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Our stories

“Could you tell me your story,” I often ask people these days. 

I am specifically asking people from a particular background to tell me their stories of coming to saving faith in Jesus Christ. It’s part of a project I’m doing for college. I am already learning lots, even before conducting formal interviews. 

The stories I am hearing are gripping, challenging and memorable.  The tales of these particular sisters and brothers in Christ are much more interesting than mine.

Thinking about this topic has motivated me to write this blog post. Writing it up helps me to process a little of the mish-mash of thoughts muddled in my mind at the moment. Thanks for reading along, and so giving me purpose for writing.

The power of stories

Stories are powerful. Consider television advertisements, for example. Can you think of an appealing advertisement which does not contain a story of some sort? Do you have a ‘favourite advertisement’?

On Australian TV these days, I sometimes watch a story of a child who loses her toy rabbit on a day out. The father drives his fancy car here, there and everywhere with the bereft girl in the back seat, trusting her daddy to find the toy. As it turns out, the mother finally realises that she had it in her bag all along, but she decides to let the father think that he had found it and so be the hero. The whole story is beautifully portrayed in the space of 30 seconds. Even though I don’t care about cars, I am impressed by the car (a Toyota Hilux) which covers beautiful and sometimes rugged terrain as the patient daddy looks for his little girl’s toy rabbit.

(For the sake of appropriately acknowledging intellectual ownership, I should probably reference the Toyota Hilux story summarised in the paragraph above – you too can watch it here .)

The advertising world uses stories to persuade us to part with our money in ways which suit their shareholders. How much more should we use stories to share things that are important to us and which we want so badly for our family and friends too. I am thinking, of course, about faith. 

Hence this focus on stories of how people came to saving faith in Jesus.

The structure of stories

A good story, we are told, follows a standard pattern, sometimes termed ‘a narrative arc’.

The beginning of a good story introduces key characters and the setting. Think of the line, “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful princess….”. 

As the story progresses, tension and conflict are introduced. The tension builds up and climaxes with some sort of crisis. Think of the line, “Then the wicked stepmother imprisoned the beautiful princess in a castle turret.”

The story moves on to describe how the crisis was managed. It  finishes with a resolution and all details neatly tied up. Think of the line, “The beautiful princess and her handsome prince lived happily ever after.” 

For generations, storytellers have been following this sort of a pattern as they keep listeners spellbound.

“Has anybody got a testimony?”

When I was growing up, it was quite common for somebody to get up during church to ‘give a testimony’. Usually these were stories of how God had intervened in an individual’s life in some way or another. Even as a child, I would sit up and pay attention when it came time for testimonies. 

Testimonies specifically about how God drew an individual or family to himself are called ‘conversion narratives’ in the literature. The were especially popular in churches in the 17th and 18th centuries, hence having a name of their own in academia – the genre of ‘conversion narratives’. 

Back then, as now, stories were powerful. 

These days, I hesitate to use the word ‘conversion’ when I ask for people’s stories. It is politically sensitive in some parts of the world, while in my own country, ‘conversion’ is often used to describe people’s process of transitioning from one sexual orientation to another these days

So I shall continue to ask people, “Tell me the story of your journey to saving faith in Jesus.” 

A famous ‘conversion narrative’

A well known story of someone’s journey to saving faith in Jesus is that of the New Testament character, Saul/Paul on the road to Damascus. His story grabs my imagination. 

Do you remember that ‘narrative arc’, described earlier?  Here is how it plays out in the story of the apostle Paul. 

The start: Once upon a time, there was a fanatically religious Pharisee with a very good heritage named Saul. 

Rising tension: Saul used to persecute Christians and even had them imprisoned and killed in his efforts to keep Judaism ‘pure’. 

Climax: While travelling, a blinding light shone around him and a voice from heaven – Jesus’ voice – spoke. Saul’s fixed ideas about Jesus were suddenly shattered.

Resolving the tension: Saul / Paul was blinded but led to Damascus where a Christian was sent to help him understand what had happened, baptise him and heal him. 

Resolution: Instead of persecuting Christians, Saul / Paul became a famous Christian missionary.

Isn’t that an inspiring story? My story is nothing like that. 

NOT a famous ‘conversion narrative’

Like me, the early church leader, Timothy, did not have a compelling story of coming to faith in Jesus.

Timothy’s story of coming to faith in Jesus was more of a gently rising line than an arc. Consider this: 

The start:  Once upon a time, a baby boy, Timothy, was born to a fervent Christian woman.

Rising tension: As Timothy matured into a young man, he demonstrated through his life that he accepted the faith of his mother and grandmother as his own.

Crisis: What crisis? 

The apostle Paul would later write to this young leader, “I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.” (2 Timothy 1:5 NIV)  When Paul first met Timothy, the young man was already known as ‘a disciple’ … a disciple “whose mother was Jewish and a believer but whose father was a Greek. The believers … spoke well of him….” (Acts 16:1,2 NIV).

Timothy’s ‘conversion narrative’ didn’t have the ‘narrative arc’ of a good story. 

Timothy had some good stories, mind you, of how God worked in his life – just not stories of how he became a disciple of Jesus. There was the time that Paul laid hands on him and God did something special in his life (2 Timothy 1:6). Then there was the time that Paul circumcised Timothy to pacify overly sensitive Jews (Acts 16:3). There is lots to learn from these stories. 

“Tell me the story of how you came to saving faith in Jesus,” someone might have asked Timothy. I wonder if he ever wished for a story more akin to that of the passionate apostle Paul than his own.

A wish not granted

When I was younger, I used to wish for an impressive ‘testimony’ to tell people about how I came to saving faith in Jesus. But God saw fit to deny me my wish. 

As I listen to the stories of people I am currently talking with for my study purposes, my heart aches. Many have experienced chapters of abandonment and despair in their life stories. Life can be cruel. Thank God that he turned their lives around, often by surrounding them with his people who loved and supported them.

In contrast, my story is more like Timothy’s. Raised in a loving home, taught to know and love God from infancy, my story was ‘boring’. “God has no grandchildren,” adults would say at the time. As a child, then, I made a personal commitment to Jesus, and tried to tell my little friends at school about it the next day. Being a good Baptist girl, there was a church service some years later in which I was immersed in water as a public declaration of my decision to follow Jesus. 

That was my story. There wasn’t any real crisis or point of desperate need. It’s not a gripping story.

My heritage is godly. My childhood was calm. And now, as I look back on it, I am so very grateful.

Stories to tell

Having a boring ‘conversion narrative’ does not mean that I don’t have a good story to tell. On the contrary – I have decades worth of stories to tell of God’s gentle transforming work in my life, of his generous provision to me, and of ways he has ‘shown up’ in quite special ways here and there. You probably do too.

Some of those stories from recent years appear on this blog site, and others are on the blog I kept through my cancer journey several years ago now. I hope they encourage and challenge you, a reader. The telling of these tales certainly helps me. 

Stories are powerful. People forget facts … at least I do … but stories with strong characters and an interesting plot linger. 

May God use our stories to encourage and challenge other people, just as he uses the stories of others to build us up. 

Does anyone have a testimony to share? Let’s be story tellers.

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Is procrastination a form of ‘urgency addiction’?

Do you know the woman who scurries in a few minutes after a meeting starts, keys jangling in her hand, an unzipped handbag bulging, forehead furrowed, frazzled? 

“What happened?” you ask, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I had a bad run getting here,” she explains. “The traffic lights were almost all against me, plus I got stuck behind a big truck, and also the school zones slowed me down because it is 9am, and, well, I’m sorry I’m late.” She takes a deep breath, then breathes out slowly and steadily, trying her best to settle and focus.

You feel sorry for her the first time. And the second. But after that, it becomes somewhat predictable. Oh, yes, she is stressed. But she has done it to herself. You wonder why she just doesn’t leave home a few minutes earlier. 

That woman is me. 

An encounter at the gym

I arrived at the gym just a little later than I should have last week. The ladies gym I attend closes at 6pm on Fridays. I arrived at 5.33pm, frazzled. Each workout takes half an hour … ideally.

Usually I race through my exercises, cutting half a minute here and there. I always squeeze in the strength exercises and vow to make up the aerobic bits later.

This time, however, I chatted to a friend there. A wise friend. A friend who recognised something she has been reading up on lately.

“Have you heard of an urgency addiction?” she asked. 

Really? An addiction?

‘Addiction’ sounds bad. It’s not like a proclivity to procrastinate hurts anybody else. It’s not in the same category as, say, an addiction to illegal behaviour-altering substances. 

I suggested this to my friend. “Sometimes our procrastination does impact those with whom with collaborate on projects,” she replied. “It certainly impacts our own well-being and work. Anyhow, there are deeper issues to be probed which lead to this procrastination that generates urgency. Urgency addiction can be deeply rooted.” 

My friend then recommended a book which I won’t quote at the moment because I have not yet read it. It’s coming in the mail. I am looking forward to reading it. No doubt I will write more about this topic then.

And, by the way, of course an addiction to urgency is not in the same category as addictions which lead to violence, crime and ruin. That is, if procrastination even is an ‘addiction to urgency’…..

I use deadlines to my advantage. At the same time, life would be simpler and saner if I could just start things earlier. 

This blog post is my way of exploring the concept. 

A healthy lifestyle

It’s costing me $20 a week for eight weeks. It’s money well spent. 

I am paying to be part of a community which is holding me accountable to meet daily deadlines for what I want to do anyhow. Every day, I will walk 10,000 steps (except Sundays), eat healthily and track what I eat. Every week, I will do four sessions of easy strength training exercises at the gym. 

I’ve done this before and it worked then. It will work again this time. 

It’s really important to be healthy – obviously. It’s comfortable and convenient to be in good shape. Nutritious food is delicious, but having it easily accessible at home just takes a little bit of planning and preparation. Walking for pleasure is refreshing. 

So why do I need to part with financial resources to do what I want to do anyhow? 

For some reason, without the accountability that comes with community, I procrastinate. 

And so I’m leveraging my possible addiction to urgency to make me live a healthy lifestyle … for eight weeks, at least. 

Academic pursuits

I get a thrill as I enter the deadlines for essays, presentations and reading assignments into my diary. Yet the night before the deadline I invariably I ask myself, “Why didn’t I start this earlier?”

This past week we had three days of classes. They were very good. At the same time, the truth is that what I find most beneficial is being forced to read and reflect on material that is relevant to my work. 

Do I need to enrol for classes and write essays to make myself read and think?

Apparently I do.

Again, I am leveraging that possible addiction to urgency to do what I want to do anyhow.

Searching for a solution

So what is the solution to my procrastination problem? Can I enjoy a healthy, productive life without constantly setting semi-artificial deadlines? Life would be simpler if I could.

There are plenty of practical resources out there. I have read books about making lists, setting priorities, tracking how I use that precious resource of time and more. I have productivity apps on my phone. I even use some of them. Yet still I procrastinate. 

I don’t know the specifics yet but suspect that the solution lies in getting to the root of WHY I procrastinate. What is behind this possible ‘addiction to urgency’? 

Identifying those factors will take some work. I shall put that off for another day. 

Okay… it may sound like I am procrastinating … but the book hasn’t arrived in the mail yet. And I have a few other things on my plate just now. And now that I have publicly written about it, I have created some accountability too. 

In the meantime, naming the issue is halfway to finding a solution. My wise friend is probably right … I think it likely is an addiction to urgency. 

Naming it enables me to recognise it and to address it.

Stepping up

As I draft this blog post, it is 7.35pm on a Saturday evening. 

I have 5047 steps to go before I reach my 10,000 step target. That equates to 50 minutes on the cross trainer or stomping around my living room. Most evenings this week I have ended up doing a mixture of both.

My FitBit links me with several others doing the same healthy lifestyle challenge and they will know if I don’t make our shared deadline. Regular exercise has gone from being important to also becoming quite urgent. I need that sense of urgency to motivate me. I’m grateful for it. 

At the same time, I’m hoping very much over the coming weeks to get insights into this ‘urgency addiction’ and … possibly … step by step, to overcome it. 

Watch this space.

—————————–

PS After finishing the first draft of this blog post and before posting it, I completed the 10k step goal by leveraging that sense of urgency. It feels good.

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Looking back on Palm Sunday

As I write, it is the day before Easter Sunday. Just six days ago, it was Palm Sunday, and I wrote a ‘backyard meditation’ post. It was set in an Australian suburb in the 21st century. In that post, I said that ‘psalms, palms and prophecy were significant.’ However, I didn’t elaborate at the time due to space limitations.

Today I am thinking back to a very different time and place. In my imagination, I have tried to go back to first century Jerusalem. In this post, I reflect on the significance of psalms, palms and prophecy that first Palm Sunday.

I wonder what devastated followers like Mary, Martha, Susanna, Joanna, Mary the mother of Jesus and others were thinking that first Easter Saturday. Less than a week earlier, they had reason to think that Jesus was entering Jerusalem as the Messiah, the victorious king. Yet within days he was crucified, a sign over his head aptly proclaiming that he was ‘King of the Jews’.

Imagine now, as you read the rest of this post, the voice and perspective of one of the women who had followed Jesus. At just one point, though, as the modern woman penning this blog post, I will insert a note of explanation in italics.

Psalms

“Hosanna,” we shouted joyfully last week. ‘Hosanna’ is a Hebrew word meaning, ‘Save us.’

Salvation … that’s what we thought was happening. We thought that the time had come when Jesus’ true identity as God’s Messiah would be revealed. We had thought that this procession was the prelude to our salvation.

“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD,” we yelled with all our energy as we followed the donkeys, mother and foal, carrying our Lord.

The words we cried came directly from one of our psalms.

O LORD, save us (literally ‘Hosanna’);
O LORD, grant us success.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD.
From the house of the LORD we bless you.
The LORD is God,
and he has made his light shine upon us.
With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession
up to the horns of the altar.

Psalm 118:25-26 NIV

The psalm is beautiful and full of hope. It is all about God’s goodness, love and salvation. We thought that the time had come for its fulfilment…..

The first sign that things weren’t going as we had expected was that horrible pause along the way. When Jerusalem came into view, Jesus stopped and sobbed. He said some dreadful things about Jerusalm’s future destruction. And the children … oh, the children…….. “Dashed to the ground,” he declared.

My heart felt like a knife had penetrated it. I determined to convince my son to send the grandchildren far from Jerusalem.

Somewhat subdued, we kept going towards the Temple, its gold exterior reflecting the sunlight. Once we reached it, Jesus didn’t go straight to the altar, like the Psalmist had suggested. No, he actually stopped in the Court of the Gentiles, which is part of the Temple, but not where the altar is located. Traders there were selling sacrificial animals and exchanging currencies. The Messiah pushed the traders roughly towards the exits, shouting, “It is written, ‘My house will be a house of prayer’, but you have made it a den of robbers.”

“My house……” What do you think that was about? He often aligned himself with our God. That’s what led to his subsequent arrest, actually.

There is so much to ponder, as I look back on last week’s procession.

I think about the psalm from which we had been quoting. The ancient Hebrew is sometimes translated as “With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession up to the horns of the altar,” (Psalm 118:27b NIV). But perhaps it would be better translated as, “Bind the festal sacrifice with cords, up to the horns of the altar!” (Psalm 118:27b ESV). What sacrifice? How would it be bound to the altar? With cords? Boughs?

Are we missing something? There is another phrase in that same Psalm that I can’t help but think must be significant in light of all that has happened this Passover. “The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone….” (Psalm 118:22)

We had thought that this was the beginning of the end. And so it was. But it wasn’t the end we had anticipated.

Palms

We all waved palm branches last week and laid them on the road, too, along with our cloaks. Palm branches symbolise victory in our culture.

We carried them all the way to the Court of the Gentiles, there in the temple. That’s where we left them.

Victory…..

What followed was anything but victorious, it seemed.

PS from Suzanne: Years later, as an old Christian lady, our first century Jewish woman would have learned of another crowd waving palm branches before Jesus. The vision was given to John by the risen Christ. John wrote it up and sent it around the churches to encourage them to persevere in the waiting. John would write:

… there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried out in a loud voice,
“Salvation belongs to our God,
who sits on the throne,
and to the Lamb.”

Revelation 7:9-10

Prophecy

When I saw Jesus sitting on the donkey last week, with the colt by its side, how could I not think of the words of the prophet Zechariah? In fact, by being part of that procession into Jerusalem, I was fulfilling prophecy myself. Fancy that – me – an ordinary Jewish lady – fulfilling prophecy! Zechariah called for daughters of Zion to rejoice and to shout, and that’s exactly what I did.

Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion!
Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem!
See, your king comes to you,
righteous and having salvation,
gentle and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Zechariah 9:9

Just six days ago, the righteous king rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, a symbol of peace. I know. I was there. I rejoiced and shouted along with many other women. Salvation, the Psalmist promised, and salvation is what we were expecting.

But see what they did to our king…….

Two days ago, the Passover lambs were slaughtered. They killed our Saviour, our Messiah and king, that same day. The day the sun went dark. The day the earth shook. The day the curtain in the Temple split from top to bottom. The day that changed the world.

And now, I wait.

Waiting

I wait for the Sabbath to finish so that I can go with some of the other women to put spices on his precious broken body.

We don’t know yet how we will get into Joseph’s tomb, which is where they have laid him. There is an enormous rock blocking the entrance, plus Roman guards. But we must try.

Perhaps God will make a way. After all, Jesus was, in some mysterious way, in very nature God himself.

A week ago we happily marched into Jerusalem behind the King of Peace, who was riding on a donkey. We waved palm branches. We shouted psalms. We fulfilled prophecy. We expected salvation.

And now, broken hearted, we wait.

We wait for Sunday.