Are you afraid of good things?
I am.
Yesterday evening I went out to join the last few minutes of a vigil in solidarity with people suffering in Syria and Iraq. I was tired and it was a cold, windy night, but I promised myself that if I went then I could go and buy myself something nice to take home for dinner.
At the end of the vigil, a recently retired Israeli man came up to me to ask what was going on. We got chatting and it was one of those instant friendships - a random encounter that turned into a heart-to-heart, and we parted with promises to keep in touch.
This morning he sent me a lovely message on Facebook, and I discovered the flaw in the arrangement. See, my reaction to hearing from a friend like that is to think back to all the other fascinating people I've met over the years, the others that I planned to keep in touch with. Suddenly my mind is making a list that seems to go on and on and on of the people I've left behind. My friend who spent time in a detention centre, trying to avoid going home to an arranged marriage. My friend from school who was going through the trauma of coming out as gay in a culture that didn't allow for it. The first little girl on my gap year who asked me who Jesus was and really wanted to know. My childhood best friend who left when I was seven, and who I'm convinced I would still get on with. The child at church who really just needs someone to listen, who I once thought I might be able to do that for. Any number of homeless people who I've chatted to once or twice on the street.
Suddenly I don't want a new friend. I want to slip back into my bedroom, turn off the lights and pretend I never met them all. I want everyone to go away, except my housemates and Mr Tim and my family (but Skype only please); create my own little world where no-one new comes in to steal bits of my heart and carry them away.
My bestie, the boy who cooks, used to describe new friends as 'more people to let down'. At the time it made me sad that he thought that way; now I have to admit that, deep down, I agree.
To me, good things cost more than bad things. Dealing with bad things is easy: just grin and bear it, do your best and no-one will judge you for failing when the odds were against you. Good things require investment; they ask you to relish them, to seek them out, to value them and put your security on the line for them.
Judah, you told me that your heart is broken because of the sad things you've seen in the world. I respond: my heart is broken by the happy things. Please, will you forgive me when I throw our precious new friendship away.
Yesterday evening I went out to join the last few minutes of a vigil in solidarity with people suffering in Syria and Iraq. I was tired and it was a cold, windy night, but I promised myself that if I went then I could go and buy myself something nice to take home for dinner.
At the end of the vigil, a recently retired Israeli man came up to me to ask what was going on. We got chatting and it was one of those instant friendships - a random encounter that turned into a heart-to-heart, and we parted with promises to keep in touch.
This morning he sent me a lovely message on Facebook, and I discovered the flaw in the arrangement. See, my reaction to hearing from a friend like that is to think back to all the other fascinating people I've met over the years, the others that I planned to keep in touch with. Suddenly my mind is making a list that seems to go on and on and on of the people I've left behind. My friend who spent time in a detention centre, trying to avoid going home to an arranged marriage. My friend from school who was going through the trauma of coming out as gay in a culture that didn't allow for it. The first little girl on my gap year who asked me who Jesus was and really wanted to know. My childhood best friend who left when I was seven, and who I'm convinced I would still get on with. The child at church who really just needs someone to listen, who I once thought I might be able to do that for. Any number of homeless people who I've chatted to once or twice on the street.
Suddenly I don't want a new friend. I want to slip back into my bedroom, turn off the lights and pretend I never met them all. I want everyone to go away, except my housemates and Mr Tim and my family (but Skype only please); create my own little world where no-one new comes in to steal bits of my heart and carry them away.
My bestie, the boy who cooks, used to describe new friends as 'more people to let down'. At the time it made me sad that he thought that way; now I have to admit that, deep down, I agree.
To me, good things cost more than bad things. Dealing with bad things is easy: just grin and bear it, do your best and no-one will judge you for failing when the odds were against you. Good things require investment; they ask you to relish them, to seek them out, to value them and put your security on the line for them.
Judah, you told me that your heart is broken because of the sad things you've seen in the world. I respond: my heart is broken by the happy things. Please, will you forgive me when I throw our precious new friendship away.
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