Winter

 For the 29 years we have lived in this house, the gas heater has been a feature of winter life. One of my twins stuck her finger inside the grill at 10 months old and got her finger burnt. I still wonder what I was thinking to leave the kids unattended but I really never expected anyone to do that, she had previously ignored the heater completely.

I remember the kids dressing in the loungeroom in front of the heater on cold school mornings. 

I remember setting up a broom across two chairs in front of the heater and using it as a clothes dryer.

I remember once hosting a party and being so happy to be able to have a warm and welcoming home but with all the people in the room we sweltered.

These days Keaghan spends all his time in his bedroom with a small heater keeping the room warm, only appearing for food and to razz Buffy so I am alone in the lounge room and it seems wasteful to run the gas heater for such a large room with only me in it. Instead, I spread a heated rug over the couch and sit on it. My back and legs are toasty warm, my ankles and hands are colder.

Buffy is snoring beside me, taking up her allocated part of the rug. She would rather be on my lap but can't compete with the laptop.

Soon I will make a hot chocolate and dip a buttermilk rusk in it. I first saw the buttermilk rusks at Aldi last year and because I can not resis trying a new product, I bought some. When they arrived in store this winter, I bought some more. It's quite a delicious and comforting little treat.

And as I write, I remember that we are almost out of milk. Will i have the chocolate tonight or will I have coffee in the morning? Choices, choices.

Talking of winter, they say that more people die in winter than any other time and I don't know what the statistics say but this week, the first time we have had temperatures below 10 degrees, and the week of the shortest day, we have seen six aged care residents go to the next life. Six.

Before I turn in for the night, I will heat my wheat bags in the microwave. That winter tradition has been going a good few years now. One heat pack at my back, because who doesn't love a heat source on their back, and the other will keep my hands warm while i drift off to sleep.

 

Easy Faith

 Somewhere recently, in comments on one of the blogs I read, somebody said that they wished they could have a "easy faith" it might have been the same person or someone else who said they wished they could just believe what they were told.

I thought I would try explaining my "easy faith"

I was born the child of church going people and I went to church with them every week. Was it easy? It was just what our family did and kids just accept what happens in their homes but no, I did not find it easy. I lived in a subculture and I felt isolated and different. Even at church, in the subculture, I felt isolated and different. I'm beginning to realise there is probably a chunk of neurospice in my family of origin so maybe that was the real problem but I blamed church and no, it was not easy.

I didn't mind church itself, I learned the stories and the ideas easily so I always felt smart but as I said, the social isolation was hard.

As a teen, all of the "hard" I had already felt was added to as I tried to figure out if it was real. Was this God thing something I could believe? Was it something I could not-believe? Was I prepared to stray from the identity of my family? If I did believe it, how should it look in my life? All those years of hearing people talk about "God's will" and "hearing God" had me confused. I couldn't hear God talk and I didn't know if I would recognise Him if I did. I didn't know "God's will for my life" and despite asking, wasn't seeming to get answers so I lived my life assuming I would be hit by a bolt of lightening or some other dramatic event if I needed a re-direction.

None of this was easy.

At one point my abusive husband tried to stop me from attending church and although I was unsure of the faith aspect, I knew that my church was my community and my faith, such as it was, was part of  my identity. When forced to choose, I chose a life of faith. I wasn't really sure what I was choosing but I wasn't allowing it to be taken from me. This was important because I had allowed many other parts of my life to be stolen or eroded.

Life continued. I tried to understand what a life of faith means. I tried to apply my faith to my every day. I still wasn't confident I was getting it right. I must have been almost 40 before I was prepared to say I was a Christian because I never wanted my imperfection to turn anyone else away from exploring faith themselves.

Faith isn't hard like hard work. It's not hard like watching a loved one in pain. It's not hard like being in pain yourself.

 Faith is hard because just when you think you are confident, you wonder if your confidence is a sign you have it wrong. Faith is hard because there is never proof of God. It's hard because it has to be reassessed all the time, chosen every day, added to, chiselled into shape. It is never complete.

Back when I chose faith I thought of it as a structure for becoming a better person, not the only way to being a better person but the way I knew, the way I had been schooled in and was familiar with.

These days, I find a life of faith is more than a way to be better: it is a way to find meaning, it is an enjoyable intellectual pursuit, it is a way to have community, a reason for hope and a touchstone for everything.

Even now, when faith has become all of that, there are still days I wonder if God is real, times I wonder who I would be if not for the influence of faith, times I wonder if I would judge myself less harshly if not for faith. 

A life of faith no longer fills me with the angst of wondering if I am even close to the track, let alone on it but there are lots of times when the angst is just subtly there, unnoticed but ready to spring up and cause a skirmish.

In ending, I feel like this post will read as a very negative review but I don't want that. My best description might be to say that a life of faith is like many worthwhile pursuits: irritating and difficult in the moment but ultimately rewarding. The consistency needed is sometimes tiring. The reassessments that come can be humbling and painful. The rigour needed is sometimes just not what I want.

I speak only for myself when I say I don't have an easy faith. What I do have is a rich and interesting life with hope and growth and joy all built on a scaffold of faith.

I will never tell you that my way is the only way but I will ask you not to underestimate it.

Being human is hard and we all have to make choices about which hard things we want. Faith is one of mine.

Tales from Aged Care

A while back I told you how my one time piano teacher is a resident of the aged care facility where I work. Her husband lives in the retirement village on-site. Even when I was a student, I was aware of Mr Piano. She spoke of him often and I was aware that he was used to having people jump to attention.

Now he is an old man who phones persistently and sometimes makes unreasonable requests. It didn't take me long to realise he is highly anxious so one day we silently came to an agreement. Mr P was being a bit demanding and I gave him all the respect in the world but held a calm, firm line. I can't remember what it was about but I know he has treated me like an old friend ever since.

Mrs P is coming very close to the end of her life and Mr P is distraught. Today he was nearby and I popped out to talk to him. "Did you know Mrs P was my piano teacher?" 

"No, I didn't, do you still play? I'm so glad you told me that. I still have the piano, you know....."

And off he went, telling me about the piano and various other things.

At one point he told me he doesn't mean to be but he thinks he is a pain to the staff. The right response just came to my head and I told him, very truthfully, that we are all very respectful of his dedication to her.

It was just a ten minute conversation but it was one of the most beautiful ten minutes of my week.