shooting the bad guys with super speedy bits of web (gotta love that) takes a less conventional path. Like Spiderman, Jesus could have swung into planet Earth and killed all the bad guys, but instead he allowed them to kill him, accepting death and destruction on my (and their) behalf. And like all the best movie heroes and villains, he came back from the dead - only for real, this time.

And if I am able to forgive others, in the end it's only because I know exactly how much I have been forgiven: everything.

and have you noticed...

1) Spiderman never has hood hair (life is so unfair!)
2) Toby McGuire is actually the offspring of Matthew Perry and Meg Ryan;
3) either that, or he's an android, not a human being, aka Data on Star Trek.

helping the 1 in 10

We've just received our copy of BarnabasAid, the bi-monthly magazine of Barnabas Fund, an organisation which supports persecuted Christians. The issue is called "Iraq's Martyrs", and the cover shows 16 grainy black and white photos of Christians killed for their faith in Iraq in recent years.

Barnabas Fund's mission is "to support Christians where they are in a minority and suffer discrimination, oppression and persecution as a consequence of their faith. Our goal is to strengthen Christian individuals, churches and their communities by providing material and spiritual support in response to needs identified by local Christian leaders."

Or, in other words, to help The Other Nine Christians to support the 1 in 10 of their brothers and sisters in Christ who are daily discriminated against and treated as second class citizens because of their faith.

Barnabas Fund fights to protect and educate women in countries like Pakistan, where Christian women are commonly kidnapped, raped, and forced to convert to Islam and marry their abductor; supports television and radio programs used to reach people in closed countries; provides employment, accommodation and church buildings for Christians suffering discrimination in places as diverse as Korea and East Africa; and opposes anti-conversion laws in countries like India.

There are lots of people willing to give to big organisations such as World Vision and Tear Fund, and even more supporting popular causes like the Red Cross or Royal Children's Hospital, which is wonderful. But there are relatively few people interested in supporting persecuted Christians. In fact, Christians are often deliberately overlooked in relief efforts, such as after the recent catastrophic floods in Bangladesh.

Perhaps you could consider giving regularly to an organisation like Barnabas Fund, partly because your fellow Christians are so neglected, and also because God calls you to care for your brothers and sisters who are in need:

Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers. Galatians 6:10

goodnight Mister Tom

We're going away for a couple of days to visit friends, so this blog is going radio silent. I'll leave you with these profound words...

Jean (38) - "How many kisses do you want tonight?" (to be asked every night)
Thomas (4) - "60 100 and 2."
Jean - "Do you mean 162?" (and yes, I mean every night)
Thomas - "YES!"
Jean - "Let's count by 20's" (anything to shorten the process)
Thomas and Jean together - "20 (kiss kiss), 40 (kiss kiss), 60 (kiss kiss), 80 (kiss kiss), 100 (kiss kiss), 120 (kiss kiss), 140 (kiss kiss), 160 (kiss kiss), 161 (kiss), 162 (kiss), CUDDLE!"

Mummy rises to her feet...

Thomas - "I want a story."
Mummy - "Ok, Thomas. Once there was a boy called Thomas.
He woke up in the morning, had breakfast, and got dressed. Then he went on the computer.
He watched Playschool, had some special time with Mummy, played with Andrew, and had lunch. Then he went on the computer.
He went to school to pick up Lizzy and Benny, came home, and had afternoon tea. Then he went on the computer.
He played with Lizzy, Benny and Andrew, ate dinner, and went to bed. The end."
(I kid you not. Just you try keeping Thomas off the computer. And I'd make up a story, but I'm better at non-fiction, worse luck.)

Mummy begins to leave the room...

Thomas - "Mummy, open the door."
Jean - "Look, Thomas, I'm opening the door. See, the door is open. The door IS open. THE DOOR IS OPEN." (to be said every night as emphatically as possible accompanied with repeated door opening actions)

Mummy begins to head down the corridor...

Thomas - "MUMMY, YOU FORGOT TO OPEN THE DOOR!"

And yes, I mean EVERY night.

Goodnight.

numbers and the meaning of everything

When I was One,
I had just begun.

When I was Two,
I was nearly new.

When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.

When I was Four,
I was not much more.

When I was Five,
I was just alive.

But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
A.A.Milne, Now we are six

on playing Uno...
Thomas (4) - "Look, Mummy, a 5 just alive!"
Jean (38) - "Yes, darling."
Thomas - "Look, Mummy, a 1 just begun!"
Jean - "Yes, sweety."
Thomas - "Look, Mummy, a 2 nearly new!"
Jean - "Yes, honey."
Thomas - "Look, Mummy, a Reverse spoodilyerse!"
...who said a mathematician can't be a poet?

on aging...
Thomas - "Mummy, when was Lizzy 3?"
Mummy - (calculating quickly) - "6 years ago, honey."
Thomas - "Mummy, when will Ben be 9?"
Jean - (more calculating) - "In 2 years."
Thomas - "Mummy, when will I be as big as Ben?"
Jean - (yet more calculating) - "In 3 years."
Thomas - "Mummy, how old was I when Lizzy was 7?"
Jean - (even more frantic calculating) - "You were 2."
Thomas - "Mummy, what did I do when I was 1?"
Jean - "You were a baby. You couldn't walk or talk yet."
Thomas - "Mummy, where was Andrew when I was 1?"
Jean - "He wasn't alive yet, honey."
Thomas - "Was he in your tummy?"
Jean - "No, he wasn't in my tummy yet. He was..."
...one of those awkward existential moments.

on being 100...
Thomas - "Mummy, when I'm 100, I will touch the ceiling!"
Jean - "Well, maybe not, but you will be much taller."
Thomas - "Mummy, when I'm 100, will I be as big as Daddy?"
Jean - "Yes, honey, you should be around the same size as Daddy, maybe even bigger."
Thomas - "Mummy, when I'm 100, will I go to heaven to be with God?"
Jean - "Well, I'm not sure when you'll go to heaven to be with God, but probably when you're about 80, not 100."
Thomas - "Mummy, where will you be when I'm 100?"
Jean - "Well, I probably won't be around any more, I'll be in heaven with God."
Thomas- "Will you be deaded, Mummy?"
Jean - "Well yes, honey..."
...another awkward existential moment.

Which is a faithful reporting of "3 hardly me" typical conversations between this "Now I'm 38, I'm simply great" mother and her "4 not much more" year old.