While the Internet is flooding with messages of growth, renewal and resurrection, we are not there yet… really. We are still in darkness and we think that we will remain in it. Despite the promise, there is no certainty. Anticipation only, perhaps, on the shoulders of those who have never lost hope…
‘Why not to die on the cross for others?’ Jesus said not to Himself. But he did it. Because someone else said so.
He thought it was worth the effort. Do we?
Yesterday, I was privileged to contribute my post to Laudato Si blog that is full of great green tips and explores the Christian calling to care for our common home.
Here is an extract to the blog post. Link to the full text below.
A long time ago, inspired by a blogger from Australia, Sash Milne, I started a Nothing New Project, i.e. I tried not to buy anything new for a year, to decrease waste and increase living. While back then I felt quite virtuous about living that way, there was nothing too virtuous about the way I live now, as if back then I stretched myself too far and snapped like a bandana that children get for the Remembrance Day in the UK. When you do a project like that, that forces you to reduce your buying and question every moment when you open your wallet and reach for a coin not out of poverty but out of restraint, you either learn to love yourself as you are, without the gadgets and extra consumption and you learn to live differently or you feel somewhat destabilized because you locked yourself out of participation in the prevailing culture, i.e. the culture of consumerism. Oh, and one more thing, you can also develop the maturity to make yourself accountable for the trail of waste that falls behind you but, in all honesty, this wasn’t the learning outcome that I have satisfactorily reached and consolidated. To consistently swim against the current, you have to decide to consistently swim against the current and that is hard.
What the Nothing New project showed me is that I by and large go through life inattentively, to the shouts of waste that brutally lurk in the shadows of my life or blatantly ‘shine’ on display in my house – as if the psyche couldn’t quite handle the tension between wanting more and needing less. I go through life with an ecological heart that is neither pure nor faithful to the principles of ecological teaching, but I still have hope for myself and the humanity – that we will make progress. Read more..
“Mum, I do not think that people lose talents. I think that they disconnect from them and then God gives them tasks that will help them come back to themselves and make them reconnect with their talents again” said A. the other day as if answering the question set to him by the universe while looking at the passing clouds through our orangery’s see-through roof . Kids, they just get it, don’t they? Often much earlier than we do.
When I started writing Postcards Without Stamps I was following Inked in Colour and I was very inspired by Sash’s letters to her daughter that create a beautiful and thoughtful dialogue with Bo. Some of Sash’s photographs also stick in my mind till this day, especially the one of her daughter holding a feather as if giving a challenge to her mum to write for her (link to her post here). Of course, this is most likely my own projection onto the photo and a reveal of my own sub-conscious need to express love through writing which wants to be met here.
The post below is not a letter as such but perhaps a poem or a lyric to a song and it is just one of those things that wanted to be written.
There I will be
There are moments in life when past and present collapse into one.
When the future is impossible to predict and days impossible to plan,
when tomorrow seems too distant to arrive – in those days, my Princess,
there I will be
your Trust.
When your life will seem too much to handle, there I will be, my Princess, your Trust.
When the pain of regrets will swallow your courage, there I will be, my Princess, your Trust.
When your joys will dissipate and where the hopes will turn into ash, there I will stay my Princess,
your Trust.
In the cities of angels
Someone always keeps an eye on you.
Trust.
It was already very late into the evening when we navigated through the German town of Stendhal last summer. When the telephone collapsed and the printed map, as if on purpose, showed us only the major streets and nothing nearby. No navigation. Both mobiles off. Just the drizzle and two small kids at the back of the car who really wanted to be stretching their feet in the warm beds after a long drive from Antwerp. We had one scare already when we got stuck in the queues for miles and after an hour our gears refused to cooperate and we were lucky to steer over to the hard shoulder of the motorway. My husband, unable to engage any gear at all and without any working phone, started to panic. Then he bent down and moved the clutch with his hand. This worked, but we were still scared as we carried on driving – confident at that stage that we would find our destination.
Stendhal greeted us with almost empty roads. No human in site, shops put to rest for the night, and no petrol station to stop by or a taxi driver to talk to and a detour around the city because of roadworks that completely took us off course and messed up the organization of the town that I had in my head. There must be a way of figuring out where we we staying, I thought to myself, trying not to lose hope just yet even though I was increasingly getting agitated and restless. The children’s tension mounted and then it broke out with joy as a Burger King stood there lit like a lighthouse in the stormy sea. We parked the car and checked if there was anyone in. We saw people moving but they could not see us. The doors were shut. We were searching for alternatives in our head. We had none. If it was about petrol, we could walk there. No problem. If it was about distance, we could call a taxi, but it was primarily about our lack of direction and no one who we could communicate with. There was no one to whom we could have talked to, until of course there was.
We spotted two people who had just walked out through the back door of the Burger King in a joyful and chatty mood. Did we just miss them? Were we too late? We ran to them for rescue and we explained our predicament. They glanced at our kids and willingly typed the address of our accommodation into their smartphones. We still couldn’t navigate it as all the mobiles seemed to refuse to cooperate with us that evening. As if we meant to talk for a bit longer and learn where we were all from. And so we’ve learnt that they were from Syria and they’ve been settling down there slowly, and they asked for our origin and whereabouts and we prayed together for the phone to give us the direction that it refused to give. Nothing was changing, the postcodes were not accepted, the network circulated in a loop. We grew in frustration and we almost resigned to spend the night at the carpark when all of a sudden a third person came out of the Burger King, attentive and quick, just in a few seconds asked us what has happened and without hesitation took the postcode and typed it into his car’s navigation. ‘No problem. I will drive you there.’ – he said. We couldn’t believe it. He was so quick to help. What’s your name, I asked: ‘Hadi’. He said. Where are you from? Syria. I smiled. A long time ago I was dreaming of taking a Syrian family to safety and it was a person from Syria who took us to safety. Maybe God takes into account good intentions, too, I thought to myself, while we reached our destination being guided by Hadi.
Thank you, Hadi. :)
Postcards Without Stamps 