Riches I heed not ...

... nor man's empty praise.

Or so goes one of the lines from the classic hymn, Be Thou My Vision.

It's an arresting statement.

The next line is equally striking. Be thou mine inheritance now and always.

Well, I think that they are confronting statements, when one really sits down and thinks about it. They are completely counter-cultural: unsurprising, I suppose, considering the Gospel itself is counter-cultural. But how often do we really pick apart what this means for us, for our lives and the way we respond to others?

We don't actually have to look to hymns, however soul-nourishing and challenging they can be, to find what Jesus thinks about things. You know, things. CD collections, shoes, a penchant for fine dining, coffee snobbery, musical equipment, friends in high places. Houses by the ocean, houses with brand new kitchens or bathrooms, or whirlwind world tours. Inanimate or animate, it really amounts to the same thing.

The Gospel of Matthew records Jesus' words in chapter 6 verse 19: Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and rust destroy and thieves break in and steal.

That's a pretty clear directive, isn't it - but it's one that we in the West seem to find really, really hard to keep. Christians, too.

Why do I ponder these things? Good question. Our 8 year old is obsessed with Stuff. A common lament is But if I only had that, I would be HAPPY! It's caused us a fair bit of angst. How can we teach our daughter about contentment? In fact, I actually thought this blog post was going to be about that very topic. How to Solve Consumerism in Your 8 Year Old By Friday.

Recently, though, we've realised that all she is doing is holding up a mirror to ourselves. We are craftier, sneakier, more creative with our desire to consume, to have things which will surely, surely make us happy. That will make us feel secure. That perhaps will lift our names in people's esteem ( ... man's empty praise?). Nonetheless, our soul's greatest lament is but if only I had that ...

Recently, Jim and I paid off our car. We were three years ahead of payments, and it was a darn good feeling to not be in debt anymore. We loved our car. It is small. It is unprepossessing. But it starts every time, and for two people who used to have to jump-start a beat-up Camry Spirit, that is a good feeling. But it's amazing how quickly I have forgotten that feeling of gratitude.

When we rolled into Burnie earlier this week, our little car stuffed to the gills, we passed a strip of car yards. Ah, such shiny glorious beasts were on display. I even went and had a look. Nissan is offering low interest finance deals on those overgrown vehicles now known in the Australian vernacular as 'SUVs'. I went home and told Jim with some excitement that we could get a much bigger car for, really, not much cash. Really. I even started having visions of myself cruising through town in one of these you-can't-touch-me vehicles. Probably with shinier and glossier hair than I really have, but hey, it was my dream.

Long story short, we realised that our hearts had become discontent. We were starting to desire treasures on earth instead of vowing that God is our inheritance, now and always.

I doubt that we are alone in this.

Our culture celebrates the instrinsic linking of what we have (or enjoy, or cherish) with who we are. Although she enjoys pinterest, to a degree, blogger Sarah Bessey has written about the phenomenon that is the website, writing that:

'Here is the thing I have noticed about Pinterest:

We pin the clothes we wish we wore.
We pin the places we wish we could visit.
We pin the home we wish we lived in.
We pin the crafts we wish we had time to do.
We pin the quotes and sentiments that we wish defined us more.
We pin the meals we wish we made.

Really, we pin the life we wish we had.'

(You can read more about this at Sarah Bessey's site; something I found particularly insightful was her observation that, in the postmodern age, we scorn consumerism but really, what we consume has become what defines us. Food for thought). 

The question I have is this though: how do we escape desiring the treasures of this earth? Can we escape desiring the treasures of this earth? Is Sarah Bessey right, and we just redefine our consumerism over time?  Timothy Keller would likely agree; anyone who knows me would have heard me rave about his book Counterfeit Gods. The subtitle for the book is The Empty Promises of Money, Sex and Power, and the only Hope that matters. It's an amazing book. Buy it. Read it. And read it again. Essentially, Keller's thesis is that we turn good things (and yes, sometimes bad things) into our ultimate security - or rather, attempt to, because there is no way that these things can truly satisfy.

The answer clearly lies in Jesus. When he spoke to the Samaritan woman at the well, he gave the answer we need, and need daily. Referring to the water of the well, he declared that “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again,  but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:13 & 14).

Today, my prayer is that I will remember this. That I will stop craving 'the lesser gods' instead of the God who is the only one who can satisfy.

And so we begin!

I have learnt several things already on this trip.

1. A Kia Rio can fit an awful lot of stuff, but overstuffing in the front passenger seat leads to very cramped legs if one actually expects a real human passenger to be part of that overstuffing.

2. Don't buy a 2 year old and an 8 year old hot chocolates and smartie biscuits in Campbell Town and then expect the next two hours in an overstuffed Kia Rio to be pretty.

3. It is never advisable to make a 2 year old and 8 year old share a bedroom.

4. Our accommodation, a fully renovated beach house overlooking the centre of Burnie, is truly and utterly gorgeous, and makes up for 1, 2 and 3.

5. Old habits die hard.

The house is so funky it has a popcorn machine. How could we resist making popcorn as soon as we arrived?

 

In all seriousness, we've really begun this adventure. We left Kingston just as the St Clement's bells were tolling. We managed to fit four striped bags, one huge sports bag, an acoustic guitar, a bag of guitar pedals and 'things', two laptops, two pillow pets, assorted bedding, and a huge crate of other miscellaneous stuff in a Kia Rio sedan. After a long five hours in the car, we're now in Burnie, where we will spend two weeks before leaving Tasmania.After arriving we checked out our amazing house for the next two weeks. It's awesome. It's clean. It's funky. It's tidy. And I don't have to ensure that it is particularly clean and tidy once we leave. Bliss. And to add to the bliss, the kids are (I think!) asleep in bed, after the requisite 'I'm thirsty!' 'I can't sleep!' complaints.

So, that's 1, 2, 3 and 4 covered. But what of point number five, I hear you demand?

Ah yes. Old habits. A while ago, I had a word from God to homeschool Wooja. I have never received a word from God. To say I was skeptical is an understatement. But we've pressed ahead in faith. I believe I am being called to be a more present and intentional mother to my children (and a more present and intentional wife, too). This trip is giving me that opportunity. I am so looking forward to spending time with my children.

But back to the old habits ... standing in Burnie Coles, arguing with Wooja over why she can't have yet another Tinkerbell toy ... the same old irritation, the same old lack of graciousness, that familiar feeling of anger. And I was struck by the thought: I haven't been praying about this. My role as stay at home parent is paramount to this trip. And I am going to need bucketloads of patience, of grace, of kindness and courage. And I need prayer.

Please pray for me, friends. I'm so excited by this opportunity, and am stepping out in faith that God will be sufficient for my needs.

PS St Clement's folk - miss you!

So long ... For now

Today we were farewelled from our home church, St Clement's Anglican Church. I had woken this morning with a huge knot in my stomach; dread about our impending departure. I've spent the last couple of weeks saying goodbye; last night was a fabulous dinner with a beautiful friend, and today was to be our official farewell from church.

We first walked into St Clement's two and a half years ago, and my immediate reaction was I hate this place. People waving flags, big band music - I just wanted to go home. I actually left that first service for about half an hour, to collect myself and calm down. And now, two and a half years later, I feel like I am leaving my home. 

Our first week in Hobart. How could it be so cold in January?!

We've been so stretched at St Clem's. I have grappled more with my faith these past two and a half years than ever before. I have sought the Lord, sometimes with my face on the floor, I was that desperate. I have sought Him, and He has been found. We have become part of a Connect Group (in the old parlance, home group) and our group has been a source of refuge, of testing, of growth.

And now, we are abandoning this spiritual home.

When we first floated the idea of going back to the mainland, I think we both truly believed that we were leaving Tasmania for good. Gradually, we've come to realise that we have built a home here. We have people we love. Amazingly, there are people who love us! So, we are leaving Tasmania with the hope that we will return, but with the caveat: DV. Deo Volente. God willing.

Not long after we began to make plans to leave Tasmania I read these words:

Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that."' James 4:13-15

In every other decision Jim and I have made cursory nods to the Lord. We're relatively capable people, well-educated and not too socially inept so we've been able to push ahead with our own plans to a large degree. This time, we are stepping out in faith. In faith the our Heavenly Father knows us, has a plan for us and will reveal that plan to us. I greatly desire that we return to Tasmania. I could say to people that we are only going for six months; after all, Jim has a job waiting for him in 2013. But I am realising the futility of that. We could say that. We could genuinely believe it. But if God has different plans, then our words are in vain (and on the other hand, we could also say that we won't return but God may think differently!). 

So, while I do hope that we come back, we have to wait and see.And in the meantime, there be cows to be chased, and kids to be educatin'!