Carly's Blog!

Finding Hope in Suffering

2011-05-02T23:18:00.000-07:00

On the weekend, Shu-en asked me if I have blogged recently. My response was a very dull "No.", followed by a wimpy excuse about 'lacking inspiration'. Well, as we all know, God has a divinely-wicked sense of humour, and He has provided me with some 'inspiration'.

On the weekend, Mark and I attended an Impact conference. For those who have managed to escape a life dictated by the health system, Impact is a Christian medical/dental conference for students and recent graduates. I enjoyed playing the role of 'supportive and mildly cynical' wife. The cynicism was mostly aimed at the lame medical jokes, which I politely smirked at from time to time. The Bible teaching at the conference was fantastic, and Mark and I both came away feeling very encouraged.

We returned from the conference last night, and had dinner with my Mum and Grandparents at Mum's house. Just as my Grandparents were leaving, I noticed that someone was at the door. The woman was clearly upset, and was on the phone to the police. She explained to us that her brother-in-law had just threatened to kill her sister and her three children, who were trapped in a house down the road. We tried to coax the woman into explaining the situation to us, but she was clearly upset. She walked back to the house, and screamed at us to help her. We ran to the house, and realised that the man had left the house, and was threatening his sister-in-law from the driveway. Mark distracted the man, who was clearly inebriated, and began talking to him whilst keeping a distance. This allowed the mother and three children to leave the house and follow me into a near-by neighbour's house. The man was very aggressive, and came quite close to Mark a few times, but Mark kept calmly talking to the man; distracting him until the police came. When he realised that his wife and children had gone, the man snapped and started yelling that he was going to kill himself. He went back into the house and slammed the door, and at that moment the police arrived. Praise God.
Why the woman decided to knock on our door is a mystery. Our house certainly wasn't the closest to hers. God is so good to have led her to us, and to allow us to pray for this family.

The focus of the Impact conference was "Finding Hope in Suffering". We listened to numerous talks which encouraged us to put aside our own fears for the sake of others. Mark and I certainly had an opportunity to put this into practice. However, our fears, at the time, do not compare with what this family will now have to deal with. A broken marriage, children legally restricted from their father, a man's life in shreds. Where is the hope here? After things had calmed down, we spoke to the two women, and said that we would pray for them. We then learnt that the women are Christians, and that the abusive situation had been on-going. From what we could gather, these two women are trusting in Christ and His redemptive power - knowing that this life is not where the story ends.

This is where we find hope. Not in our circumstances, but in God's sovereign and just reign over our lives and, thus, our circumstances. Our hope is in the life to come, not in the trials and hurts of our present life. We long for the day when everything hostile to the glory of God will be destroyed. What a day that will be.

Please keep this family in your prayers. My heart breaks for the children - to hear your father say that he is going to murder you, your siblings, your mother and your aunty would certainly be traumatic.

I'm very thankful that God gave us the opportunity to practically consider suffering and how powerful it can be in the life of a family. Although, I hope that the topic for next year's conference isn't martyrdom, or something of the like.

Shadows Prove the Sunshine

2010-10-03T23:03:00.000-07:00

Yes, I have succumbed to the cromo effect (otherwise known as "jumping on the bandwagon" or the less flattering "herd instinct") and have decided to blog again.

I'm currently sitting in the hospital library, feeling quite content after a solid day of research. No, I haven't crossed over to the dark side (i.e. become a med student). I'm not sure that mere education students are allowed to study in here. The librarian hasn't yet pointed at me and yelled "Impostor!", so I figure I'm safe. This is certainly more civilised than the education campus, which is on the brink of being overrun by turkeys, wallabies and feminists. I've previously written a post about the education campus computer labs, which can be found here.

I'm currently writing a research paper on environmental education for early childhood students for one of my final subjects. I have been madly reviewing online journals for the last few hours. The last article that my search located was titled "The Conservation Knowledge and Attitudes of Teenagers in Slovenia Toward the Eurasian Otter". As interesting as it would be to read about human-otter interactions in Slovenia, I opted for a study break.

From my desk, I have a nice view of the front of the hospital. It has been really interesting to watch all sorts of people come and go throughout the day. Hospitals certainly attract people from all walks of life. There are people who are quite clearly patients wondering around in the pursuit of fresh air. People without shoes (no, I wasn't one of these people today), searching the ground for dropped coins and hurriedly storing them in their pockets, should they be fortunate enough to find one. Anxious children, and even more anxious parents. Stressed students, desperate to pass their practicums. Loneliness, tears and fear. They seem to be ever-present here. This doesn't negate the absence of joy, but it is true that pain is particularly apparent in a hospital. As I watched some of these people come and go, I prayed that I would never lose my compassion for those who are hurting. We are all given trials in life, and it is very easy to become desensitised to the needs of others. May we never become unable to look beyond our own circumstances.

As I'm writing this, I hear a scream from outside. I look down from my elevated position in the library to see two women hugging below my window. They appear to be very close friends, perhaps they haven't seen each other for awhile. The joy on their faces is palpable, as they begin to talk and share in each other's lives. I'm very glad to be reminded that joy can exist in the darkest of places. I'm sure that every worker here could attest to that.

The Return!

2010-08-15T20:51:00.000-07:00

Hello my admittedly neglected readers!

Upon realising that Mark and I have quite ridiculous lives, I have decided to keep a journal. I thought that I would include an excerpt here, enjoy!

Saturday 7.8.10

9:30pm

We've had a very busy, yet very nice Saturday. When Mark finished work, we decided to satisfy our hankering for Sizzlers. Over lunch, Mark animatedly explained how he had healed a patient during his night shift earlier in the week. The patient had been complaining of chest pain and involuntary movements. Mark rushed to the bedside of the patient, who seemed to be convulsing periodically. The patient again complained of chest pain, as his body continued to jerk. After a while, Mark began to notice a noise coming from the man. "Sir, are you hiccuping?". In a Dr House-like fashion, Mark had solved the case. After some deep breathing and a touch of "distraction therapy", the patient was cured. I always said that he would be a brilliant doctor.

Sunday 8.8.10

8:24am

Last night Mark came down with a case of the hiccups, just as we were trying to go to sleep. The irony was quite amusing. I think it's important to note that Mark's hiccups are quite alarming. It sounds as though a giant protesting frog is demanding release from inside of his throat. This was the perfect opportunity for Mark to once again demonstrate his medical prowess in the field of hiccups. With impenetrable focus, he calmly dissolved a teaspoon of sugar on his tongue, and within minutes, the hiccups were gone. Amazing!

Monday 9.8.10

9:31pm

Yesterday we went to church. Our friends, Craig and Teagen Ferguson, were rostered on to collect the offering. They had indirectly asked Mark if we could both help, and Mark had indirectly forgotten to mention it to me. When offering time was upon us, and Mark casually asked "Are you coming?" as he rose from the pews, there was no time to hesitate. Nor time to put my shoes on. I proceeded to collect the offering barefoot, alongside my husband, who was sporting a shirt that read "Damn, I look good today!". The inappropriateness of this scenario only occurred to me when the youth pastor, Dave Hopper, expressed his mock disgust at "alternative types" such as ourselves.

Ability, Not Disability

2010-03-28T16:30:00.000-07:00

"Focus on a child's ability, rather than their disability".

We hear this phrase often at University, yet many of us don't feel particularly convicted by these words. The truth remains that many of us haven't worked with children whose disabilities are so severe that their abilities are easily forgotten. Whilst this phrase is teetering on the edge of the "over used" basket, I think that it's hugely important. I'll explain by sharing a story. As you read this, please bear in mind that this was quite an awful moment for me at the time, however the lesson that I learnt is extremely valuable.

Most special needs teacher aides will agree that one of the most hectic parts of the schooling day is toilet time. Some children have very specific needs and routines when it comes to toileting. Such an everyday procedure can very quickly become a juggling act, as you try to supervise/change/wipe/wash/dry/encourage/keep quiet a handful of excited/grumpy/stubborn/loud little ones. On this particular day, there were three grade one children with special needs who I needed to take to the toilet. One child needed to have his urine drained through a catheter, another child had a severe intellectual impairment and was still in nappies, and another child needed assistance as he was born without arms. I'll refer to this little boy as J (incidentally, each of the children's names begun with J, so toilet time very quickly became "triple J time"). Anywho, as I'm sure you can imagine, "triple J time" was a very busy time indeed. Fortunately I didn't need to help the little boy with the catheter, as you need to have a special qualification to this.

On this particular day, a group of four 5 year olds with autism were using the small toilet block at the same time as us, so it was quite tricky to keep an eye on my three kids. Changing the nappy of a little boy with an intellectual impairment requires a huge amount of patience. We try to encourage the child to be as independent as possible so that he can learn to go to the toilet himself, however this takes time. Lots of time. In the chaos of that bathroom, it can feel like an eternity. Amidst the hustle and bustle and noise, I was trying to encourage this little boy to pull up his pants as he joyfully danced on the spot, evidently quite pleased with his lack of pants. Through the noise, I asked the boy with the catheter if he had washed his hands, and when he told me that he had, I asked him to sit and wait for me. Without looking up, I asked J if he had also washed his hands. Silence. After a few moments, a quiet voice replied, "I don't have any hands". I froze. I could not believe what I had just said. Even as I write this, I feel the same horrible ache in my heart. I also feel the same disappointment in my lack of tact. I stopped what I was doing to look at J and told him that I was so sorry for what I had said, but at that point I couldn't safely leave the child with the intellectual impairment, so I couldn't speak with J properly.

The following day whilst I was on playground duty, I said hello to J and called him by his name. He looked up at me, clearly surprised, and said "You remembered my name!". I replied with a smile, "Of course I remembered your name!". J then lowered his head and said "You remember me because I'm the one without any arms". I knelt down to his level, lifted his chin with my finger, looked him in they eye and said "No J. I remember you because you are the boy with the beautiful smile!". My words seemed to physically effect J, as he sat up and gave me a demonstration of his wonderful smile. From that point, I made a conscious effort to encourage J about the things that he does well, rather than focus on the things that may be lacking. This wasn't a particularly hard task for me, as there were many things that he did brilliantly. J and I very quickly became quite close, and I really enjoyed working with him.

"What's your point Carly!!". Good question. You wouldn't be the first to ask it. I'm certainly not saying that you should tell kids to find their worth in the things that they do well. But children need to feel that they are capable, and that they can positively contribute in many situations, in the same way that we need to feel like this. All children need to be encouraged, however this is particularly applicable for children with disabilities. This situation showed me very clearly how important it is to focus on J's abilities, not his disabilities. The hand washing comment was a sincere mistake, yet these kinds of mistakes can be very damaging to young hearts.

"Focus on a child's ability, rather than their disability" - This is can be very simple to do when the most significant problem you have in your class is a learning difficulty. However I'm confident that there will come a time when we will have to work extremely hard at convincing ourselves of this phrase. For some of us, we may have already experienced how difficult it can be to place a child's ability above their disability. It's hard work. But it is worth it.

News From The Pews

2010-01-25T18:01:00.000-08:00

Mum and I have recently been going through our old papers in the hopes of giving our house the appearance of organisation. Today Mum stumbled across a letter that I had written to one of my Aunties when I was 17. It made us laugh, so I thought that I would share it here.

Just to give you a bit of context for this letter, at the time Mum and I were going to a different church together and we had recently returned from a Hillsong conference. I've only been to Hillsong once, and you've got to take the good with the bad. There were things that I disagreed with, and things that I found incredibly helpful. Hillsong has a strong community focus, and seeks to encourage people to be involved in their local churches. I wrote this letter to my Aunty after returning to our church fresh out of Hillsong Conference:

"Hello Lyn!
Well it's been an interesting day. Today was our first day back at 'our local church', and with it came the exciting prospect of bringing a renewed zeal and enthusiasm to the congregation whilst driving out the spirit of criticism. Mum was allocated on the church roster to be part of the welcoming committee on the door, and I agreed to come along and greet our burdened congregation with a cheerful smile.
Never,
Ever,
Again.
The morning began like any other, with Mum and I taking our place beside several other women designated to hand out the church notices. However it soon became clear that whilst there was a crowd of people surrounding the church entrance, the pews were empty. This sad reality was reinforced by an aptly timed comment from the wife of a pastor, that there are "more people standing in the bloody door than in the actual church". I have to admit that I was thinking the same thing. Eventually a few people stumbled through the doors. My job as Welcomer was further complicated by an Asian named Ian who decided to engage me in conversation. Whilst he was a rather friendly chap, the conversation abruptly ended when he asked me if my eyelashes were fake, and, not believing me when I said that they were real, asked if he could touch them.
Very awkward.
Anyway, the service progressed as normal with two members of the congregation relaying their 'Hillsong experience' to the church. Listening to a description that consisted mostly of "like" and "stuff like that" was hardly inspiring. Apart from the offer of free chocolate from an Irish man called Terry to the entire congregation that had in fact expired (the chocolate that is, not the congregation), the service was uneventful, unemotional, unbearable.
Now as I sit here at home, all enthusiasm for supporting our local church and bringing along non-Christians has dwindled away and been replaced with criticism, snide remarks and complacency. Next week we're going to Emma's church. Please pray for us."

Just as a disclaimer, this was all very much in jest. Please don't misinterpret my 17 year old sarcasm. I have since changed churches, however there were more serious issues than this that provoked the move. No church is perfect, and part of the joy of church is interacting with people who are just as broken as I am. I think that most of us have had odd experiences in churches. My family and I shared a lot of laughter together after this paritcular day, and it's now a very fond memory.

Una

2009-12-26T17:34:00.000-08:00

In 1 Thessalonians 5: 17, Paul urges us to "pray continually". He doesn't say "pray a lot". He says pray continually. Unceasingly. Never stop praying.

Do you pray unceasingly? Be honest. If you think that you are praying enough, it's probably a good indication that you aren't. I'm not sure that we could ever pray 'enough'. So often I need to reacquaint my knees with the carpet.

Recently I had the pleasure of meeting Una. Una lives in Gatton and is in her 80's. Una is unwell and her frail body would have you believe that her strength is beginning to fail, however her passionate love for the Lord is ever strong. Mark and I visited Una one afternoon while we were in Gatton, and she taught us a lot about what it means to "pray continually". Una understands the desperate importance of Paul's words, and persists in prayer with unwavering joy and conviction.

Every morning, Una prays for Mark. Una had been praying for me as well, however up until our meeting she hadn't been able to give me a name. As we sat in Una's lounge room, we listened as Una told us about her love for Christ and the delight with which she prays. Often, as Una is praying or reading the Bible, she hears God's voice telling her to "sing it to Me". So, she sings to Him. In a soft yet tuneful voice, Una sang to us some of the songs that she sings to her Father. Some lyrics she had written, others were inspired by Psalms and verses. The melodies had stirred within her heart. "Sing it to Me". I wonder if many of us stop to listen to our Father asking His child to sing for Him.

Una then showed us the diary where she keeps written accounts of visions and dreams. In one of her dreams, she likened individual prayers to balloons. In this particular dream, the prayers that lacked meaning and conviction sat idly on the floor, like balloons that were unable to rise. However prayers that are given from the heart, through faith in Christ guided by the Holy Spirit, rise heavenward with the ease of a helium inflated balloon. Una laughed as she told us that every time she sees a balloon on the ground, she can't help but kick it into the air.

As we held hands and prayed together, I couldn't help but let a few rebellious tears slide down my cheeks. This woman taught me a lot in the short amount of time that we spent with her. She encouraged me to persist with prayer. The only time when Una is less consistent with prayer is when she is in hospital, but "He understands those times". She reaffirmed to me the importance of listening, and of responding. She demonstrated to me that a passionate spirit can defy the fatigue of the body. This woman is strong, because Christ is strong in her palpable weakness.

"Closed for Cleaning"

2009-10-29T19:15:00.000-07:00

Attention all students who frequent the JCU Western campus. This morning Townsville Education students were notified via email that one of the computer rooms on Western campus has been "closed for cleaning". Who would have thought that this magical day would ever come? Many years have passed since this room has been cleaned. Spider webs hang from the ceiling as proud trophies of neglect and dirty shoe prints line the floor, creating an intriguing pattern. The computer room has very little graffiti, however this could be attributed to the fact that most pens are unable to penetrate the thick layer of dust that covers, well, everything. Some may miss the unique, if not disgusting, qualities of this room. If this is you, do not despair. It will be 3 months before the room is once again in use, and almost certainly at least 3 years before it will be cleaned again. That is more than enough time for the mankiness of cockroaches, spiders, cobwebs, dirt, dust, wallabies and college students to reinhabit this space.

I must admit that I was speechless upon receiving the news that one of our rooms was being professionally cleaned. Perhaps the sparkling hand of cleanliness will one day be extended to the remainder of the rooms on Western Campus. But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

All that is left to say are but a few words from a grateful student: "JCU... I love it."

The times, they are a'changin...

2009-10-28T22:45:00.000-07:00

Good ol' Bob Dylan, that phrase is always so relevant.

Today I began studying for final exams. My first exam will be for an ICT (information communication technologies) subject. I also spent a few hours at school today. It's that wonderful time of year when schools often do a stock take, and guess who volunteered for the job? Just as a word of advice, DON'T EVER volunteer to do a whole school stock take. The lady who I spoke with before beginning this arduous task referred to me as her victim five times, and called it "the crappiest job in the world" 3 times. She said that she would understand if I decided to bail.. but did I listen? No, of course not. The work is extremely tedious, however I'm finding ways to make it fun. I've been able to meet so many teachers and students around the school, which has been so lovely. I really enjoy meeting new people... although, I do seem to have my fair share of awkward conversations. Here's one that I had the other week:

Me: "Hello!"
Colleague: "Good thanks, how are you?"
Me: "Good thanks, how are you?"
Colleague: *pause*.... *awkward laugh*

Not to worry. I even enjoy the awkward conversations.
Anywho, as a victim of stock take, I need to sight all of the items in the school that cost over $100. It could be worse, I could have to count pencils or paper clips or something. As I was making my way around the school today, it was interesting to see all of the different forms of technology, and how quickly the definition of 'modern' technologies can change. In one classroom there will be prehistoric computers and OHPs, and in another there will be SmartBoards and PS2s. When I was in grade 4, I remember wheeling an OHP from one classroom to another on a rickety old trolley. I hit a crack in the cement and the OHP fell from the trolley onto the ground. I wanted to die. Seriously. I wanted God to strike me down where I stood so that I didn't have to face the inevitable disappointment of my teacher. Fortunately no damage was done, and I lived to tell the tale. However this may not have been the case if I had tipped over a SmartBoard.

Incidentally, I used a SmartBoard for the first time on Tuesday in my ICT tute. My fellow Ed Heads will understand how sad this is. This is only made worse by the fact that I've previously only ever seen a SmartBoard used to screen a DVD. Hardly educational. Anywho, using the SmartBoard didn't make me feel very smart. It did make me feel like a complete novice, which... really, was quite appropriate. It reminded me of the time that we tried to teach my grandma how to send an SMS. Keeping up with rapidly changing technologies is a bummer in most jobs and is certainly not exclusive to teaching. I haven't yet decided if it is irritating or a blessing to have students who know more about technology than I do. But such is life, that's the way the cookie crumbles, that's the way this wheel keeps workin', hakuna matata, rah rah rah.

Ok, now that I have written these disjointed ramblings, I will continue studying. Peace out!

I have a cold.

2009-10-22T02:32:00.000-07:00

As the title so implicitly suggests, I have a cold.

Having a cold really is the pits. Yes, that phrase is from "Happy Days". I love "Happy Days". However, please do not be deceived. This will not be a happy post.

As someone who has had some form of ailment for most of this semester, I feel that I can speak with some authority on this topic. So, here is my "been there, done that, bought the t-shirt" list of things that I hate about colds:

1. Everyone has had a cold at some stage, therefore sympathy is hard to come by. A cold is not serious enough to legitimately complain about, however it is bad enough to make you feel doughy, miserable and useless.

2. It is difficult to sleep when you have a cold. When your nose is blocked, breathing through your mouth is your only option for survival. However, if you unknowingly attempt to breath through your nose you as begin to nod off to sleep, the ramifications can be quite severe. The lack of air to your lungs will serve as an abrupt reminder that breathing through your nose is not ideal in your current state. Training your body to breath through your mouth, and thus survive the night, may prove to be an arduous task.

3. Blowing your nose in public is an uncomfortable experience for all involved. People make strange noises when they blow their nose. Noises that otherwise would be deemed inappropriate in public settings. Whether you're a squeaker or a honker, you sound ridiculous. However, there is nothing worse than someone who noticeably has a cold yet refuses to blow their nose. This leads us to point number four.

4. Sniffing raucously in public. This can be quite nauseating, however admittedly unavoidable at times. The ridiculous noise that you make when you blow your nose really is preferable to the obscene sound of you intermittently snorting and blorting. For goodness sake, think of the poor unfortunate people who share your unpleasant company and find a tissue. If there are no tissues available, this leads us to point number five.

5. If, for whatever reason, you do not have access to tissues, walking around with a roll of toilet paper is nothing short of humiliating. Everyone likes to laugh at the girl with a roll of toilet paper by her side because she didn't have time to buy tissues and is acutely aware of how annoying point number four is.

6. Perhaps the most alarming point of all, is that no-one wants to hug you when you have a cold. As someone who relies on physical touch to feel like I am alive, this is certainly troubling.

7. Your voice changes when you have a cold. At the moment I sound like a nightmarish mixture of Barry White and The Nanny. If you are a guy, the deep and husky voice that a cold provokes may even be preferable to your normal voice. However if you are a girl... well... I could teach you a few basic words in Auslan?

8. When you have a cold, your once sharp, astute and capable brain that enabled you to possess a lucid understanding of life is but a distant memory. Instead, your brain has been replaced with dough, which is not conducive to, well, anything. You will find yourself saying "I don't know" at the end of most sentences, however due to point number two, it will sound more like "I dond ndow". When friends or relatives ask you a question, they should anticipate a substantial pause before you're able to elicit a response. And, even then, you will probably only utter the words "I dond ndow" in a deep, husky and barely discernable voice.

9. The cruel combination of all of these points makes you feel gross and unloved.

So, to my healthy readers, be kind to those of us who are of poor health. Do not ask us purposefully difficult questions, so that you may watch in awe as our brains threaten to explode under the pressure. Do not step away when we beckon for a hug. Instead, embrace us. Love us. We are people too.

P.S. This is my 50th post! Hurrah!

Dear FB Friends

2009-10-20T21:18:00.000-07:00

To my wonderful facebook friends,

Please refrain from sending me invitations to join you in FarmVille, FarmTown, FarmLife, HappyFarm or any other imaginary farm-related facebook application.

I do not care if you have lost a lonely black, white, pink or psychedelic fluorescent multi-coloured polka-dotted sheep somewhere on your farm. I will not help you find it. As far as I am concerned, you are already a few sheep short of a paddock for wasting your time with such pish-posh.

I also do not care if a poor, ugly, socially-challenged duckling has run away from home and wandered onto your farm. I will not adopt the duckling. And no, sending me a picture of this glossy-eyed buck-toothed duckling will not evoke sympathy. It will probably evoke rage.

Nor will I celebrate with you when you "move up in the world of FarmVille". This probably means that you have been demoted in the real world, where we value face-to-face interactions and frown upon people who spend excessive amounts of time in imaginary worlds. There is quality medical care readily available to people with such troubling concerns.

Thank-you for understanding my request.

Kind regards, Carly.

The Cost of Fear

2009-10-15T02:26:00.000-07:00

This is my second blog in one night. Excessive blogging is quite normal for someone like Nathan, however I rarely blog so frequently.

The reason that I am posting again is because of a news story that I recently stumbled across. The title of the news report is "Addict" has 15 abortions in 17 years.

There are lots of selfish people in this world, however this story really does take the proverbial cake. It appears to me that Irene Vilar, the protagonist in this horrible tale, has seriously misunderstood the profound value of life if she is able to knowingly kill 15 of her own children. I understand that, as in all situations, there were some confounding factors that fueled her abortion addiction. In her memoir, Irene attributes blame to a difficult marriage and an older, overly controlling husband. However, this line in her interview really did upset me:

"But (Irene) believes the availability of abortion saved her life as she would have found a way to end her pregnancies, legal or not."

I cannot fathom why the 'happy ending' to this story would be that through killing 15 precious lives, she was able to save her own. Yes, it is wonderful that Irene is alive and able to share her reflections from this lived-nightmare, yet it came at such a great cost. Abortion, by its very nature, does not save lives. It's primary function is to take lives. 15 children, each uniquely and wonderfully made. That is nearly the size of my grade one class at Vincent.

The question I would like to ask Irene is this: At what point did you realise that you could no longer allow fear and selfishness to murder your children?

For people who are considering abortion, I would firstly urge you to read Gianna. This is an incredible story about a little girl who survived abortion. She suffered many physical and emotional scars, yet she truly understands why life is so precious. Please read it. I own it, and I will happily give it to you.

Letters From The Heart

2009-10-15T01:06:00.000-07:00

There is something so wonderful about receiving a letter. I'm not just talking about the excitement of finding something other than a computer generated message from some local government twit in your mail box. What is captured in a letter lasts. When our memories fail, the words will remain.

Receiving a letter from a child is so beautiful. On the last day of my placement at Buddina State School, I was given 20 letters from my kids. Each letter is so precious and serves as a wonderful reminder of each unique child that was in my class. They are also highly amusing, so I thought that I would share some of them here. Bear in mind that these letters are written by 6 year olds, so they are riddled with spelling mistakes. However interpreting the errors is all part of the fun. I asked the kids to read their letters to me, so if you're unsure of what any of them say please feel free to ask.
Enjoy! :)

"Dear Miss Laird. I hop yoo hav a god tim bak at indglen (England, LOL!). I wil mis yoo and yoo wil mis me and yoo are the besde tesa I love yoo and yoo love me." - Jake.

"Dear Mis Laird. I am going to mis you. Mis Laird did you hev fun with us and you wor the bist teacher. We had the besd fun with you." - Shyla.

"To Miss Laird. I will miss you forever. Wiy are you going. I hope you have fun down ther. You will miss us wot you. It will be freezing there." - Abby B.

"Dear Miss Laird. To Criey (Carly! She knew my first name, cheeky little thing...). I love you. And I hope you had a good time here. And on youre bday I hope you get lots of game presins and fun. You are the best tisher. With lots of love." - Johanna.

"Der Mis Led. I hop yow hafa lafle rip (I hope you have a safe trip). I lik yoy sow mach Mis Led. I wil mis yow Mis Led. I luv yoy sow maeh." - Drew.

"Yo. ar. a. god. tech. I. kat. blev. theat. yo. ar. leven. I. wil. mis. yo. I. hoop. yo. well. kam. bak." - Asia.

'Dear Miss Laird. Miss Laird thac you for being my best teecha and I hop you hav a luvle chrip and I love you I hop you biy sumthing." - Paris.

"Miss Laird. I hope I see you again. You have been a nice techer." - Meaghan.

"Dear Miss Laird. You are the best tehca ever. I will miss you forever. You are the best one Miss Laird." - Abby D.

"Dear Miss Laird. I am going to mis you. You are a really, really, realle nice teacher." - Hunter.

And my favourite letter...

"Dear Miss Laird. I am going to mss you a llott and a llott and so much. I wich you cood come bak to scooll and you are the bessd tishuua. Plls I wot you to come back plleiss Miss Laird. And wyi kant you come back here. I want you for evu Miss Laird." - Zarian.

I hope those letters made you smile as much as they continue to make me smile. It is so precious to have a child write that they are going to miss you "a lot and a lot and so much". I'm learning more and more that teaching can be an incredibly hard job, yet these sorts of memories never fail to remind me why I love it so much.

Theology of Disability

2009-10-06T19:33:00.000-07:00

I found this thought provoking link on one of Nathan's posts. Read it. Now. GO!

The writer deals with the issue of baptising people with mental disabilities in the Baptist Church. I think that he draws an extremely apt conclusion. Many of the comments that follow give way to a discussion on the inclusion of special needs people in churches more generally.

Before I go any further, I appreciate that as a special needs teacher aide, I am admittedly biased here. However, I feel that as a church, we frequently leave the issue of 'disability' in the "too hard" basket. In some ways that is understandable. Reconciling the existence of disability, and then acknowledging the implications that this has for a congregation is certainly not an easy task.

I suppose that I find it extremely disappointing when people with disabilities (particularly intellectual disabilities) are forgotten in the church. We often think that it is 'good enough' that someone brought them along to the service and sat them in the back row. At least they're there, right? Wrong. We wouldn't be satisfied with such minimal involvement and interaction with anyone else in the church; why do we think it's enough for people with disabilities? Please don't read this incorrectly, I'm certainly not suggesting that we should encourage a woman with high functioning autism to lead the pre-prep Sunday School class. It just breaks my heart to see congregations that are content to view people with disabilities as a disengaged presence. This issue isn't necessarily going to be addressed during the service, or even in opportunities that exist for people to serve within the church, but rather in how we love our fellow brothers and sisters. There are a number of adults and children with special needs in our church. I often wonder how many people know their names, or even acknowledge their presence. That said, there are also so many wonderful loving people in our congregation who actively love our brothers and sisters with disabilities... yet it shouldn't stop with them.

I realise that some may believe that their efforts to show love to people with disabilities are of little effect, and therefore not worth the time... but this really is a myth. The ability of many people with intellectual disabilities to understand and therefore show love is incredible. You need only spend one day in my job to understand this. When I am working in the grade one class at Vincent, my role is to shepherd the children in the class with special needs. One of the little boys I look after is functioning at the mental age of approximately 2 and a half years old. When this little boy blows me a kiss and signs "I love you" with the most basic of Auslan signs, it truly makes my heart melt. Some would say that he is simply mimicking modelled behaviours, however I think that the smile on his face and the glimmer in his eyes would beg to differ.

I realise that this post hasn't actually discussed a theology of disability. This is partly because I am still figuring it out in my own head, and partly because I have a history test in two hours and have rambled on for long enough. I suppose that the take home message would be that we need to be more proactive in showing love to people with disabilities in our congregations. Have another read of 1 Corinthians 13 if you're unsure of what this should look like. This passage isn't just applicable to wedding ceremonies.

I'd love to hear your thoughts or outbursts on this issue :)

The "L" Word (and I'm not talking about love....)

2009-09-28T16:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, another blog post. Can you tell that I am avoiding my assignments? This post was originally going to be a response to a note that Alex posted on facebook, however apparently what I wanted to say was beyond the scope of the comments box, so I decided to write it here instead.

The goal of Alex's note was to discuss the importance of male leadership, and the detriment of lust to such leadership. The note was aimed at men, and I'm sure that it would have been very helpful. Recently our church has been doing a series on sexual discipleship. A lot of good things have come from these sermons, and it's been so encouraging to see people begin to deal with issues that eat away at the core of their being. I have to admit, it has been emotionally exhausting, particularly as a woman. Far too many people that I love have suffered from sexual abuse or misuse, and I believe that this kind of abuse is unique in the damage that it wrecks on someone's life. But I digress. I was keen to comment on Alex's remarks about lust from a female point of view.

Within much of the teaching that Christians receive on lust, the common theme is that men are wired to be visually stimulated, and women are wired to be emotionally stimulated. Before I go on, please understand that I completely agree with this. Calvin Roy, who spoke on Sunday night, made a comparison between pornography and Twilight (or, more explicitly, Mills and Boon), which I think was a helpful example. I know many Christian women who love the Twilight series because it is a well-written and engaging piece of literature, which is great. However, in conversations that I have had with non-Christian women who have devoured the series, the emotional thrill of the novel is a powerful turn-on. One friend once exclaimed to me "Oh! It's just SO sexy!". The way that God has wired women is a good and beautiful thing, if it is kept within the covenant of marriage and is used to serve the purpose for which it was created. Yet this is frequently abused. In failing to control our hearts, women fail to "take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ" (2 Corinthians 10:5).

Whilst I agree with this teaching (that men are predominant visually stimulated and women emotionally stimulated), I think that it comes at the risk of neglecting the reality that women are also visually stimulated. It's important to understand that this operates very differently in women, yet it shouldn't be ignored. The main way that we are turned on or captivated is through our thoughts and emotions - therefore it is easier for women to shift our visually stimulated feelings back into 2nd gear, and in the same motion shift our emotions straight into 5th. Yet God has created women to be emotionally stirred by what she sees, even if it's to a lesser degree than men. You need only spend 10 minutes with a group of non-Christian women* in a public setting to realise that women can be vulgar. They tarnish their integrity and feminine beauty by looking upon men in a way that satisfies their visual lust. They forget that these men are somebody's son, not a boy-toy (I really hate that phrase, but I think it's applicable here). Many women feel justified in commenting about men in a lustful way because they frequently are subjected to inappropriate comments by men. I know acutely how horrible this is, but it's part of the pain that we experience as women in a fallen world. This kind of treatment certainly does not provoke me to look upon my brothers inappropriately. It is so wonderful to know that it is certainly by no strength of our own that we are able to control sinful desires.

In Alex's note, he mentioned Matthew 5:29-30: "If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your body to go into hell".

Girls, this certainly isn't just applicable to men. This passage really speaks to how imperative it is to separate ourselves from sin. Visual lust is certainly an issue for women, even though it manifests itself more powerfully in men. God has called His daughters to be women of unfading beauty. To possess a beauty that lasts. We don't need to captivate the lusts of our brothers, nor do we need to desire emotional or visual satisfaction from our brothers. Rather it is the beauty of a "gentle and quiet spirit which is of great worth in God's sight". 1 Peter 3: 5 says "For this is the way that holy women of the past who put their hope in God used to make themselves beautiful". How wonderful that our Father is captivated by our sight. How wonderful that we can place our hope in the strong and loving hands of our Father. Why would we crave to be in the sight of anyone else?

*Just a little disclaimer.. this obviously isn't applicable to all non-Christian women, it was merely an example from experiences that I have had.

The complicated wonder that is female.....

2009-09-26T04:43:00.000-07:00

In many ways, I am your typical female.

I have no sense of direction whatsoever. It took me 45 minutes to find the Pye's house in West End and I often find myself lost in riverside gardens. I cannot read a map unless it is upside down, or at least facing in the direction of the the imaginary road in my head. I am terrible at parking. I can be overly-emotional, overly-clingy, and overly-dramatic. I will spend 10 minutes talking about a grasshopper, a cute little girl and a pencil and expect Mark to understand that I am explaining the content of my SOSE lecture, without actually mentioning the words SOSE or lecture. My thought processes are often convoluted, to say the least. I like flowers. I love coffee and chocolate. I feel cranky if I go for long periods of time without coffee or chocolate. I can't help but go all mushy when I see a beautiful baby. I frequently lack logic and rationality.

In a lot of ways, I fit the stereotype. However, there are many ways that I don't. One of my non-stereotypically female attributes was brought to my attention today. I don't particularly enjoy clothes shopping. Obviously this is partly to do with my Uni student budget, however I really don't derive intense pleasure, fulfillment and excitement from buying clothes. Today, I needed to buy a dress. Mark's graduation is at the end of the year, and the only formal dress that I own is a bridesmaids dress that I have already worn on two occasions (other than the wedding). Because this is a special occasion, I thought that it would be nice to buy something new. Plus, with Uni becoming increasingly busy, today presented a convenient opening for a spot of shopping. So, armed with a coffee, I headed to Stockies and entered the first dress shop that I came across. I had a quick squiz and noticed two dresses that were quite nice. I tried on the first dress: didn't like it. I tried on the second dress: quite liked it. I opened the dressing room curtain and said to the shop keeper "Do you think this looks ok?". She replied "Yes dear, that looks lovely!". That was good enough for me. I got changed, bought the dress (which was a great price, hurrah!) and left the shop in less than 10 minutes. I hadn't even finished my coffee. That, dear reader, is what you call efficient shopping.

Now, this isn't to say that I simply took the lazy option rather than looking for a dress that I really liked. This dress is very lovely. It's made up of beautiful colours and is a style that I quite like (long and kind of hippy-like apparently). When it comes to clothes shopping, you need to know what you are looking for and what you like, otherwise you will waste hours and come away poor and exhausted. There are about 1000 different kinds of dresses that I wouldn't even consider because they are either inappropriate, gaudy or strange; so I don't waste my time looking at them. Even as I write this, I'm aware of how 'male' this is sounding (i.e. logical).

If you are one of those women who enjoy shopping; more power to you. Lots of women enjoy the social bonding phenomenon that is window shopping. I'd much rather spend time outdoors. However I'm so glad that we've all been made so differently. God knew what he was doing when He only created one of me. All of that said... to my female readers; I would encourage you to try efficient shopping sometime. It may prove to dramatically decrease frustration levels and free up more time for coffee, chocolate, figuring out how to get your car out of the car park, and allowing for the inevitability of getting lost on the way home.

Warning: Cynicism ahead....

2009-09-25T04:02:00.000-07:00

Those of you who frequent Joel's blog will have noticed his disappointing lack of cynicism of late. In his most recent post, he even went so far as to describe his current state of being as "bouncing around in a world full of sunshine, lollypops and rainbows". Very disappointing. Those of you who know me will realise that I am an eternal optimist. Even when I am sad, I am usually happy as well. I once had two yellowy-orange pieces of fruit that I was convinced were oranges. They certainly couldn't have been lemons; they were clearly the shape of oranges and had a slight orangey tinge to their skin. However, upon eating the first "orange", I realised that it was the single most sour piece of fruit that I had ever eaten. But not to worry, I still had one more "orange", which I hadn't yet lost faith in, and proceeded to eat. They were both lemons. No doubt about it.

That somewhat convoluted orange/lemon story was just one example of how I tend to hope for the best in most situations. You know what they say; if life hands you lemons, hope that they are oranges. However, I also value consistency, and Joel's unprecedented lack of cynicism has thrown my understanding of life, the universe and everything into turmoil. Despite my naturally optimistic nature, I can't help but find this sudden change deeply disturbing.

SO. In an attempt to even things out a little, I thought that I would devote this post entirely to my own brand of cynicism. Uni has recently shifted into fifth gear and I don't see much opportunity for a reprieve over the next two months, so it shouldn't be difficult to think of some things that annoy me. Here is a list of things that have recently infuriated me for your misguided enjoyment:

It annoys me that for 3 years now, without fail, my lecturers gleefully inflict a mountain of assignments on me that are due directly after lecture recess, and have the audacity to ask "Did you enjoy your relaxing break?".
My SOSE lecturer says "SOZE".
My history lecturer says "histowy" (although, granted, he has a speech impediment).
The American cohort of students in my history class know more about Australian history than I do, and they certainly appear more interested.
American accents.
Unit plans.
The current trend for ECE lecturers to transfer our subjects to external mode.
Unit plans.
Dust storms.
Having asthma in a dust storm.
Having asthma and a cold in a dust storm.
Having asthma and a cold and going for a run in a dust storm.
Lacking common sense.
People who visit coffee shops in groups and pretend to enjoy each others company whilst spending the entire time facebooking each other on their iphones. Lame.
Instant coffee.
Computers.
Webquests/wikis/bubblus/imagination/delicious clouds/any other form of ICT tool with a stupid name that I am supposed to be able to utilise in an educational context.
Unit plans.
Education Queensland's relaxed stance on prompt employee payments.
People who think that "group work" is an optional componet of group assignments.
Lecturers who think that group assignments are actually beneficial to anyone.
Discovering that you have a hole in the clothes that you are wearing when you are already out.
Discovering that you have toothpaste on your shirt when you are already out.
Having to make jokes about the holes in your clothes or toothpaste on your shirt to alleviate the awkwardness. Nothing like making an awkward situation less awkward by firstly making it more awkward.
Forgetting to wear shoes to church on Sunday night at Calvary.
Having people look at you as if you require additional intercessory prayer simply because you forgot to wear shoes to church.
Having to wear shoes.
Drinking a cup of tea whilst writing a blog and spilling it on the keyboard... rage...
Coffee shop waiters who try to pretend that saying "Thanks a-latte!" isn't hilarious.
Demonstrating to a friend in a coffee shop how patronising it is to click your fingers at the staff, and accidently summoning a waiter in the process.
Having to apologise for accidentally being a jerk.
Unit plans.
People who insist on telling me stories about people who have died or been knifed in the face whilst in PNG. Really don't want to know.
The unwritten social rule that says you are less of a woman if your hair is messy.
People who say "Teacher's have an easy job - just look at all of the holidays they get!!".
Australians who ask me where my accent is from (???)... perhaps I also have a speech problem...
People who print pretty pictures on tissues. Why would you put a cute little puppy dog on a piece of tissue that serves no other purpose than to.. well.. I don't need to explain that one...
Unit plans

End rant. Now that the universe has returned to a state of balance, I will return to my usual optimistic self :)

What are you really hungry for?

2009-08-28T19:47:00.000-07:00

Oprah really is a cultural phenomenon of our time. I mean really... her patterns of weight loss and weight gain alone are followed by millions worldwide. During high school Emma Pye and I would leave school during our lunch break, grab some drive-through KFC, and watch Oprah. Sometimes these KFC/Oprah sessions would spill over into our math lessons, but that's ok. These were wonderful times of bonding for us. Criticising Oprah and the myriad of guests who appeared on her show provided us with a common ground. Anyway... these days, being the mature adult that I am, I have a much lower tolerance for Oprah. Yesterday at 1pm I relented and turned Oprah on. I watched the episode for about 10 minutes and nearly burst my foofoo valve from annoyance. Let me explain.

Yesterday the feature of Oprah's program was over-weight teenagers. Not just a bunch of kids who had eaten one too many Oreos, but clinically obese children. The interviews with some of these kids were really heart breaking. The teenage years are a difficult time; this is just compounded if you are noticeably different. Oprah called in some of her trusted counselors and the team of enthusiastic Americans endeavored to get to the bottom of what these kids were REALLY hungry for. Because, as many of us know, food addiction is rarely just the result of an unbalanced love of food. I'm sure that sometimes it is, but often food is just a convenient outlet, or area of control, or source of pleasure, or whatever. The kids screamed and cried and shared their pain, their struggles and their anger. After a number of intense documented sessions, Oprah gathered the group of teens in her studio and asked them each individually what they were REALLY hungry for. With smiling glowing facing, each child gave Oprah an answer. "I'm really hungry for a strong constant male figure in my life". "I'm really hungry for acceptance". "I'm really hungry to be seen for who I am inside, not what I look like". Oprah's conclusion was that all of these children are looking for the same thing. They are looking to find who they are, and they want to be seen for who they are. They want to be known. Deeply known. Through Oprah's carefully orchestrated counseling sessions, these children were able to identify the holes that exist in their lives (e.g. constant male figure), and effectively attribute blame to explain and rationalise the emptiness that they experience every day. From here, they can begin to discover who they are, apart from the circumstances that seem to have left gaping holes in their hearts.

Now. I understand that the teenage years are a tumultuous time of confusion and self discovery. I understand how detrimental a lot of difficult circumstances, such as inadequate parent figures, bullying, etc, can be on young lives. I understand that every kid wants to be known for who they are and what is written on their heart, not for how much weight they carry. I understand all of this. However I can't help but wonder how much longer we as a society are going to keep telling our children that the emptiness in their lives can be filled by happy circumstances and by being actively validated by somebody else. Sure, every one loves happy circumstances and being accepted, but these aren't the core issues. These aren't the cause of the deep and penetrating emptiness that they feel inside. Being "known" by somebody else isn't going to take away that pain. Being able to tell the world who you are won't solve your problems. Sorry Oprah, but it won't.

Our Bible study at the moment is reading through 1 Corinthians. This week I spent the whole session lying down on the couch with my eyes closed because I was exhausted (re: viral meningitis), however I was still able to listen to what was being said. 1 Corinthians 8:3 says that "the man who loves God is known by God". Just let that sink in for a moment. Not only are we created by God and loved by our Father, but we are known by God. We are deeply, intricately, eternally, passionately and profoundly KNOWN by God. Healing doesn't come from the world knowing who we are, but from the realisation that we are already known. We are known and loved, even as we are sinners. There are plenty of teenagers with perfect bodies and wonderful fathers who experience the same emptiness that the over-weight girl on Oprah's show described. They are known by lots of people. But this isn't enough. I can't help but disagree with Oprah's plight for young people to "be known" by others and therefore "experience healing". We are already known. If only she knew how wonderful it is to be known by our God!

Under the weather....

2009-08-24T21:19:00.000-07:00

One of the worst things that you could ever do to me is drain all of my energy, lock me in a house, and tell me that I can't do anything except watch TV, movies and sleep for days on end. I know that for some people this is probably the closest that they will ever get to experiencing heaven on earth, but I hate it. There is nothing worse than sitting on the couch listening to an old and expressionless ABC weather man suggest that society should invoke a fifth season called Sprummer to accommodate the warmer half of spring, when you could be out doing something useful. There is only so long that I can maintain the already loose grip that I have on my sanity under these conditions. Surely a mental break down of sorts is forthcoming... although I don't think that I have the energy for a mental break down...

Just to back-track a little, I've been unwell for the past 5 or so days. I am in desperate need of human interaction. Whenever I am visited by family or friends I have so little energy that the most significant form of communication I have is falling asleep on top of them. I'm sure that they know I appreciate their presence. However in a dramatic turn of events, today I've been up and about for nearly 2 and a half hours now, so I thought that I would celebrate by blogging.

I've realised recently that there are lots of amusing things about being sick. I've found the number of illnesses/diseases that I have been diagnosed with over the past 5 days very amusing. They have ranged from a cold, the flu, swine flu (of course), a financial investments seminar-induced headache (my initial self-diagnosis prior to ending up in the ED. No seminar is that bad), to meningococcal (my Grandma tends to panic a little) and viral meningitis. The range of 'suggested' treatments have included wet washers, hot water bottles, funny shaped pillows for my neck and a pharmacy worth of various drugs. I'd really just like a good cup of coffee. I think that my sister provided me with the most helpful treatment yesterday when she brought me some chocolate during her lunch break. You learn very quickly to sift through the legitimate suggestions and graciously ignore the rest. However, all of this has made me realise how cared for I am. I love that a ridiculous diagnosis here and there is a wonderful indication of genuine love and concern. God has blessed me with a wonderful family and friends, and I have so much to be thankful for!

Anywho.. energy is waning, so I will wrap it up here. Feel free to leave a comment, if for no other reason than indulge me with some form of human interaction :)

No butts about it...

2009-08-18T03:40:00.001-07:00

I have a sad story to share with you all. Before I continue, I might just add a disclaimer: This blog will serve no purpose other than to indulge my self pity.

Right. That's out of the way. Back to my sad story...

I have a broken butt.

Well.. not technically. Or at least not that I know of. I haven't been to see a doctor. Apparently "broken butt" isn't the correct medical terminology anyway. According to the PG version of a medical print out that Mark gave me, pain in the coccyx is called Coccydynia. I think that broken butt is a much more direct diagnosis, so I'm going to stick with that. If you have been following this blog, you will remember that I mentioned falling down the stairs on the yacht during our sailing trip. That was six weeks ago, and my butt is still holding a grudge against my lack of coordination. When I sit on a chair I need a pillow, otherwise I can't stay seated for long stretches of time. When I sit down to study or go to Uni I need to take pain killers first. The only reason that I haven't gone to a doctor is because, from what I can gather, the only treatment is carrying around a donut cushion. Mark suggested that I stitch a donut cushion into my clothing for convenience. I suggested that he was a terrible boyfriend.

Anywho.. the pain isn't unbearable, so hopefully this means that my butt (coccyx, whatever) isn't actually broken. I think it's just angry at me and spiteful and wanting to take revenge for making it fall down stairs. Please learn from my mistakes. Don't fall down stairs. Really. Nobody wants to be the girl with a donut cushion sewn into her jeans.

Student mode....

2009-08-02T19:46:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day of semester two. I'm finding that I'm still very much in teacher mode, and therefore making the transition back into student mode is a little difficult. That said, love my kids as I do, it is a nice change to not have to watch 27 six year olds simultaneously. It really is very exhausting. Anywho, like many things in life, some of which I have previously written about in this blog, I am realising that I also have a routine that I follow on the first day of Uni.

Typically, I spend the morning of the first day finding the room codes that my classes will be held in and locating the rooms on a map of JCU. I really struggle with the JCU interactive map because you can't turn it upside down; and as every woman knows, this is the only way that a map can be read. Ideally I would have done this task on the weekend, however it often is left until Monday morning as the weekend is spent recovering from placement. After this I drive to my first class. I'm usually late, but only a little bit late, and it's the stupid interactive map's fault anyway. I walk into the room and take a seat towards the front, because I am far too easily distracted to sit at the back. I then turn to the person seated next to me and ask the same question that I ask at the beginning of every semester; "What class is this?". It takes every ounce of my organisational ability to sit myself down in the right room at roughly the right time... remembering the name of the class is asking too much. I then sit for 50 minutes, focusing all of my energy on listening to what is being said, before performing this sequence of events all over again in the next lecture.

While I was enduring today's SOSE lecture, I stumbled across a new breed of annoying student. I was probably already feeling a little bit annoyed and over-critical because my SOSE lecturer says soze instead of sose. For some reason that bothers me. ANYWAY. We're all familiar with out-spoken mature age students who insist on adding their two cents whenever the lecturer so much as pauses to take a breath. In primary/early childhood circles, these students are usually women. However. Today I discovered the male outspoken mature age student. There is a distinct difference between male and female mature age students in primary/early childhood classes. The female mature age students are usually Mums, and therefore at least have a basic understanding of how young children are wired. Male mature age students, on the other hand, do not. During today's SOSE lecture we were discussing various issues that arise from social and environmental studies that might interest young children. Our friend, the male mature age student in the front row (who by this stage had already spent his two cents as far as I was concerned), raised his hand and said "Six year olds are too busy trying to think about tying their shoes to think about anything else". Now, perhaps I am overly sensitive about comments like this after spending three weeks teaching grade one, however I happily joined the chorus of "tsk tsk tsk's" that erupted from the Mums in the front row. I'm not really sure how you could make it through two and a half years of primary or early childhood education and still have such a poor understanding of children. Now, before you call me a bra-burning tofu-inhaling feminist, I'm sure that not all men have such a naive understanding of children. I have many male friends who seem to understand children quite well. I'm sure that I still have a lot to learn about how children work. But really, at this stage in our degree, we should at least know that kids love to actively explore and question their environment.

End rant. I'm off to another lecture.

The Fire Drill

2009-07-29T01:44:00.000-07:00

I have a new-found joy in life. It's called the fire drill.

Whilst I understand the importance of employing safety precautions such as fire drills, I am convinced that its main purpose is to give teachers a laugh.

I thoroughly enjoyed today's fire drill. It was my second highlight of the day. My first highlight was when one of my little ones turned to me and said "You're my best teacher Miss Laird". It really did make my heart melt. Anywho... today's fire drill had been scheduled for 1pm. The teachers had been forewarned, however the children remained oblivious. At exactly 1pm, a man with a hand-held siren and ear muffs hurried through the school, alerting the staff and students of the impending 'fire'. This man was enjoying his role far too much; the huge smile on his face hindered the seriousness of the event a little. However his evident amusement seemed to bypass my grade ones and the majority began to panic. Not able to help myself, I put on my serious voice, told my grade ones that what they were hearing was the fire alarm, and instructed them to drop what they were doing and line up outside immediately. Never before have I seen my kids move so quickly. The girls grabbed each others hands and the boys charged to the front of the line. I grabbed the roll and marched my class to the oval. We had barely left the classroom when Ollie yelled "I smell smoke!!" while pointing at a particularly dark and ominous looking cloud. Half of my kids walked the length of the oval pinching their noses and breathing through their mouths, to protect themselves from the 'smoke'. When we arrived at the centre of the oval, the kid's imaginations ran riot....

"There really is a fire, I really can smell smoke!!"
"This is really serious, someone might die you know."
"All of our parents might die!"
"Who will look after us if our parents die??"
"Who will drive us to school if our parents die??"
"We can drive ourselves to school and go CRAZY all over the place!"
"Nnoooo we can all walk to school...."
"I saw a man with a gun! There's a man walking around with a gun!" - (It was a cap gun to get the school's attention on the oval. Serious stuff for a 6 year old...)

By this point some of the girls were getting a little bit frantic and clinging to each other as if the end of the world was near. Thankfully the Principle quickly reassured the school that it was only a drill, and that they could return to class. Walking back to class, Ollie was still pointing at the dark looking cloud and trying to convince me that he could smell smoke. I couldn't keep the smile from my lips.

I'm sure that some teachers would argue that fire drills are highly disruptive, however I think that the disruption is worth it. Who doesn't love a bit of drama now and then? My kids settled back to work incredibly quickly after the fire drill; feeling safe and happy with the mundane routine of class work, so I wasn't worried.

I'd best get back to planning for tomorrow. I only have two more days of placement. I am so excited by how much I have learnt over the past 3 weeks, and I will really miss my kids once I return home. Although I really am looking forward to being back. :)

Shane

2009-07-25T17:59:00.000-07:00

This is a story about Shane.

Shane is 6. He has huge green eyes, dark red hair and freckles on his nose. Shane is a good natured child and generally isn't overly disruptive. Shane is also the most pessimistic child that I have ever met. He lacks confidence in his ability to do just about anything; be it handwriting, addition turn arounds, or remembering the name of one of his classmates.

"Miss Laird, I can't do it."
"I don't know what to do Miss Laird."
"Miss Laird I JUST CAN'T DO IT."

Shane will often give up before he even knows what is required of him. Shane is frequently reluctant to 'have a go' because the fear of failure and inadequacy is so great.

Shane also craves the affirmation of others. If another child is given a compliment, he longs to be complimented in the same way.

"Am I working hard Miss Laird?"
"Do you like MY colouring Miss Laird?"
"Is MY hair neat for the school photo Miss Laird?"

It's really hard to work with a 6 year old who has such a defeated attitude. He is a bright child, however his lack of confidence is causing him to fall behind.

This week I was thinking about Shane and how I can encourage him. It's very easy to feel sorry for children like this. I'm often tempted to go straight to my default response of giving them a hug, but this isn't always helpful. Sometimes Shane just needs to be told to stop frowning and get on with his work.

This week will be my first week of teaching a full time load, which means that I am supposed to do all of the teaching for the whole week. Rather than resuming the foetal position, I am keen to have a go. Don't get me wrong, I am terrified... but I think that I have realised this week how easy it would be for me to think a little like Shane. I never want to approach work with the attitude of "I can't do this", because I know that God is strong when I am weak. I know that I am going to make loads of mistakes this week. There will probably be times when I feel like I have completely lost control of my class. This may be because I have in fact lost control of my class and they have tied me to a chair or something. But that's ok. It's what learning is about. Sometimes we fly, sometimes we fall. All the while we trust God and know that our fears can never consume us.

Anywho... that's what I have been thinking about today. I was hoping to keep this a little more updated but I really have been swamped. I hope that you have all survived without my rambling blogs. Peace out :)

Prac Blogging - Second Installment....

2009-07-13T03:09:00.000-07:00

Hello my wonderful readers!

I write to you from the Sunshine Coast, which will be my home for the next three weeks as I complete my third year placement. Those of you who may have read my previous prac blogging installments will be pleased to know that my "Learning Manager" badge is once again in use, and once again I have no idea what this title is supposed to entail. Even more concerning is that some of the teachers managed to call me Carla today, despite the clearly printed "Carly" written on my badge. They're probably the same teachers who still believe that the "3 R's" actually begin with the letter R.

Today was my first day of prac, and even though I am feeling bruised and weary, all in all it was a good day. Why bruised, I hear you ask? Belle, Cam, Lyle, Leah, Mr & Mrs Yates, Mark and I hired a sailing boat on the weekend (the rest of the crew will be sailing until Saturday, I had to return early for prac), and I managed to fall down the stairs on the first night. I'm not sure that my derriere has ever been this sore in my life. It certainly made todays four hour staff meeting more painful than it already was.

Today was a pupil free day, so most of my time was spent in meetings and planning for the week. I'm feeling very excited, because I am sharing my placement with a student from New York who is in Australia completing her final year placement. I'm really thankful that I will be able to partner teach alongside another student rather than having to handle 27 grade ones on my own. It was also very interesting to chat to Katie about how the American education system differs from the Australian system. Comparatively, we really have it quite good over here. However I was reminded today that Australians really do make a big song and dance about Americans when they are in town. As I was walking home from school this afternoon, I noticed that the large notice board out the front of the school read "Welcome to our student teachers from New York!". I'm sorry, but I don't remember reading "Welcome to our student teacher from Townsville!" when I first came to the school in April. Maybe I just missed it. Seems unlikely. Either way, I had a great time today chatting to lots of the teaching/cleaning/admin staff at school; everyone is so lovely and friendly which is so important, particularly being away from home.

Stay tuned for more prac related blogs... I hope to keep you all fairly updated.
Peace out :)

Just for show...

2009-06-29T01:34:00.001-07:00

On Saturday night I went to the Townsville show. It has been a few years since I have been to the show, however I always get irrationally excited. It doesn't matter that I am being blatantly scammed by bogan carnies with loud voices, lame catch phrases and over priced unsafe rides; as far as I am concerned it is still cause for excitement.

I have realised that there are certain traditions that I uphold when I go to the show. Buying a show bag is NOT one of them. Don't get me wrong, show bags are super exciting. Mark and I were chatting to a couple of little girls after watching the fireworks who were positively bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of riffling through their Hannah Montana show bags. However they really are a waste of money. I've only ever bought a handful of show bags as a kid. The last time that I voluntarily burnt cash on a show bag was when I was in lower high school. The show bag was titled... wait for it... "The Original Idiot's Show Bag". How appropriate. In my defence, the show bag came with a complimentary pogo stick, which is what initially caught my attention. I never did master the pogo stick. Quite a difficult endeavour. Anywho.. it also contained a variety of practical jokes which proved to be quite a bit of fun.

One of the traditions that I always honour when I go to the show is standing beneath The Zipper with my head pointed towards the sky, shivering with fear as I watch tiny people being thrashed about in those horrible little cages like rag dolls. Sadistic rag dolls. Maybe one day I will be brave enough to go on The Zipper. It didn't happen this year.

I also really love watching the fireworks. I was very impressed with this year's display, it really was quite spectacular. Fireworks are probably a bit indulgent, however I figure that if someone is willing to blow up thousands of dollars I may as well enjoy watching them do it.

The show is certainly a hoot. However the subtle transition from a sensible budgeting observer to a raving money-burning ride addict is easily made. Don't listen to the carnies. You may have to be in it to win it, but the minuscule feeling of satisfaction that you receive from putting a tiny ball into a clown's mouth and watching as it rolls into the correct slot in order to take home a giant stuffed yellow chicken is hardly a win. It certainly isn't worth the $30 that you gave away to have the privilege of feeding a ball to a clown. Bear in mind that I say this as someone who still loves the cliche idea of a boy winning a girl a giant stuffed toy after playing the hammer game. So boys, if you want to win your girl an over sized stuffed animal, make sure that it's from one of the more impressive side shows.

"And so I'm sailing through the sea..."

2009-06-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, last weekend I road tripped to Proserpine to visit Mark, who is there for 8 weeks completing his rural prac. During his time in Proserpine, Mark has made friends with a lovely dentist named Basil. Basil has a sailing boat, and was kind enough to take us sailing around the Whitsundays for the weekend. For those of you who haven't yet sailed through the Whitsundays, get up offa that thang and add this to your bucket list, because it is just incredible! Deserted beaches, intricate coral, clear waters, blue skies, ocean breeze... I could go on; there is so much untamed beauty! We really had a wonderful weekend, and there is so much that I could write about here. However, for the sake of time, I thought that I would write a list of things that I have learnt from the weekend:

If you begin to feel sea sick, DO NOT go below deck; this will only increase the wooziness.
If you want to steer the boat, make sure that you have an acceptable degree of strength in your arms (or a willing boyfriend), otherwise your arms will quickly tire out and it will be difficult to remain on course.
If you have long hair and are prone to day dreaming in the shower, do not attempt to wash your hair in the piddly shower on board the boat. This may lead to accidentally flooding the bathroom and having to endure the awkward process of emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a towel to ask Basil to please drain the excess water. Washing long hair in the ocean is a much better option.
There are no words to describe the beauty of watching the sun set over the ocean.
Some beaches consist entirely of white coral rather than sand. When the ocean hits the shore it sounds a lot like glass. It may also feel like glass to walk on. Still incredibly beautiful.
Summoning Basil with a whistle to pick you up in the dingy from the shore is fun for lots of reasons.
"Dang dingy dang di-dang di-dang dingy dingy" is a fun song to sing while climbing aboard the dingy.
There are lots of fun songs to sing about sailing, however most of them have little to do with boats.
A guitar is a vital component to a sailing trip.
Deserted caves on deserted beaches have huge scary spiders and bats that make strange high pitched noises.
Walking through 10 metres of sharp rocks is generally a good indication that there are more sharp rocks to come.
If your keen-bean boyfriend suggests climbing around the rugged circumference of an island (consisting of said sharp rocks), you should probably ponder your response before excitedly exclaiming "Yes!"
Three hours of walking on sharp rocks doesn't tickle.
Having to turn back and re-trace your steps after conquering three quarters of the island only to realise that there is a significant crevice that you can not cross may be a little disappointing, although still a worth while adventure.
Sand is reminiscent of satin after having walked on sharp rocks for three hours.
Coral can be a strange and marvelous thing. Poking squishy slimy brain-like coral never gets old.
Black forest cheesecake is an enjoyable way to make friends.
Listening to Basil tell stories of all the wonderful places that he has sailed to around the world is a perfect way to pass time.
There are so many beautiful shells on beaches that you can take home to serve as little reminders of the gorgeous places that you have visited. This will only be dampened if your boyfriend thinks that you should have a shell quota to limit the number of shells that you take from each beach.
People should be allowed to take more than three shells per beach.
You can find a loop-hole in the shell quota by taking three shells and one gigantor piece of coral.
Generosity shown by people who you have only just met is deeply encouraging.

Culture Shock

2009-06-16T23:46:00.000-07:00

This will come as a shock to most of you, I'm sure.. but the truth is; I am not classy in the slightest. Yes, I know, who is this strange blog hijacker and what have I done with the real Carly. I will give you a moment to recover before I continue....

Sarcasm aside, classiness has never been a priority to me. My footwear reflects this quite well. I prefer to wear pluggers most places, and if I am not wearing pluggers I am probably wearing my beloved Connies with the abundance of holes. However, in a dramatic turn of events, today I bought a pair of shoes for the first time in about a year. They are colourful hippy slipper shoes that cost me all of $7.50. They are soft and I like them, although I don't think that the pluggers and sneakers will retire just yet.

Yesterday I was given another friendly little reminder of my distinct lack of class. Last Christmas I was given a gift voucher for a shop called Cue. At the time I had no idea what Cue was (you could say that I didn't have a cue....- get it? Cue.. clue... ok lame, sorry, moving on) and have since discovered why Cue isn't a shop that I frequent. For those of you who may share my previous ignorance, Cue is an upper class clothing store that stocks business wear for women. I don't really spend much time shopping during the semester, so now that I am on holidays, I thought I'd go and have a squiz. The person who gave me this very generous gift voucher was probably trying to subtly hint at the fact that a little class wouldn't go astray, which is ok... as previous mentioned it is certainly something that I lack. But I have never before been into a shop that is less 'me'. All of the clothes were so... dull. I counted four items of clothing that weren't either black, white or grey. How depressing. Even more depressing was the realisation that only one pair of slacks in the whole store was under $150 (which was the amount of the gift voucher and therefore all I was willing to spend). With the help of the stereotypical friendly rosy-cheeked Pommy shop assistant, we carefully took the pants from the rack (team effort) and I proceeded to try them on (no team effort). They were well made I suppose, although not at all appropriate for a school setting, which is the only place I would wear them. Actually, I'm not really sure that the tight-fitting tailoring was particularly appropriate for any public setting, so I didn't end up buying them. I left the shop assistant to put the pants back on the coat hangers, so as to not get any more of my grubby fingerprints all over them, or something equally horrifying, and left the shop feeling like a happy peasant.

Why a happy peasant? As potentially demoralising as these experiences can be, I always feel encouraged afterwards. Experiences like these remind me that my priorities don't align with the priorities of the world, and that this is actually a reason to rejoice. Our church and Bible study are beginning a series on 1 Corinthians and I was having a read of chapter 1 today. In this chapter, Paul talks about the wisdom of the world, and the Wisdom of God. Chapter 1:20 reads:

"Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?"

Worldly wisdom tells us many things. It tells us that prestige is a valuable goal that must be pursued at all costs (literally). It measures success through the lens of financial gain. It tells us that our classy exterior is intrinsically linked to our worth as capable members of society, and our ability to positively contribute. It tells us to boast in our achievements and flaunt our victories. Yet this does not align with the Wisdom that Paul writes about in Corinthians. Chapter 1:26-29 reads:

"Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things - and the things that are not - to nullify the things that are, so that no-one may boast before Him."

As many of you have probably experienced, I often encounter people who look down on the way that I live because wealth, class and worldly influence are not goals that I hold in high esteem. Many a time I have been told that I am foolish for not investing my money in things that will directly and often solely lead to personal gain; be that expensive clothing, holidays, technology, or whatever is the flavour of the month. I'm so glad that the Wisdom from God far out-weighs all of these things. So what is Wisdom from God? Verse 30 clearly tells us that Wisdom from God is Christ Jesus, who is therefore our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Paul writes in Chapter 2:1-2:

"When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you expect Jesus Christ and Him crucified."

I am so thankful that we have a greater goal than the priorities of this world. I am so glad that Christ has paved the way for us, and provided us with a hope, a focus and a direction. It's so easy to get lost in the values of this world. I'm as guilty of this as anyone. However I am so encouraged that even when I stray, Christ's love remains.

Churchisms

2009-06-09T23:34:00.000-07:00

Some of the most humourous and enjoyable memories that you will ever experience often happen in church. Seriously. There have been many Sundays where I've found myself doubled over in laughter whilst sitting in church. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to be disrespectful. Churches consist of people; and the truth is that most people frequently do or say funny things. Church dwellers certainly follow this pattern of humanity. Communion is a wonderful example of a very serious and important practice found within churches that can often give way to the ridiculous.

A few months ago I was sitting beside Sara Fraser. Need I say more? Those of you who know Sara are probably already picturing her huge smile and beautifully genuine laugh. It was communion time, and the little bowl full of tiny bread pieces was making it's way along the aisle. As the bowl neared where Sara was sitting, she quickly turned in her chair and knocked the bowl straight out of the hand of the poor person she was sitting next to. Pieces of bread went EVERYWHERE! As a few of us got onto our hands and knees and starting picking up the bread, Sara passed the comment "At least we're not Catholic", to which I gave the obligatory overly loud snort-laugh response. She had a very good, if not hilarious, point.

A few years ago, my sister, Mum and I used to attend a church that preferred to give traditional church routines an alternative twist. On this particular Sunday, the elders had erected a large wooden cross in the middle of the stage and tied a large bread roll to the centre of the cross with a bit of rope. The church members were to file past the cross and tear off a piece of bread from the roll. It seemed a little bit random to me, but I suppose that's ok, at the very least the big lump of bread was quite clearly symbolic of the body of Christ. Anywho, as Mum went to retrieve her piece of bread from the cross, she pulled with a little bit too much gusto, and the bread roll dislodged itself from the cross and proceeded to roll down the aisle for the length of the church. Gold. Mum was so embarrassed, hehe.. I think the elders had to discreetly tie the bread back to the cross so that the rest of the congregation could continue on with communion. Guess who was once again laughing the loudest?

My Uncle tells a great story about when he and a friend were playing in the church music team back in the day. This was in a very proper old-school Uniting church where the people were very particular about things being done a certain way. Once again it was communion time, and the members of the music team were being served the bread and juice. Communion at this church required the congregation to tear an appropriately sized piece of bread from a large bread roll. My uncle's friend was served first. He gave the bread roll a tug, and only a tiny crumb-sized piece of bread came loose. My uncle had a bit of a chuckle at how ridiculously small his friend's piece of bread was, and then proceeded to tear off a piece of bread for himself. As my uncle pulled at the bread, he managed to grab an outer piece that was attached to the soft inner bread. When my uncle removed his hand, he realised that he had retrieved a long coiled piece of bread that was completely inappropriate for one man to devour for communion. As the server moved on to the next member of the band, my uncle looked at his friend's miniscule bread crumb, and then looked at his long snake-like coil of bread, and it was almost more than he could bare. As many of you would have guessed, laughing out loud at an old school Uniting church is certainly frowned upon. In fact even the smallest distraction or change in routine would be cause for concern. Although my uncle needed to laugh, badly. The church stage had petitions that the music team stood behind that lined the stage all the way to the room out the back. So my uncle swung his guitar onto his back, discreetly lay down on his belly, and army crawled along the floor behind the petitions (so as to not be seen) and went out the back room door, laughed until he could hardly breathe, and then crawled back onto the stage. From what he could tell, no-one seemed to notice his absense, and the communition routine could continue as usual.

I'm always encouraged when ridiculous things happen at church. I'm so thankful that many of my fellow brothers and sisters seem to have an abundance of crazy...and not just because it makes me feel a little more normal. Enjoying these moments is yet another way that we can show love to our family under Christ.
Feel free to share any stories that you may have here.. I'd love to read them :)

Be Still and Know....

2009-05-21T15:58:00.000-07:00

There's nothing quite like stopping and being still in amongst busy-ness. Purposefully resting while all else around you continues to move at a rapid pace. Behind my house, along the river, there is a beautiful big tree with a humble wooden bench sitting beneath it's branches. I love this bench. Hundreds of people walk past this bench every day. They're usually in a hurry; with somewhere to go, someone to see or excess fat to burn. When things are particularly busy, I will often walk to the river and lie down on this bench for a little while. People stare at me like I'm mad. Seriously, they walk past with their heads turned, wondering if they should throw me a $5 note or perform CPR or something. The temptation to stare back at them with my eyes crossed and my tongue hanging from my mouth is very great, yet so far I have resisted. There are far too many negative connotations tied to people who lie on benches. During exams about a year ago I walked down to the river to lie on this very bench. An elderly man, probably nearing his seventies, was walking past on the pathway and stopped in his tracks once he caught sight of me. Still standing on the pathway, not daring to come any closer, he called out to me "What are you doing?". I had been enjoying a lovely daydreaming sess and was a little startled by the sudden interruption. I sat up quickly and explained that I hadn't heard what he had said. Still refusing to venture from the path of safety, he called out again "What are you lying down for? Are you knocked-up or something?". Ouch. I explained that I was taking a study break and felt a little tired, and he turned on his heel and marched off, muttering angrily under his breath about how ridiculous it was for a young person to be lying down during the day.

This wasn't a particularly encouraging encounter, but I still love that bench. It is hard and lacks pillows, so there is no risk of me falling asleep, yet it is still incredibly peaceful. Sometimes I feel so overjoyed by all of the wonderful things that God has blessed me with, that the most appropriate response to this seems to be to stop and rest in the knowledge that I am His child. Just to be still and know that He is God. For people who do not share this same joy, that is an odd thing to do. Why would you stop when there is so much to do? So many people to see? So many things to achieve? Yet there is so much value in just stopping, and being still, and praising God that He is good even when life is overwhelmingly busy. For those of us who are students, things are particularly busy at the moment. I suppose the purpose of this blog is to encourage whoever is reading this to take the time to be still. Just stop. Rest. Find peace in the knowledge that we are loved unconditionally. That God is in control. Please know that I say this knowing that I myself do it very poorly. Scheduling in rest feels like an odd thing to do when there is so much work looming over my head. But it is essential. There is nothing more energising than acknowledging that we are living for something far greater than the busy-ness of this world.
On that note.. I'm off to do some last minute revision for today's exam. All the best for those who are drowning in the dark and murky Uni waters at the moment. Remember that it is Christ who sustains us, and whatever we do is for His glory.
Peace out, rock on, yada yada yada... :)

Free Indeed...

2009-05-16T23:24:00.000-07:00

Recently a group of CUers have been participating in Alt-R. What is Alt-R, you may ask? Actually, I wonder what happens if you press Alt-R on the computer keyboard.... hmm, just tried it.. apparently it does nothing. I was half expecting my computer to explode or spontaneously break into song or something. ANYWAY.. tangent... Alt-R is a Christian Union initiative which involves a crew of us heading to the Cleveland Detention Centre for a couple of hours every fortnight to play sport with some of the lads. Last week was my first week of Alt-R, and it was a really great experience. My touch footy skills could use a little polishing, but it is such a fun sport. It was so encouraging to see that the boys seemed to enjoy spending time with us as much as we did with them. Even if that was only because our presence provided a break in the monotony, I still think that is a plus. Showing these boys love through our interactions and our willingness to spend time with them was a really positive experience. It was also an awesome reminder that it's God who saves His people, not our ability to clearly articulate the truth or to love unconditionally. How wonderful that God uses us for His purposes! Claire Ferguson had a long chat with one of the guards about some of his beliefs, which was really encouraging and reminded me that even though we are focusing a lot of our time on the lads, our interactions with the staff are also hugely important. I spent about an hour playing soccer with a few of the lads, and really enjoyed being able to talk with them about their lives. I was particularly struck by how willing they were to share their experiences and their hopes and plans for the future with me. They even asked me a few questions about my life, which was really great and I enjoyed sharing with them as well. I came away thinking "They were SUCH good kids!". And in the context of the time I spent with them, they were. They were respectful and polite and responded well to my questions. However, as I was reminded by my very wise boyfriend, many of these boys aren't necessarily 'good kids', and particularly as females entering the centre we shouldn't be naive about this. A few of the boys I was talking with only had a couple of weeks left of remaining in the centre. It was really good to hear about how they plan to spend their time once they've been 'released'. Some of the boys are going to continue with school. One of the boys is going to travel to Mt Isa where his big brother will teach him how to work on a cattle property. But one boy's response in particular has really stuck with me. When I asked him what he planned to do once he left the centre, he threw his head back and exclaimed "Just enjoy being FREE!".

So much of me wanted to take that boy and sit him down and explain to him in no uncertain terms what true freedom is. His excitement about the thought of being free was palpable. Yet the pure joy that accompanies true freedom is so much greater. I'm sure that this particular boy's definition of freedom would differ quite significantly from mine. Worldly freedom differs quite significantly from the freedom that we as Christians live in. Romans 6:18 says

"You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness".

The passage goes on to say in verse 22 "But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life".

Worldly freedom tells us that we are free to live as we please. Free to live for ourselves. Free to follow our desires and our passions. Free to become our own god, and to direct the paths that our lives follow. Yes, it is wonderful to live in a free country where we don't have to answer to the powers that be and can live as we chose without fear of severe reprimand. Yet this is merely a shadow of the freedom that we experience as children of God. We have been SET FREE from our sin. We have been SET FREE to live under God, our Creator and our Father. We have been SET FREE to become more like His Son and to live eternally by His side. We have been released from the deathy grasp of sin and SET FREE to live in righteousness. Note that Paul doesn't say that we "decided to SET OURSELVES FREE because living under the rule of sin was a right bore". Paul says in verse 19 that we are weak in our natural selves. I don't know about you, but so often I am acutely aware of my inability to live in righteousness by my own strength. So often I stray, so often I stumble. Yet even as we were dead in our sin, we were loved by our Father, and made alive by His Son.

Verse 14 says "For sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace".

Wow. That blows me away. How right it is that we praise our Father!

For those who pray, please pray that we will be able to share this freedom with the boys at Cleveland. This may show through our actions initially, but hopefully opportunities will arise where it is appropriate to speak to the boys about the love and grace that gives our lives purpose, meaning and hope. In the words of a beautiful song that I recently heard, "We're free indeed, we have been set free, Son has set us free".

Who am I?

2009-04-21T01:36:00.000-07:00

Who am I? Well.. that depends on who you ask. If you ask any of my peers at Uni, they will tell you that I am a student. If you ask my lecturers, they will insist that I am a pre-service teacher. If you ask my SBTE (School Based Teacher Educator) she will tell you that I am a student teacher. If you ask the ladies I work with at VECDP, they will tell you that I am a teacher aide. If you read the snazzy Buddina State Primary School name badge that I was given today, it will tell you that I am a learning manager. That's right, I am Carly Laird - Learning Manager. I'm sorry.. but what exactly is a learning manager supposed to be?? I always thought that it was somewhat amusing that JCU pushes the term 'pre-service teacher'. Apparently 'student teacher' has negative connotations that may crush the precious self esteem of teachers in training. However learning manager just seems a bit much. I'm not really sure whose learning I'm supposed to be managing. Probably my own, seeing as I'm still a student myself. That hardly seems worthy of a name badge title though. Oh well.. it's nice to feel a part of the staff, even if it is a little bit pretentious.

Today I had my first day of prac! I have a wonderful SBTE who seems to maintain a nice balance between being helpful and directed as well as chilled out and flexible, which works really well for me. As a whole my kids are pretty well-behaved, which is just lovely! Obviously there are a few boys in particular who can be a little rowdy, although by the end of the day they were fighting to sit at my feet and asking to hold my hand, so I'm not overly worried. Unfortunately this blog will be quite short because I have a fair bit of planning to do before tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who has sent me messages and emails while I've been away. It's so nice to feel cared for and missed even when I'm only away for a week! Peace out :)

Prac Blogging!

2009-04-13T16:44:00.000-07:00

It really has been quite some time since I have posted here! This was brought to my attention by the not-so-subtle pesterings of a few dear friends (I'm talking to you here Cam, Joel, Tim and Amanda). I have also noticed that both Joel and Phoebe have found the time to update their blogs. Therefore I am without excuse. Although in my defence, I feel that Uni is slowly killing the joy of blogging for me. I have never in my life had to write as many long and waffling reflections as I have this semester. Don't get me wrong, I definitely see the value in reflecting, however it can become a little tedious. But anyway, that's not particularly important, and it's certainly not the focus of this post.

I am writing to you from Buddina Beach on the Sunshine Coast. The weather is quite cool, although I am told that the only reason I feel cool is because I am a soft Townsville girl. Probably true. I am staying here with my family and I'm realising just how much I miss seeing them. I'm also realising how much I miss the sound of the ocean. It always makes me feel sleepy and relaxed. For those who may be wondering, no I am not just taking a holiday. I am actually here for a one week placement at Buddina State Primary school. I will try to keep this blog updated on all things prac, however don't be surprised if I haven't updated by the end of the week. I think that this prac will be quite full on, although I am feeling a little excited. I drove past my school today and I am looking forward to meeting my class of grade ones!

Today I spent a fair bit of time in the Brisbane airport, and I realised that I quite like airports. A minister once told me that he often goes to airports and just spends time watching people (he's not as creepy as he may sound) because he felt that this was a good way for him to keep in touch with his compassion for people. I can't say that I've ever done this, but I can understand his point. Airports can be emotional places. John Mayer sums it up well in his song "Wheel"...

"And airports
See it all the time
Where someone's last goodbye
Blends in with someone's sigh
Cause someone's coming home
In hand a single rose"

Goodbyes can be really hard. I am terrible at goodbyes, I really do struggle. It's nice to know that I am not the only one though. Airports are an interesting place to observe how different people handle goodbyes. Some try to make them short and brief and as emotionless as possible. Some cling to the person they are saying goodbye to and desperately try to memorise their eyes, their smell and their touch. Some cry unashamedly. Some awkwardly pat each other on the shoulder and stumble through rehearsed phrases such as "have a good one".

It's always fun to watch how children react in airports. They can be so insatiably excitable! "Look! The Jetstar is coming!!" It's so amusing when little ones run ahead of their bedraggled parents yelling "Quick we'll miss the plane quick quick qqquuuiiiccckkk!". I love the way that excitement in children is almost always accompanied by an overflow of questions; "Are we flying in the silver plane? Why aren't we flying in the red plane? Why is our plane silver? What are clouds made of? Why can we fly through clouds? Are clouds wet? What happens if the plane crashes? Will it be on fire? Why do planes crash? Do planes float?".

For some reason I also find the voice-overs in airports highly amusing. Today in the Brisbane airport there was a wide variety of accents; Irish, British, Aussie, some form of Asian, etc. I sometimes wonder if it is the same guy just putting on different accents for kicks. As I was waiting in the Brisbane airport today, a Qantus voice-over was reading out the surnames of the people who were late for their flight. There were about a dozen names to read out, and unfortunately for the voice-over lady, they were all foreign. There was a long and drawn out pause after each name, followed by stuttering and frustrated sighs. As if that wasn't bad enough, she then had to read the names a second time. The most enjoyable part about this little performance was that each name sounded completely different to the names given in the first reading. It was hilarious!

Flying is also fun, although I'm sure that the novelty would wear off quite quickly if I had to fly every weekend. Flight attendants can be quite amusing. I think that most of us have been on flights where there have been particularly charismatic and friendly flight attendants. They really do make the flight a much nicer experience. Unfortunately most of us would also have experienced flights where the cabin crew were less than friendly. I couldn't get any of the flight attendants to smile today. Very disappointing. Although one of them had a ridiculous hairstyle that essentially looked like someone had stuck a yellow donut to the back of her head, so I'm not sure that I would be smiling either. Prior to landing today, the captain advised the guests that the cabin lighting would be dimmed for our 'comfort'. Although within five seconds of this sentence leaving his mouth, the wailing twangy noise that goes by the name of Kasey Chambers filled the aircraft. If the staff had any concern for our comfort at all, they wouldn't have subjected us to Kasey. Other than that, it was a very pleasant flight.

Yes, I do realise that my first installment of prac blogging doesn't really have anything to do with prac, but that is ok. Tomorrow I will visit my school and meet the office staff, and I will meet my class on Tuesday. I am really hoping to not get sick. So far I have managed to get sick within a few days of beginning every prac that I have ever done to date. It's time to break the pattern!! I hope that you are all well... thanks for all of the comments, they are always really lovely to read! :)

Please don't stop the music....*

2009-02-28T18:24:00.000-08:00

This morning at church I was told by the ever-direct Chris that I should update my blog, because "even Joel has found time to update his blog". Apparently the life of a doctor is the true measure of busy-ness, and as I am not a doctor, I should be able to at least match his blog updates. So with this in mind, I thought that I would write to you, dear reader, about what has been on my mind lately. Competitive blogging aside, finding out that people actually read your blog is always a nice little motivation to write more often! :)

Something that has been on my mind recently is music. Yes, I can hear your disappointed sigh from here. You were probably expecting something out of the ordinary. Anyone who knows me will understand that music frequently features in most, if not all, of my day-dreaming sessions. Most things that people say remind me of a song, and rarely a minute will pass by when I am not humming along to a song in my head. So if you are having a conversation with me and I suddenly get a faraway wistful look in my eyes, chances are that something you have said triggered a song that is now playing on repeat in my head. Now would probably be an ideal time to notify the good people at the TTH psych ward. (Just as an aside, why does 'The' feature in the acronym for our public hospital?! How silly... it makes the word 'the' seem repetitive and redundant, yet the sentence feels incomplete without it). Anywho... music is such a huge part of who I am. It is intrinsically linked to my conscious being. My arts lecturer would be proud of that sentence. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I kind of like that I have such an indefinable connection to music.

You don't have to be a music connoisseur to appreciate that music is strongly emotive. However I am struck by how the emotions that music can produce sometimes contradict the emotions embedded in the lyrics. Two songs that I really love are "Why Georgia" by John Mayer and "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman. As soon as I hear the opening riff to either of these songs I cannot keep the smile from my face. There are so many good memories attached to both of these songs, and listening to them reminds me of how I felt at those times. Although both of these songs are not exactly uplifting. Throughout "Why Georgia" John Mayer sings of frustration, discontentment and a fear that he isn't living life 'right'. Tracy Chapman in "Fast Car" tells the story of a one woman's dreams (the pursuit of a 'better life' and the desire to belong) that are brought to a halt by the heartbreaking realities of life. The tensions that are explored in both of these songs are acutely felt by many people throughout the course of their lives. Not exactly a cheery thought. Yet, because of the memories attached to these songs, they make me want to dance! Maybe I just need to pay closer attention to lyrics.....

The other music related pondering that I have been mulling over recently is the calming effect that music has on people. When I am feeling nervous about something, listening to Coldplay or Switchfoot always makes me feel better. Christian music is particularly helpful here, although that is another blog topic for another time. Recently, when I have had important and intense conversations with people, strumming quietly on the guitar seems to help to create a calm setting. It can also be a little distracting, but I am a pretty distractable person. I came across a good example of the calming quality of music this week at work with our beautiful P.I. (physical impairment) kids. A physio came in to see if we could encourage one of our little ones to stand in an upright frame for a portion of the lesson, so I was working along side her. The little girl DID NOT like the standing frame one bit! She cried and cried, the poor darlin. After trying everything to calm her down, we figured that it would be better to give the standing frame a miss a try again another day. So the physio went to work with a different client, and I was left with a thoroughly distraught little girl. Again, I tried everything I could think of to calm her down, yet nothing would work. Maybe this is an unhelpful teaching approach, but in situations like this, when none of the strategies from my 'teacher's toolbox' are working, I sometimes think about what I would do if I was the child's mother. So after about 15 minutes I unstrapped the little girl from her wheelchair and cuddled her on my knee. Whenever I was sick as a little girl, my Mum would sing "Kum By Ah" to me until I fell asleep. I always feel calm whenever I hear this song, I think that I have been conditioned to feel sleepy whenever someone sings it. So, with the little girl snuggled on my knee, I sang "Kum By Ah", over and over again. Before too long, her crying stopped and she fell into a deep sleep. She may have fell asleep simply because she had reached the point of utter exhaustion, but I like to think that "Kum By Ah" at least helped to create a calm environment. When she woke up again, she was a completely different little girl, smiling and laughing at nothing inparticular. I was exhausted, yet I couldn't help smiling at this little girl's sudden show of joy.

* The astute of you will realise that the title is a quote from a Rhianna song. Not that you would admit knowing this. I was struggling to think of a song quote that had something to do with music. Cam's suggestion was "Doh a freakin' deer", but I didn't think that it went with the tone of the blog so I settled for Rhianna. Alternative suggestions would be appreciated.

Everything is Meaningless

2009-02-14T04:15:00.000-08:00

"Everything fails, everything runs it's course"

"Everything is meaningless, I want more than simple cash can buy"

Recently I enrolled in the University of Southern Queensland in order to complete an external subject this semester and count it towards my compulsory elective. At the beginning of this week I received a letter from USQ which simply stated "Congratulations for choosing to study at the University of Southern Queensland (USQ)!" along with a USQ username and password. Other than feeling slightly bemused by the ridiculous exclamation mark, I thought that 'congratulations' was an odd choice of words. A few days later I received a USQ student pack, which contained some brochures which I briefly glanced at, a magnet, some stickers (how novel) and a wall calendar. After deciding that most of the pack was useless I figured that the wall calendar could at least tell me what day it was, so I opened it out and had a squiz. The background of the calendar looks like intergalactic pish posh; lots of stars, bright lights and electric sparks. Towards the bottom of the calendar is a large orb which seems to be radiating quite a lot of electricity. The orb is suspended by two hands (incidentally the manicured hands of a woman). The picture reminded me of pictures that you often see in Christian literature that depict the hands of God lovingly supporting the world, His creation. However this orb isn't the world, it's just a confusion of colour and light. I suppose that is significant of the humanistic view that 'the world is what you make it'. Anywho.. plastered across the top of the calendar is the slogan "Fulfilling Lives". I had a flick through some of the other USQ paraphernalia and realised that this phrase is used on all of their letter heads. I was quite taken aback by this. Although I now understood why I had been congratulated for having the wisdom to enroll in USQ. Clearly my life is about to be fulfilled. I can't help but wonder, why would a University claim to fulfill lives? Especially a University in Toowoomba. Furthering one's education through institutions such as University is certainly a good thing, but it will not fulfill your life. It may increase job prospects, allow for the development of discipline, facilitate personal and academic growth, provide opportunities for social networking and grant you a four year reprieve from full time work, but it will not fulfill your life.

Switchfoot would have to be one of my favourite bands. The two lines at the beginning of this post are taken from their song "Happy is a Yuppie Word" which features on their album "Nothing is Sound". This song is inspired by the book of Ecclesiastes, which I have just finished reading. For those who aren't familiar with Ecclesiastes, the chapter begins with:

"The words of the Teacher, son of David, king of Jerusalem: "Meaningless! Meaningless!" says the Teacher. "Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless."

That's a pretty confronting way to start a chapter. Everything is meaningless. How encouraging. However it does motivate you to continue reading. I really enjoyed reading through Ecclesiastes. Particularly with the onset of another Uni year close at hand, it has been helpful in shaping my perspective on work. The tension between the temporary nature of work completed 'under the sun' and the undeniable necessity of work is highlighted throughout the chapter. As I was reading Ecclesiastes I couldn't help but ponder the USQ slogan "Fulfilling Lives". Many people enroll in University in an attempt to achieve prestige and wealth. Yet these are essentially meaningless.

Ecclesiastes 2:11: "Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun."

Chapter 3:10 states: "Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless."

Isn't this so true of our Western culture? The more we get, the more we want. Contentment is an unfamiliar concept to most people. We look to things like University degrees and high paying salaries to fulfill our lives, but this only amounts to a chasing after the wind.

So what does this mean? Should we become unmotivated hippies who misquote passages from Ecclesiastes as a convenient excuse to forfeit the labour force? As appealing as I find the hippy lifestyle, that probably isn't the best solution. Eccesiastes 2:24-25 says "A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without Him, who can eat or find enjoyment?".

What gives our toiling under the sun meaning and significance? Seeking to give God the glory that He is due through our every action. How do we achieve this? By "remembering our Creator" in all things (Ecc. 12). Work cannot fulfill our lives because it was never designed to. It is temporary, a vapour in the wind. Only something eternal has the capacity to fulfill our lives, and provide a hope that will not fade.

Trip, fall, I'm down again....

2009-02-09T19:27:00.001-08:00

Trip, fall, I'm down again,
Lying on the ground,
Deep sigh, my elbow hurts
Trying not to cry
I look upwards for help
He's waiting to oblige
Cause all He wants is me
That's easy to define

One of the bands that I am really into at the moment is Maverick. I was only recently introduced to their funky sound and I really dig it. The rationale behind the name is:
"A maverick is a cow that isn't branded - and 'Maverick' doesn't want to be branded either!" It's a little lame but I'm happy to overlook this because their music is so unique. Here's the link to their site: http://www.mavericksound.com.au/index.php
Worth a look.

The lyrics at the beginning of this post are from Maverick's song Toddler written by Bronwyn Hart. Here are the rest of the lyrics from the song:

Dirt, mess, my plans undone
Like my undone shoes
I've tried and tried again
shoelaces I can not do
I just want to help Him out
Like a toddler pushing two
But His plans are so much more
Following them I cant loose

So small in his tender care
No Love equates
My life is loose bows needing His repair
But all my plans are in the way
As He ties my undone shoes
I keep getting in the way

And if only I would let
Go I could run and play
As He ties my undone shoes
I keep getting in the way
And if only i would let
Go I could run and play
(run, run, run, run, I could run and play run, run, run, run, in His Will I'm safe)

Trip, fall, I'm down again
Lying on the ground
Deep sigh, my elbow hurts
The story of my life
I look upwards for help
He's waiting to oblige
Can I sit back and wait
While my shoelace He ties

I was listening to this song on the way to soccer last night and found myself chuckling out loud. I think that I find the song so enjoyable because I can relate to it for a couple of reasons. As someone who works with children, this struggle between the plight for independence and longing for help from a more capable other is quite amusing and something I encounter often. However I was also chuckling because this is exactly how a lot of us continue to live. Sometimes our relationship with our Father is so child-like. I'm not talking here about having 'faith like a child' - but rather the parallels that exist between how a young child interacts with their parents and how we interact with our Father.

Please don't get me wrong; I'm not trying to patronise you by saying that your faith or relationship with God is immature and self-seeking. But isn't it true that sometimes we get in the way of our own lives, like an impatient child? We try to tie our own shoes when we lack the skills and knowledge needed. We are ill-equipped to tie our shoes; therein to sort out our lives independently. Therefore our shoelaces remain untied, and we continue to trip and fall time and again. If only we would stop squirming and pulling and pushing away God's help, we could go run and play. I really like the picture this song paints. There have been so many instances in my life where I have been impatient and eager to control the direction my life is headed in, when really I've only needed to give my life over to the One who created it. My feeble plans only get in the way of the plans that God has for my life. Instead I will be content to sit back and wait, while my shoelace He ties.

I am too tired to think up a creative and witty title for this blog, I will take the best suggestion...think of it as a little competition...

2009-02-06T02:52:00.000-08:00

How do you handle challenges when they inevitably arise? Do you thrive on the adrenaline rush that comes with being pushed above and beyond your comfort zone? Or do you fight the urge to go foetal at the mere thought of a challenge? Or possibly both depending on the nature of the challenge?

This week has been pretty huge. I have been working at the Vincent Early Childhood Development Program from Monday to Friday, and will continue this over the next two weeks. After having been on holidays for 3 months (or thereabouts), I knew that any form of work would undoubtedly be a shock to the system. Babysitting can be tiring at the best of times, however I have access to coffee and morning tea and spend the day playing with well-behaved children in the comfort of an air-conditioned lounge room. Not exactly a high stress scenario. As you can imagine there is a significant contrast between babysitting and working at VECDP. From Wednesday through to Friday this week I spent the afternoons and evenings at the Walker's house for the CU leaders retreat. It is a shame that I wasn't able to attend the entire leaders retreat due to work, however I am so glad that I was able go for a portion of the time! There were so many things about the retreat that I found deeply encouraging. It was just awesome to spend time with my brothers and sisters in Christ who love the Lord Jesus and share a desire to serve Him with their lives. However running between work and the leaders retreat was fairly exhausting, and for various reasons extremely challenging. I think that it is safe to say that this week has been emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually challenging. So this got me thinking about how I approach challenges, and what the appropriate response to meeting new challenges should be. I have said in a previous blog that the children I work with teach me much more than I could ever hope to teach them. This is completely true here. The children at VECDP know what it feels like to face challenges each and everyday.

Tashie has cerebral palsy. She can walk with the support of a walker however for the most part is confined to a wheelchair. Tashie has significant language and processing delays however displays great eye contact. She has gorgeous curly red hair, blue eyes and a cute cluster of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Tashie turns 3 this Tuesday. Starting school this week was quite overwhelming for Tashie. She had previously been to playgroup however this was at a different centre with different teachers. It was all a bit much for Tashie. Every time we approached her with a new toy or activity her bottom lip would quiver and big tears would roll down her cheeks. This is sometimes how I feel when faced with a challenge. Overwhelmed to the point of tears. Completely helpless and inadequate. Longing for someone to comfort me and make it all better. Sometimes this is appropriate for a short term response, however it will never suffice as a long term solution.

Melanie turns 3 in three months time. Her brother and sister also turn 3 in three months time; triplets. Melanie, Spencer and Bridget are all experiencing language delays and significant behavioural concerns. Melanie is the most domineering of the three. She loves to play the role of the leader, and the other two follow in her shadow. Melanie is not impressed when her position as leader is threatened. It is amazing how quickly an otherwise placid girl can morph into a screaming and crying ball of noise. Hopefully most of us have progressed from the tantrum stage, although aren't there still things in our lives that we stubbornly want to control? That we hold onto with both hands and refuse to let go of? I find it ironic (possibly a poor choice of words here) that the things I most need to let go of are exactly the things that I desperately cling to. The things that I cannot and should not control are the very things that I try to control. Most of us have to learn the hard way that we are ill-equipped to play the role of 'leader' and dictate the course of our lives on our own.

Armani has huge brown eyes and gorgeous long eyelashes. I've discovered that he is particularly fond of the "Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear..." game, especially the "tickle you under there!" part. From what I can tell (I haven't really been told much at this stage) Armani has an intellectual impairment, language delays and gross motor concerns. Armani is incredibly unsteady on his feet and can't walk more than a few steps unaided. He has to be watched constantly whilst sitting in chairs as he frequently slumps forward or slides off the chair. Armani has started having seizures during the day so he is noticeably docile. Today our class was going outside for a bubble blowing activity. The other children were already making their way across the yard while Armani and I stayed behind so I could help him into his stroller. I sat Armani down on the lino in the classroom while I went to find his stroller. As I walked across the classroom, I turned just in time to see Armani clamber to his feet and start moving swiftly yet VERY unsteadily through the door that had been left open and across the concrete in the direction of the other children. I have never moved so quickly in my life. Horrible visions of Armani falling and hitting his head on the concrete flashed through my mind as I sprinted across the room and caught him under the arms just as he lost his balance. God is so good, that could have gone horribly wrong. It's incredible how we can rise to meet a challenge when we have a significant motivation. What motivated Armani? He didn't want to be left behind in the boring classroom while the other children got to play with bubbles. So what did he do? He got up and walked. Amazing. Sometimes it takes a strong motivation to convince us not to dissolve into a ball of tears but rather to face a challenge head on.

It's all very well to consider what we can learn from children about facing challenges, yet what does the Bible tell us about this?

When we feel like doing a Tashie, Deuteronomy 31:6 tells us: Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.

When we feel like doing a Melanie, Philippians 4:6 tells us: Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. We don't need to fight to control our lives, but rather willingly trust our Father with the things that are close to our hearts.

And when we feel like Armani; in need of a motivation to face the challenges that life throws our way, 1 Peter 1:3 speaks of a motivation and hope that is entirely sufficient: Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.

Flower Power

2009-01-28T17:30:00.000-08:00

It is just about that time of year again. The time of year when the overly enthusiastic radio announcer makes it her mission to constantly remind us that it is nearing Love Month. It has been almost a year since I started this blog, and for those who have been following from the beginning (I'm talking to you here Tim), you may remember that I mentioned this radio announcer in last year's Valentine's Day blog. I'm quite sure that it is the same announcer; her voice seems to grate on me in the same way as last year's Love Month advocate. However, irritating disembodied voices aside, the reality is that Valentine's Day is swiftly approaching.

Cliches abound on Valentine's Day; flowers, chocolates, those tiny heart shaped lollies with the cute little love-related messages delicately written with sugar.... the whole shebang. I love cliches. In my opinion they are cliches because they work. Flowers are particularly lovely. Chocolates are great but they are great on any occasion. There is something special about flowers. It is with a certain degree of alarm that I have realised that many people do not understand the act of giving flowers. These misguided people are often men, although can include women as well. I am reminded here of an episode of Prison Break. Towards the beginning of the series Micheal is attempting to woo Sarah, the prison doctor. Initially his motivation for wooing her is so that he can use the infirmary in his escape, however as time progresses Sarah captures his heart (aww...). Anyway, Micheal asks Sarah what her favourite flower is. Sarah, in an attempt to convey a tough exterior, replies that she doesn't like flowers because they only die. The next day Sarah enters her office to find a paper origami flower that is clearly from Micheal, and she cannot keep the smile from her lips. A flower that will never die. If any female viewers hadn't already melted under the intense gaze of Wentworth Miller, this scene would have done the trick.

However Sarah, like many women, has completely missed the point of flower giving. It doesn't matter that flowers wither and die after a few days (or even less if it's the height of a Townsville summer). One of the wonderful things about flowers is that they serve no functional purpose. They are simply beautiful. When someone gives you flowers you don't have to do anything with them, or use them to accomplish a particular task or put them towards anything else of practical value. All that is required of you is the ability to admire their natural beauty. I love that about flowers. We give them to people who we care about because they display the amazing artistry of our awesome God who loves us immensely. So immensely that the world He created is overflowing with breathtaking beauty that serves no other role than that of reflecting His great love.

"Every experience of beauty points to [eternity]". - Hans Urs Von Balthasar.

I have no idea who Hans is but he seems to be on the right track. Sharing a small portion of this beauty through something as simple as flowers is, in my opinion, incredibly lovely.

As an aside, this week I have been reading a book called "Captivating" by John and Stasi Eldredge. If you haven't read it you really should, it's a great book. Essentially the book explores the heart of a woman. A portion of the book talks about beauty, here is a quote:

"Have you ever wondered why we send flowers to the bereaved? In the midst of their suffering and loss, only a gift of beauty says enough, or says it right".

When you are going through a difficult time in your life, there is nothing worse than receiving one of those patronising cards with a giant smiley face leering at you with the slogan "Everything will be ok!" written underneath. Sometimes words don't suffice. Sometimes it takes an experience of true beauty to calm our hearts.

So to all of those who will be celebrating Valentine's Day this year, particularly men, don't give your loved one something practical or useful. Give her something that is entirely useless yet stunningly beautiful. I hope that this blog has helped to give a little perspective on flower giving. :)

PostSecret

2009-01-10T22:11:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago Kellie and I were meandering through Mary Who bookshop in the city when we stumbled across a book titled "PostSecret". The book contains hundreds of decorated postcards created by anonymous people that portray a secret. It's quite a fascinating book - from what I can gather it all came to be when a man by the name of Frank Warren decided to trial a social experiment of sorts, which has now become an ongoing virtual art project. Frank Warren began his experiment by putting together a blog through which people could anonymously email their secrets on a homemade postcard. Warren updates the blog with new postcards on Sunday of every week; here is the link: http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Now just as a warning, there are no restrictions on the contents of the postcards. The only rule is that they must be completely truthful and must never have been spoken before. So, as would be expected, some of the content is quite explicit and in some cases pretty awful. That said, it really is very interesting. Several books have been published displaying the postcards, and there have even been museum exhibitions dedicated to PostSecret. It's all a bit humanistic, but still a very cool concept. If you can overlook some of the more explicit postcards, there are some very thought-provoking entries. Childhood fears, insecurities that most of us have but pretend that we don't, dreams, passions, heartbreaking truths and confessions - it's all there. The only downfall with the blog is that you can't browse through past entries as a new set of postcards are posted each week. Anywho.. if you're in need of some procrastination have a squiz, it's worth a look.

I'm tired of using technology...

2009-01-08T01:20:00.001-08:00

Yes, the title of this blog is a line from a J.T. song. Cringe if you will, but that line is vaguely relevant to what this blog will be about, and there are very few things that I love more than relevant song lyrics, so cry me a river. As I'm sure is the case for many of you, a key characteristic of my holiday season has been time wastage. In my opinion, time wastage is ok so long as it is kept under control and within a specified time frame. After a year of pouring over notes, cramming for exams, labouring through assignments and persevering with late nights and early mornings; as students I think that we have earned the right to a spot of time wastage. That said, it is not ok to spend the holiday season sitting around idley and becoming a hopeless sluggard whose only achievement over the three months of holidays (or thereabouts) is a permanent body imprint on the couch. My pursuit of time wastage has involved several technologies this holidays; movies, TV, facebook, email, etc.

A good friend of mine has lent me six seasons worth of Gilmore Girls episodes on DVD to get me through the holidays. I don't really watch TV during semester, so it is very exciting to have something worthwhile to watch. I LOVE Gilmore Girls - the quick-witted banter and character dynamics make it a great series that I'm sure most girls would enjoy. One thing that has struck me from watching a few episodes of Gilmore Girls over the past week is how much I have begun to take on traits of the characters. For example, I've noticed that my rate of speech has increased significantly. Yesterday I needed to call student enquiries at JCU because I had a question about enrollments. I rattled off about two minutes worth of essentially useless information before the bewildered man on the other end of the line asked me to repeat what I had just said. I took a deep breath and managed to summarise the important points of what I needed to say within 30 seconds. Anyone who has seen Gilmore Girls will understand the connection - the discussions between Lorelai and her daughter Rory are so fast-paced that apparently viewers over 60 find them quite difficult to follow. Additionally, Lorelai's shameless addiction to caffeine has only served to reinforce my steady reliance on coffee. Suddenly drinking 12 cups of coffee a day seems perfectly sensible. Not that I drink 12 cups of coffee a day, yet, but if I were to drink this much coffee I'm sure that I could easily justify it with a Lorelai-like response that had something to do with my body being made up of 2% water and 98% caffeine and I am just doing my bit to maintain an enthusiastic if not perky existence. That sentence is way too long, but I think that it is reinforcing my point. I also have the urge to make comparisons and references to people who are famous for obscure reasons, such as Charlie Rose. This is all because of the influential power of the American TV series Gilmore Girls. I was pondering the power of TV today while I was drinking my third cup of coffee. We're kidding ourselves if we think that TV, technology and the media aren't powerful. What we allow into our brains through mediums such as Television can influence our thoughts and actions. This is the danger of explicit viewing, and why we should think very carefully about what we watch on the tube. The influence of television is even stronger for children. Even with regards to programs that are mostly harmless. The mother of a little girl I look after says that she needs to carefully monitor the number of High School Musical episodes her daughter watches. Apparently after a High School Musical overload, this little girl prances around the house flaunting a showy Americanised attitude. I imagine it would be very cute, although something you wouldn't want to encourage in your child.

Another source of enjoyable holiday time wastage has been facebook. The list of pro's and con's regarding facebook are numerous. However facebook is a social tool that I will continue to use. Leah posted an article recently exploring some of the issues relating to facebook from a Christian perspective. The article articulates the main points much more clearly than I could, so check out the link. http://www.gospelandculture.org/2008/12/redeeming-social-life-online/ Facebook over-useage (known as 'Facestalking') is certainly an issue for many people. However shunning such a popular source of virtual social networking isn't necessarily the answer either. Facebook can be a wonderful source of encouragement... but yes, have a squiz at the article.

Phones are another technological advancement that is taking up more and more of people's time and money. Something that gets my goat* lately is spending time with people who are constantly texting someone else during the time that you are together. I am a firm believer in making the people who you are with your priority. Obviously there are exceptions to this rule, sometimes it would be inappropriate to not reply to a message upon receiving it. However making the person you are with sit idly while you engage in a superficial text conversation with someone else is just ridiculous. Fortunately I don't have the patience for texting, so it is not hard for me to find an excuse to avoid it in a social situation. Actually it isn't hard for me to avoid calls either. If ever my phone rings all I have to do is look at it, and the poor thing folds under the pressure and hangs up on itself. A new phone is on the cards for the very near future.

* I googled the phrase 'gets my goat' - apparently it dates to circa 1900. According to H. L. Mencken, this phrase is from American horse racing. Trainers would put a goat in a racehorse's stall to calm it; if the goat was removed, the horse would likely become agitated.
How cool is that?!

Med Overload

2009-01-05T20:58:00.000-08:00

Recently it has come to my attention that far too many of my friends are med students. In fact, a large proportion of my close friends are in some way involved in the health sector. I know what you are thinking; "Surely there is nothing wrong with having friends who are particularly useful!". And I agree, in fact with every friend who graduates from med school, the amount of time that I plan to spend in doctor's offices decreases. Unless it is something highly personal, I may never go to an arbitrary doctor again. Some would call this exploitation, but I like to think of it as encouragement.. or out of hours professional training. Surely my uncoordination and fairly high injury level hasn't been in vain. I could offer constructive criticism, such as "By golly your hands are like frozen metal prongs that seem to pierce my skin, you should do something about that". And they could offer me constructive criticism, such as "You really shouldn't longboard down a steep hill when you haven't figured out how to turn, slow down, or stop yet". Ain't that the truth. Anywho.. as beneficial as all of this may seem, there are certainly downfalls to having friends who are employed by the health division, or who are involved in this area of study. And I am not just talking about the bizarro med jokes that you just KNOW are lame even if you have no idea what half of the words mean. As mentioned above, the risk of abusing the knowledge of useful friends is a very real risk. This would of course lead to my useless friends becoming jealous (you know who you are). Jealously is never fun. Another negative is that discussing one's personal medical history suddenly becomes a perfectly reasonable thing to talk about amongst everyday conversation. And maybe it is, if you have a normal medical history. I, apparently, do not. I have broken the cartilage in my ear by bouncing a basketball into my chin, swallowed a pin (I was in primary school, don't judge me) and have had my ears pinned back (Dumbo comments will be ignored), just to name a few. I get the sinking feeling that these are not topics that normal people would discuss at Hungry Jacks on a Sunday night.

Which brings me to the next downfall; complicated med jargon/conversation in general. Now please don't get me wrong, the human body is fascinating, and I really do love hearing my health friends excitedly talk to me about whatever they are currently learning! But once you put a few health people together, the lingo/terminology runs wild. The conversation often turns to health related topics during Tuesday night Bible study. My only input during these discussions is nodding when I hear words such as 'blood', or cringing at words such as 'needle', because they are usually the only words that I can comprehend. However these conversations have been a wonderful time of bonding for Carla and I, who, as two of very few non-health students in the group, have shared many eye-rolling and head shaking moments.

Despite the downfalls that come with having friends who are med/health students, I am sure that there are many negatives to having friends who are ECE students. For example, I had 9 contact hours a week last semester, which no doubt would have infuriated friends of mine who had 30 hours or more. I'm sure that it would also be frustrating to hear that our tutorial activities have been known to involve manipulating blocks and beads, making collages, drawing pictures, making posters and watching Summer Heights High. That said, the ECE degree isn't all fun and games, it has certainly been hard work. I am very thankful that God has made each of us entirely different. We all have unique gifts and abilities, and that is such a wonderful thing! To all of my med/health friends, I love you all dearly and wouldn't swap you for 1000 arts students! :)

Dear Gabriel

2008-12-29T20:10:00.000-08:00

Autism is horrible word. It is one of those words that is surrounded by quite a lot of fear. Ignorance is partly responsible for this fear, and you could certainly place me in this category. As you may have gathered from previous blogs, a pet peeve of mine is the ridiculous lack of special needs education within JCU's Early Childhood Education degree. Even though autism would have to be one of my least favourite things, it is also something that I am hoping to know a lot more about by the time that I have finished my degree. At the moment I am reading a book called "Dear Gabriel". It is very exciting to be reading a book that isn't on some sort of compulsory reading list put together by a humanistic lecturer. I don't really get a chance to do a whole lot of reading during semester, because I'm usually cross-eyed by the end of the day from struggling through Uni material and procrastinating on facebook. Anywho... this book is a letter written by a father to his son; a little boy who has autism. The author is a great writer; very descriptive and it is clearly a heartfelt memoir. So far it has toyed with my emotions a little bit because I can only imagine how difficult it would be to parent a child with autism. One of the joys of children (and there are many) is the 'closeness' that you can have with them. Countless hugs and cuddles, hearing the words "I love you", a little hand holding onto yours - all of these things make me smile and fill my heart with so much joy. If I was unable to share this kind of closeness with my own child, and if my child didn't understand the extent of the love that I have for them; I would be shattered. That said, if a child has autism it doesn't necessarily mean that they will live a detached existence. I worked with a little boy in grade one who has autism at the beginning of the year, and he would constantly hold my hand and want to sit on my lap during class. I have the utmost respect for parents who have children with autism and who love them abundantly. There are many parents like this, and it is amazing to see how a parent's love can see beyond something as emotionally crippling as autism.

I have spent time with a number of autistic children, through various pracs and work. These beautiful children, along with the little boy in this book, have shown me that autism can manifest itself in so many different ways. No child is the same, even though they may display some similarities in behaviour. An inability to decipher social situations is a fairly well-known characteristic of autistic children. Although again, this can take many forms. The author of "Dear Gabriel" writes about his son's fixation with routine, lack of interpersonal skills and a tendency to interpret everything that is said literally. Every autistic child that I have spent time with has struggled with relating to others socially to some degree. I was in a classroom that has 3 boys with autism this year. Two of the boys, aged 9, were playing with leggo on the carpet. I sat down beside the boys and began to talk with them about what they were doing, making an effort to sound super interested. After about 30 seconds one of the boys turned to me, looking completely exasperated, and said "Do you really have to sit there watching us all the time?!". On a separate occasion I was on playground duty watching a few of the boys who had been fighting that week (a couple of them had autism). Before I knew it a few of the boys had surrounded one of the boys with autism and were pushing him around and hitting him. So I put on my cranky teacher's voice (it needs work) and marched over to the boys, broke up the fight and told the boys how disappointed I was (discipline also needs work - as if they would care if I was disappointed). After my feeble attempt at being firm, I went over to the little boy with autism to see if he was ok. He wasn't ok. He was completely tormented and frustrated and did not want anything to do with me. This little boy, with clenched fists and on the brink of tears, was so distraught that he could not speak a word, all he could do was let out a heartbreaking scream every now and then. My attempts to try and comfort him seemed to aggravate him further. I have never seen a little boy's eyes so full of anger, fear and utter frustration simultaneously. He ended up running off, which was hard but I knew that I couldn't chase him.

Even though these are clear examples of children with autism who struggle in social situations, there are exceptions. Another boy with autism who I have spent time with, aged 9, has trouble relating to his peers, yet was completely comfortable in talking to me about some pretty serious things. In fact he even spoke to me about his autism. It was heartbreaking to hear this boy talk about how he was struggling and falling behind the other children. Although I think the most difficult thing to hear was how resigned this boy was to the fact that he is 'different'. It is good that he wasn't in denial, but it is never nice to hear a child express a feeling of inadequacy and show that they have no expectations of their ability to overcome this. It was helpful to talk to this boy about the gifts and talents that he does have, and he certainly has many, although such encouragement is often temporary.

"Dear Gabriel" documents something that I'm sure every parent can relate to - the desire to nurture and love the precious gift that is children. Autism has certainly proven to be an obstacle to this. Although how wonderful to see in the lives of countless families that love prevails. How wonderful that our awesome Father has equipped the hearts of parents to love their children unconditionally.

In a rich man's world...

2008-12-23T16:50:00.000-08:00

Happy Christmas Eve!
I have just eaten a bowl of cherries, peaches and nectarines and am feeling particularly content. Hurrah for festive fruits! Although this blog wasn't intended to boast about my gluttony or to ramble about the joys of fruits that make an appearance during the Christmas season. Christmas Eve can mean many things. For many it is a time of anxiety. For some this anxiety is entirely superficial. "I will just DIE if great aunt Josephine doesn't love the $100 ornamental duck I bought her this year!" You can replace great aunt Josephine with Grandma Mary, or Mrs Potts down the road, or your 8 year old cousin; and you can replace the ornamental duck with a Nintendo Wii, or a longboard, or a year's subscription to Cosmo; the result is the same. Whilst the giving of gifts is a wonderful and generous thing, if this is what threatens to make or break the joy-factor of Christmas, we are missing the point. I have been thinking about money, gifts and the 'importance' of material things over the past couple of days. This doesn't make me particularly insightful; I'm sure that most people have been thinking about these things in one way or another. On Sunday night Warren gave a sermon on finances, and how the Bible reassures us that God will provide for His people. I'm sure that most of us hope that when the Bible says that God will 'provide' it means that we will live a comfortable existence free from financial stress that allows all of the latest mod cons to be within reach. As nice as that would be, it is humbling to realise that even when God's definition of 'providing' may differ from our own, He will provide, and we can rest in that promise. Throughout the sermon, Warren challenged us to allow God to be the one who manages our finances. So this week I have been thinking about what that should look like from a practical standpoint. As Christians, the way that we earn and spend money should glorify the One who has provided for us, so what does this mean during the Christmas season, and even in our everyday purchases? I have spent time in the houses of many wonderful Christian families, who are giving and welcoming people and who clearly live Christ centred lives. Yet many of these families have plasma TVs that take up half of the wall, every imaginable gadget and time saving device, all of the latest toys/DVDs/virtual games, wardrobes full of fashionable clothing, bathrooms full of countless products/makeup/smelly things, and kitchens full of expensive gourmet food. For many this encapsulates ideal living in our society, but is this really glorifying our Father with our finances? Now.. I will just point out that I am a Uni student with a limited income who is employed by Education Queensland yet relies on the royalties of babysitting during the school holidays, and who, for argument's sake and to complete the visual, has just noticed a hole in the shirt that she is wearing, yet knows that she will continue to wear it. In this stage of my life it is quite easy for me to be outraged at people who seem to spend money willy-nilly, knowing that there is no risk that I will do the same because I simply cannot afford it. I wonder if when I am old and rich (unlikely on a teacher's wage.. but the 'marrying a rich husband' plan hasn't been ruled out yet..) I will still feel uncomfortable about pouring huge amounts of money into superficial things that are supposed to enhance and enrich our lives. I hope that I never use our society and culture as an excuse to justify spending the money that God has blessed me with on things that are purely designed to serve myself and satisfy selfish desires, or encourage that in others.
Merry Christmas to everyone who reads this! Praise God for the real reason for the season - when He gave the most precious gift of all!

I Heart Swearing....

2008-12-12T23:46:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had a bit of free time on my hands so I thought that I would head over to Domain Central and have a bit of a squiz. I'm not really sure why the word 'squiz' means 'to have a look around', but I quite like it, so let's just go with that. I had only been to Domain for four reasons in the past. Firstly, to buy an iron with Cam (we were there for about five minutes). Secondly, to go to JB HI FI (great music at great prices). Thirdly, Baskins (doesn't need to be explained). Fourthly, Gloria Jeans (I would go there after Kindy each week to write up my observations, the people who work there are so friendly...). I had heard that there were outlet shops there but I'd never had a look (or a squiz) for myself. That's partly because I'm really not a fan of shopping. Yes, I know that as a woman I am supposed to have an inherently irrational love of spending large amounts of money on useless things to adorn myself with... but I don't. I'm sure it would be different if I could find a way to justify spending huge sums of money for the sake of vanity (regardless of whether or not I actually had the money), but I just don't find shopping particularly enjoyable. Especially clothes shopping. The women's clothes industry is set on making women feel inadequate. From the second you walk into a clothes shop you are confronted with society's interpretation of the ideal woman, and how you fall short. The shop keepers greet you with a plastic smile that rivals the plastic smiles of the malnourished mannequins and regurgitate the same rehearsed line that they have been saying to each customer for the last five hours. If you're not partial to mind-numbing computer generated noise that is often mistaken as music by 15 year olds on a global scale, you won't last more than 3 minutes in one of these stores. So anyway... I went shopping and found a $5 t-shirt from the Cotton On outlet and a pair of well priced running shorts, so it was a successful day. As I was meandering around the shops I went into Trade Secret for a squiz and was very disappointed by one of the t-shirts I saw hanging on a stand. These t-shirts were in the children's section of the store and were in tiny sizes that 7-8 year old girls could quite comfortably wear. The front of the shirts proudly exclaimed "I Heart Swearing" surrounded by a red love heart. Now as mentioned in previous blogs, it is possible that I am old fashioned and overly conservative, both of which I am completely ok with, but it is beyond me how we can consider clothes that bare slogans such as these acceptable for children. Through clothes such as these we outwardly glorify the crude and degrading aspects of society. This directly contradicts what we are urged to value through the Bible: (Philippians 4:8-9) "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things".
Swearing does not fall under this category. Foul and crude language is increasingly becoming a behaviour that we ignore in children. If children swear in the schooling context, unless it is directly expressed towards a teacher the consequences rarely go beyond "I don't appreciate your language" or, even more terrifying; "I don't want to hear you say that in my classroom". More often than not foul language displayed by students is ignored. Why? Well, everyone swears. Parents swear, teachers swear, as a result students swear, what's the big deal? It's an unavoidable element of society, which I agree with, but that doesn't mean that we should not only tolerate it, but blatantly celebrate it. What hope do children have of growing up with moral groundings if society deems the ugly parts of life 'cool' based purely on the fact that they stray from what is right? From my experience with children (which is admittedly isn't overly extensive), such attitudes do not need to be encouraged. So many children are missing out on the beauty that is found in life because what they see is clouded by ugliness unashamedly highlighted by the retail and entertainment industries. I would like to know what is going through the minds of people who design shirts such as these and produce them in tiny sizes. Actually, I think I already know what they would be thinking: $$$. What a shame it comes at the expense of a child's innocence.

Something for Kate...

2008-12-07T05:03:00.000-08:00

I had an interesting night tonight and thought that I would share it here. After church I went to Miccy D's (a.k.a Maccas - thanks Tarnia! :)) briefly with a few of the Bapo's crew, then had a lovely chat with Anita at her place and decided at 10pm that I would go home and have an early night as I have a cold and was feeling a little weary. As I was driving through the round about near the Douglas Foodworks store I noticed a young girl who was hitchhiking. Without even thinking I rolled down my window and asked if she would like a lift - the look of relief on her face was unmistakable. This girl looked about 15 years old, 16 tops.. who knows who might have picked her up. There was no reason why I couldn't pick her up, it's not like I had somewhere I needed to be, and it worried me that such a young girl was hitchhiking. So I got off the round about, pulled over and got out of the car to meet her. Her name was Kate. She didn't know the exact location of her friend's house that she wanted to be dropped at, but said that it was near Willows so I thought we'd give it a whirl. When I asked Kate why she needed a lift she said that her Mum had kicked her out of home again and left her with nowhere to go. Kate went on to say that her Mum has kicked her out of home a number of times, for a few different reasons. Conflict, fighting and lies were some of the reasons.. Kate's Mum doesn't trust her and this mistrust has been fueled by stories that some of Kate's housemates have told her. The last straw came when Kate's Mum discovered that Kate had been using acid. Kate doesn't go to school because her parents continually kick her out of home. Even though being kicked out of home makes going to school difficult from a practical standpoint - in terms of transport, money, etc.. I am not surprised that it has killed Kate's motivation to persevere with school. Kate doesn't have a job. She was supposed to have an interview at Miccy D's yesterday but didn't make it (she doesn't have transport or a phone). As we were driving (all we knew was that we were looking for Miles Avenue - anyone who knows what my sense of direction is like will understand that we may as well have been driving blind) I tried to keep the conversation going. We talked about things like music and what Kate does for fun. As we got closer to Willows it became clear that we would need to pull over and ask for directions. So we pulled into a servo and had a look at a map to see where we were going. Kate is a very pretty girl.. she was well dressed and had quite a lot of make up on. Actually if you had of lined us up and asked someone to tell you would had just been kicked out of home they probably would have pointed at me - Kate's hair was certainly much neater than mine. Once we had found the street that we were looking for (turned out to be in Kelso) we jumped into the car and continued on our way. As we were driving I asked Kate about the drugs that she takes. It seems that she takes them infrequently.. but the more she takes them the harder it is to resist. Kate said that she doesn't want to take drugs, but sometimes she just needs to escape for a few hours. She just needs to numb what she is feeling. Although after the high of the acid has worn off she just feels angry and depressed and the pain of her problems is just as acute. We talked for a bit longer and I asked if she had ever been to church. She had been to a couple of youth groups in the past yet was banned from one of them because she and her ex would frequently fight, and she stopped going to another because she didn't feel that the youth groups helped her issues. From here I was able to tell Kate that church itself doesn't fix problems, because only God can heal pain and provide a purpose for our lives. I talked with Kate about God (being careful not to ramble) and invited her along to church. When we arrived at her friend's house I wrote down my name and number on a scrap of paper using her eye liner pencil and urged her to call me, not just if she wants to go to church, but if she needs anything at all. Those who are reading who pray, please pray for Kate. Please pray for her safety - the friend that she is staying with has a stepfather who Kate is afraid of. Please pray that she will call me... she doesn't have a phone so I have no way of contacting her but I would really like to follow up with her if it is at all possible.
As I was driving home from dropping off Kate I couldn't stop thinking about her. Many of us find it so easy to forget about these children. The only thing motivating children such as these to keep fighting through life is an acute fear of death and the unknown. These children have no-one to love them, they do not know what it feels like to be safe because they have never experienced the stability of a loving family. What are we doing for these children? Well... we ridicule them for hanging out in shopping centres and car parks yet fail to see that these are probably the only places where they feel safe. We criticise their lack of respect and moral groundings yet fail to recognise that these virtues must be taught and modelled. We cannot expect a child to display behaviours that they have never seen for themselves. The only hope that a lot of these children have is the few hours of mind numbing relief they experience after taking some form of drug. The only thing keeping them from falling is the ability to forget. If this is the only thing that our youth have to hope for.. we're in big trouble.

The ponderings of a teacher aide...

2008-11-23T22:29:00.000-08:00

Before I start writing; YES I have an exam in four days, YES I am lacking sleep, YES I am procrastinating, and finally YES this will be another rant about the education system. I thought it best to warn you before you start reading just what you are getting into :)

Today I worked at the Vincent primary school as a teacher aide. I was with the same grade 4/5 class and had the same lovely teacher (who, as in turns out, actually goes to the Baptist church!) so it was a good day. And I have to say, it is certainly a nice change to be paid by Education Queensland rather than the other way around. Although the best part of the day was that once again I came away having learnt a tonne of new things. Firstly, I learnt that there is a WWE wrestler called "The Great Khali". Secondly, I learnt that if your name is Carly, and therefore sounds quite like Khali, this is a great way for a group of grade 4/5 boys to think that you are super cool, even if you have never heard of "The Great Khali" before. So yes, I am now "The Great Khali". Sure beats being called Mr Laird. Although unfortunately being associated with a wrestler did nothing to stifle the number of fights that occured whilst I was on duty. You always know when a fight is going down because all of the kids in the surrounding area start yelling "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!". This goes for in class fights as well. So that is certainly helpful. I'm beginning to realise that fights/brawls are just a given in some schools. It's a sad reality but it becomes less shocking each time.

Anyway, I wanted to share something that I was pretty taken aback by today. As a teacher aide, you go with the students to their specialist classes when the teacher has non-contact time. This means that I got to go to HPE and music lessons, which was a lot of fun. Although I use the term 'music lesson' pretty loosely here, it was hardly a lesson and there was very little that I would actually classify as 'music'. Basically the extent of the 'lesson' was sitting on the carpet and singing three secular songs from sheets of lyrics. Now call me old fashioned.. it's probably true and I am completely ok with that.. but the lyrics of these songs were not in any way appropriate for grade 4/5 children. Granted most of the kids already knew these songs, but that isn't the point. They should not be promoted and encouraged in the school environment. The attitude that the lyrics fostered, not merely the content of the lyrics, is not something that this class needs. Most of the students are on the brink of puberty and do not need an excuse to give lip. Some of the lyrics in these songs included: "Tonight is the night, to join me in the middle of ecstasy" and "Cause we've only got one night double your pleasure, double your fun". There was another song by a chick that was just overflowing with attitude, that typical American "I answer to nobody and defy anything that resembles authority" attitude. I say American, but it's probably just as common here. Although it wasn't just the lyrics of the songs that were a problem, but the songs themselves. The only reason that I begrudgingly call these pieces 'music' is because the singing/moaning did follow a rhythm and a tune. However just throwing on a CD of computer generated sound is doing nothing to teach children an appreciation of music. I am so excited to be learning the guitar because this will be such a fantastic tool in the classroom. Anyway, I guess the point I am making is that we need to be careful about what we endorse in our classrooms. We are already fighting a losing battle with society in terms of what children are exposed to, and are thus becoming more and more desensitised to. Songs with explicit lyrics bombard children daily and I realise that in many ways this is unavoidable, but surely we can draw the line when it comes to what enters the curriculum. I guess what is really needed is a change of values. Everytime we re-draw the line with issues such as these it closes the gap between what is right and what is wrong. This gap is quickly diminishing and it probably won't be long before society decides that to say something is 'wrong' is to impose your beliefs upon someone else, and because truth and therefore what is 'right' is entirely relative, morality is left up to individual interpretation (yes this is exaggerated but it's the direction that we're heading in).

The other thing that I found interesting today is the benefits of being a 'friend' to students. As education students we are constantly told that we are not to be a friend to students, but rather a teacher. And I agree with that up to a point.. I suppose it is different when you are a teacher aide.. but the friendships that I made with a few of the students today were definitely a positive thing. During outside time one of the girls said a combination of some pretty crude and offensive words to one of the students in pig latin whilst standing right next to me. She clearly thought that I wouldn't understand her, yet she had underestimated my ability to remember completely random and useless things. So I just rattled off a reply in pig latin saying that I didn't appreciate her language, and she was completely taken aback. She then asked if I could speak double dutch (stupid question, of course I could). This girl made it her business to tell all of her friends that I could speak double dutch, so I had a way of communicating with this group of girls who were quite the trouble makers. By the end of the day this group of girls were hugging me and chatting with me and wanting to sit by me. Obviously I had to be careful that I wasn't just talking in a secret language with these particular girls all the time and giving them special attention, but having this connection with them, small as it was, had a great effect on their behaviour, even if it was just for one day.

Well this blog is quite long enough... I have satisfied my need to ramble so I should probably get back to the books...

The Unstoppable Mouth....

2008-10-25T02:40:00.000-07:00

Have you ever spoken without thinking? Have you ever opened your mouth and said something, only to wish that you had kept quiet? Have you ever had the sinking feeling that comes with realising the power of your words when the damage has already been done? I certainly have had this feeling. Far too often. There are many stories that I could tell you of times when I have spoken without thinking... many, many stories... yet one in particular stands out in my memory. Anyone who has ever worked in retail knows that talking is an essential skill in this line of work. Every customer who enters the shop must be greeted, asked how they are, and asked if they require further assistance. Yes.. I know that this is very annoying for busy shoppers in a hurry... but be nice to the poor kids, they will lose their jobs if they don't ask you these seemingly unimportant questions. And if they lose their jobs, whose money will they be able to waste on the endless stream of superficial rubbish that abounds from the retail industry? Anyway... one day at Australian Country Living, I was doing the rounds and greeting customers. I came across a little old lady who had her arm in a sling. She'd clearly had her left hand amputated, so I put on my biggest grin and asked her how she was doing. She was such a lovely lady and told me with a smile that she was doing quite well. Without missing a beat I then added "Can I give you a hand today?". As soon as these words came out of my mouth the smile would have slid from my face. I was mortified. I'm sure a hand is exactly what this poor woman wanted... and it was exactly what I couldn't give her! Candles, ornaments, flowers, trinkets.. sure, we had those... but hands..... ugh.... I managed to stutter a feeble apology and retreated before I could make a greater mess of things. Sometimes it would be nice to have a rewind button in life wouldn't it? So long as this also came with a delete button... having to relive these moments would just be awful. It's amazing how easy it is for our mouths to kick into gear before our brains even have a chance to contribute. Fortunately this lovely lady was very forgiving of my stupidity, but I'm sure that this isn't always the case. I was thinking about the power of speech this week because I spent some time working with 3/4 year olds with cerebral palsy. Some of these children had hearing impediments and intellectual impairments as well. As a result, many of them could not utter a word. If these beautiful children were able to give us eye contact it was cause for excitement! So this made me think about how much I take for granted the ability to speak, and whether I use this ability well. Do my words uplift and encourage those around me? Do they speak the truth? Do they bring joy and point out the beautiful things in life? Or are they thrown around willy nilly, causing destruction and hurt? It is so easy to be flippant with the things that we say, yet we have been given a gift that we should use with great care. Words have the power to build someone up, or to break them down. They can insult or they can encourage. Words have many other functions, but I guess the point that I am making is that words are powerful. Think about what you say before it is said, and pplleeaassee try not to hassle one-handed little old ladies, they've been through enough already.

Inclusive Intentions....

2008-10-17T02:06:00.000-07:00

Hello fellow procrasties! (affectionate term for 'procrastinators' I'm trying out...).....

Today I have been thinking a lot about the inclusive education movement. As most of you may have guessed that's largely because I've recently started working at the Vincent Early Childhood Development Program as a relief teacher aide. Essentially it's the early childhood facility for really young children with special needs. Although if there is a need for a teacher aide at the Vincent Primary School they will also call me in. Vincent Primary School, as I learnt today, is a fully inclusive school, which means that they mainstream students who would otherwise be placed in special schools. Today I was working with a grade 4/5 class, which was a new thing for me as I've only ever worked in early childhood settings. There were about 20-22 kids in my class, and even though they were under a fantastic teacher, I really didn't envy her job. There were 10 kids in this class with special needs, including hearing, intellectual, physical, behavioural issues and autism. There were a handful of Indigenous kids and a handful of ESL kids. I couldn't help but wonder how a teacher would cater for SO many diverse needs in her class... so I asked her. This teacher told me that she doesn't have any access to a special needs teacher and therefore needs to write individualised programs to meet the needs of each student. Some students are operating at a grade one level, and others at a grade five level. Anyone reading this who is doing education will no doubt be cringing at the thought of teaching such a range in abilities within the one class. To compensate for the lack of special needs teachers, this class will often have 2/3 teacher aides... which is where I come in. The fact that I am actually being hired as a teacher aide is a great testament to how desperately teacher aides are needed at the moment (especially within special needs education). I have no qualifications other than being almost halfway through my ECE degree.... And all that really means is that I have managed to pass a tonne of namby-pamby humanistic subjects that are of very little practical value. I've had very little experience... other than working at 5 different schools/kindies through various placements. Really the only things that I bring to the job are a willingness to be thrown in the deep end and a love of working with children. Some people would argue that love and eagerness are really all that you need.... ha, those people are nuts. Particularly when it comes to caring for children with special needs, some knowledge of the needs that you are dealing with would certainly be helpful. So all of this got me thinking about the value of inclusive education. Don't worry.... I won't bore you by listing the pro's and con's of inclusive education, although there are certainly convincing arguments for both. And if I had to pick a side, I'd most likely be pro-inclusivity. But despite this, there are definitely some downfalls. An obvious one is the incredible amount of stress that this places on teachers, many of whom have very limited knowledge of special needs. The teacher that I worked with today would love nothing more than some help with the ridiculous amount of programming that she needs to complete for her students. Instead she got a 19 year old ECE student who is keen to learn yet readily admits that she knows nothing at all. Trying to meet the needs of students who differ in every conceivable way is such a huge expectation to place on teachers if it is not met with adequate support. Another obvious downfall is the reality of bullying. We all know that kids can be cruel. Despite how hard teachers work to foster safe and supportive learning environments, gang mentalities are far too common in classrooms. This is highlighted in inclusive classrooms, as ridiculous as that may sound. In this particular class, the Indigenous students would group together, the children with hearing difficulties would group together, the children with autism would group together and there would be a few stragglers with intellectual and physical difficulties who were isolated from the group.... and each little section of the class would fight the others. I spent a good part of today trying to convince the students that giving each other upper-cuts was a bad idea...and nearly got one myself for being so bold. Watching students who are constantly targeted for every kind of bullying simply because they are 'different' is a heartbreaking yet often unavoidable reality of inclusive education. You can't help but wonder what kind of long lasting damage is being done to children who are subjected to this treatment each and every day.
I understand the push for mainstreaming, and agree with various parts of it... but if we are going to care for children with diverse needs, teachers need to be educated and supported. Special needs education is limited at Uni, unless you specialise as a special needs teacher. Particularly with ECE, special needs education should be embedded in every subject that we do, because it's the reality of our job as educators. Teachers need to be given support both in the classroom and with regards to programming... to help with their personal anxiety levels and to ensure that no children are left behind (as Bush would put it).
Well that's my ramble done for tonight... back to the namby-pamby subjects....

Of Bats and Families...

2008-09-22T21:58:00.000-07:00

Hello my fellow procrastinators! In the hopes of not doing anything particularly useful or productive I thought that I would write a blog. I've noticed that I only ever seem to write blogs when I really don't have time to be writing blogs. But that's ok... I thought that I would share my day with whoever else shares my zeal for time wasting.
This morning I was thinking about family and the little quirks that come with families. This was actually a little bit productive, because I have to write an essay about something along these same 'airy-fairy' lines for my cultural diversity subject. Anyway, family quirks are one of those wonderful things that we often take for granted in life. Just in case you are wondering what I mean by 'quirks', the word quirk means: "a peculiarity of action, behavior, or personality; mannerism: He is full of strange quirks". Families are a great place to start if you are looking for quirks. Within families, there's the Uncle who thinks it's hilarious to call you Truckly instead of Carly (Truck-ly, Car-ly.. yes, I know, it's lame). There's the Aunt who laughs with such gusto that your ears hurt, yet you know that her ears are hurting just as much from your laugh. There's the Grandma who takes unspeakable delight in ensuring that everyone is happy, however is a little hard on hearing so often struggles to follow the conversation ("Hey? What did she say Carls? What's that Trevvy said? What's Lynnie laughing at? Why does Emmy have the giggles?"). Then there's the Grandpa, who is the silent presence at the head of the table, quietly surveying the ridiculous family that he is partly responsible for.

The reason that I was thinking about family quirks today is because as I was leaving for Uni, I realised that there was a dead bat on the driveway. I don't know if you've ever been unfortunate enough to look at a bat up close.. but they are ugly horrible disgusting creatures. That's probably a bit harsh... but it's their fault for being so hideous. Now there is a certain significance to this bat dying right in the middle of our driveway. For a few years now.. a bat has tormented my poor Mother. It lives in the tree right outside of her bedroom and makes horrible screeching noises late at night and into the morning. Many a night my sister and I would come home to find Mum doing one of three things; 1. Standing on the lawn in her pyjamas waving a hockey stick at the tree. 2. Standing on the lawn in her pyjamas spraying the tree with the hose. Or 3. Standing on the lawn in her pyjamas shining a torch into the tree and spraying it with Baygone. Part of me is a little sad to see the bat go, because these antics were certainly a source of great joy for me. Although for the sake of Mum's sanity, I'd say it's for the best that our friend the bat is dead. Looking at the dead bat made me think about how forgiving we are of quirks when they are within our families. For example, if I saw one of my neighbours on the lawn in their pyjamas at 1am spraying water at a seemingly non-existent bat I would think that they were a few sheep short of a paddock. But it's ok to be crazy around your family. The crazier my family is, the more endearing they become. I'm hoping that the reverse is also true.. because I certainly have my fair share of not-so-normal moments.
The dead bat also answered one of the burning questions that had recently been troubling me. On Friday I saw the Batman movie for the second time. If you haven't seen it... you really should, it's a great movie. Anywho.. you know how on Batman's suit he has the little pointy ears? They seemed a little ridiculous to me, so I asked the friend that I was sitting with if bats really have pointy ears. Unfortunately he wasn't sure.. so I left it at that. Well, brace yourselves, because I can now confirm that bats DO have pointy ears. The ears on my dead bat weren't as perky as Batman's... but they were certainly there. So there you go... I think that's probably the most significant thing I have learnt so far this week. I hope you feel encouraged to know that Batman is more realistic then we may have given him credit for.

Beauty to be feared?

2008-09-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I read in a book that many women fear their beauty. My first reaction to reading that statement was "How stupid. What is there to fear about being beautiful? Beautiful people are confident and self-assured. Beauty in itself is a good thing, right? There is no need to be afraid of it". Fortunately I am not always as ignorant as my first reactions often are, and after thinking about this statement a little more I understand why many women fear their beauty. Beauty is powerful. Beauty can be dangerous. Beauty has the ability to invite and to captivate. I'm not talking about physical beauty exclusively, although obviously that is important. The most beautiful women are the ones who show you their heart. Who allow you to see their passion, their vulnerability and their fragile strength. These women shine with such a beauty that cannot be described. I have so many beautiful friends who fit this description perfectly. They may have just rolled out bed, not bothered to brush their hair or apply any makeup, they will be wearing a baggy track suit with traces of Vegemite toast on the collar... but they are still the most beautiful women, because complete beauty is not confined to the physical. So if beauty is such a wonderful thing that transcends what we define as physical beauty, why do many of us fear it? There are a few reasons that I can think of... there's probably more than what I will list here, so feel free to add others. I think that the most obvious one is the effect that feminine beauty has on men. In the appropriate context, a man's gentle and wordless response to a woman's beauty is a safe and lovely thing. Yet as women we know all too well that this often isn't the case. We'll walk along the strand and men will yell what they probably think are compliments to us from their cars. We'll walk through Stockies and look straight ahead, trying to ignore the lingering glances. We'll drive our cars and have to put up with men almost breaking their necks from looking in our direction as they drive past. It's degrading. It's humiliating. It makes you feel like an object. Now this isn't a conceited thing. Please don't misinterpret this to mean that I am boasting about all of the male attention we receive because of our stunning beauty. There is nothing flattering about this kind of attention. You cannot find any kind of security or gratification in the shallow words or stares of a stranger. You can try, but it fades into nothing. Now as most of you know... I am a massive bogan. My hair is notoriously messy and although I will sometimes wear a skirt, I've spent the last 3 months living in jeans and baggy jumpers. I am quite content with my boganosity. Yet despite all of this, I know that I am not alone in saying that this kind of degradation is something I have to deal with almost everyday. So why do we fear beauty? Because it elicits responses that we would love to avoid at all costs. Yet it doesn't matter how much of a bogan we are, it seems that we are powerless in the face of this treatment. Wow.. I'm sounding like a bit of a feminist aren't I? Trust me, I'm not. Hairy-underarmed, bra-burning, tofu-inhaling feminists are high on my list of things that I could live without. There are lots of things about feminism that I don't agree with. But the reality is that sometimes being a woman is just plain hard.Another reason that we fear beauty is because we don't want it to obscure the way that others perceive us. We don't want to be defined by our looks. We don't want our looks to overshadow the people that we are. We want people to delve deeper and to see what we have to offer in who we are, beyond what we look like. We want people to pursue friendships and relationships with us because of our internal qualities, not because they are motivated by external beauty.So you're probably wondering what my point is. Don't worry, you wouldn't be the first. Am I saying that beauty is bad and that we should walk around in cloth bags? Of course not. Beauty is undeniably powerful, and for that reason it is sometimes feared, and I think it's important to understand this. However beauty isn't only powerful in a negative light. Nature is a perfect example of this. The primary purpose of nature is beauty. The indescribable sight of a sunset has no functional purpose other than to provide beauty. Sure the sun needs to rise and set everyday... but the glorious display that we are so privileged to witness everyday serves no other role than that of displaying immeasurable beauty. Beauty can comfort. If we take a moment to stop our hectic lives and to just appreciate the beauty that we are surrounded with the effect is quite incredible. This beauty is found in the wonder of creation, in a hug from your closest friend, in the laughter of a child, in a selfless act from a loved one... there are so many things through which we can glimpse true beauty and feel reassured and comforted. Beauty is a powerful yet wonderful thing. It is also horribly misunderstood. Frequently abused, disregarded and underestimated. It is not always found in physical appearance. Sometimes it is... although this is only the beginning of discovering who a person is. There is so much more that makes up who we are. As women we have so much more to offer than physical beauty, yet this is so often forgotten.Well that's enough ramblings from me for one day. Please feel free to talk about anything you disagree with or agree with or whatever. Sweet. :)

Through the eyes of a five year old...

2008-08-01T20:36:00.000-07:00

As most of you probably know, I've spent the last two weeks on placement at Wulguru State School in a prep class of 23 kids. I was bracing myself for a pretty full on two weeks, but there was no way that I could have been prepared for just how much hard work teaching preps is. Patience and perseverance are vital at all times, not to mention love and discipline. I don't think I've been given so many hugs in my life, which I really love but also think is an important part of being a prep teacher. I know that some people disagree with that, and I understand why, but for a lot of these kids their teacher is the only constant in their lives, and when we are afraid to show them love, that only serves to reinforce any negative perceptions of their value that their precious hearts have formed. But anyway.. there's many more factors to consider in that topic, and I wasn't going to go into that here. Despite the fact that prac was a lot of hard work, I really enjoyed taking on the role of a teacher. Most of the time I feel like too much of a kid myself to think that I could get away with fooling anyone into thinking I'm some kind of authority figure. But it's different with preps. All you have to say is "I wonder who can show me the right way to sit.." and they cross their legs, sit up as straight as they can, puff their little chests out and look like they are about to explode from trying to please you. It's great. So apart from having love and attention doted on me for two whole weeks, one of the main things that I really enjoyed about prac was how much I learnt from 10 short days of experience. Listing everything that I learnt would be beyond the scope of this blog, and would no doubt be thoroughly boring, but I wanted to share a few of the things that I learnt while I was on prac. Because I am certain that my preps taught me more than I taught them!

One of the things I learnt is that, as a whole, we do a pretty poor job of embracing the language differences evident in children that are products of various cultures. I was sitting by a little Aboriginal girl in class when she turned and said to me "Miss, I can't talk properly". Now for a five year old, this little girl's English was really quite good. There are a few pronounciation issues that are a result of her slight accent, but nothing serious. I tried to resassure this little girl that she actually speaks quite well, but she was adamant that she couldn't talk properly. When a child thinks that their language practices are deficit simply because they differ from what is considered normal, I think we need to reconsider how we are interacting with culturally diverse kids. We send these kids to speech pathologists, OTs and counselors so that we can 'fix' their language problems. So that we can change the cultural uniqueness of these kids to match our hegemonic society. Sadly this often leads to kids feeling ashamed of their heritage. Maybe we need to adjust our mental framework of trying to find a 'solution' for these kids...

Something else I learnt on prac is that a child's simplistic view of relationships is something that we could learn from. When someone has a need, you find a way to meet that need. If someone is crying, you hug them. If someone is hurt, you put your arm around them. If you love someone, you tell them. If you appreciate what someone has done for you, you draw them a picture. Now obviously relationships are a little more complicated in the adult world than they are to a five year old. If I drew someone a picture in an attempt to show appreciation they would probably think I was trying to punish them. But kids get that if you love someone, or if you are thankful for the role that they have played in your life, you need to show them.

I also realised whilst on prac that we really do underestimate how powerful music is. If you walk into a prep classroom with a guitar, the kids are immediately transfixed on your every move. What is said through music often carries more meaning than if it was simply spoken. That can be scary sometimes. I couldn't believe how many preppies were running around the playground singing secular songs that they have probably heard on the radio in the car on the way to school that carry strong adult messages. The other day one of my preppies didn't have any food, so I walked her down to the Indigenous affairs officer's room. There were about half a dozen boys in there playing Xbox and just having fun. The kids were listening to the radio when 'Low' came on, and they straight away began singing and dancing. This group of boys knew all of the lyrics. If you know the song I am talking about, you'll realise this really isn't a positive thing. Half a dozen boys moving to the deep, pulsating beat and singing "She turned around and gave that big booty a slap" is something I found a little concerning. These boys were no older than 8. And I know that people will argue "They don't know what the song means! They just like the beat!" But I don't care, because that isn't the issue here. One day these kids will know the meaning of what they are singing, and will be increasingly immune to the depraved aspects of our society because it's what they've grown up with. Slowly more and more explicitly inappropriate lyrics will become acceptable and justifiable until we no longer know right from wrong. Until we no longer have boundaries. When everything becomes acceptable that opens the way for a whole realm of problems. We put posters on the walls that tell kids not to swear and to do the right thing, then we allow music that is explictly degrading and overflowing with foul language. We say to kids that language and behaviour that we don't allow in the real world is ok so long as it is kept within the confines of music. Good luck with that.

So those are just a few of the things that I have learnt while on prac. There are many more.. but I think that I have procrastinated enough for one day. I always seem to find something to write about when I have a tonne of work to do. Today I am writing up my prac report.. or that's what I should be doing anyway. But because this blog was actually about prac, I was able to justify writing it... :)

Am I Lovely?

2008-06-07T04:47:00.000-07:00

Am I Lovely?

Her face is aglow. Laughter, sweet and pure, echoes through the room. Her eyes shine with excitement. She is an image of joy. She stands on her toes and turns on the spot with elegance, entranced by the way the skirt of her dress shimmers and flows with each movement. For she is adorned in garments fit for a princess. Her soft pink dress, each stitch sewn with love by her Grandmother, was a birthday gift. The very gift that she had wished for. Her family have gathered and turn to watch as she dances and twirls across the room. She begins to sing in a voice that seems to capture the untainted innocence of childhood. She longs for them to turn and look, to watch as she displays her beautiful gown, to listen as she sings, to tell her that she is beautiful. Her dress is a little too big, the straps continually slip from her tiny shoulders and she treads on the hem as she unashamedly displays her desire to delight. Mummy’s beaded necklaces hang from her neck, and bright pink lipstick stains the skin around her mouth where lips were presumed to be. She is a ray of sunshine, beautiful to behold, unrestrained in her longing to please, and her eyes clearly ask the question, “Am I lovely?”

She stands in the living room, as she is too nervous to sit. He will be here soon. He is five minutes late. Maybe he has changed his mind. Maybe he has decided not to come, or has something better to do, or someone better to see. She tries to drown out these thoughts by convincing her legs to shakily carry her to the bathroom where she brushes her hair for the thirteenth time in the last five minutes. She stands in front of the full length mirror and takes a deep breath before risking a glance at her image. She feels silly wearing such a beautiful dress. Princesses wear radiant gowns, not girls like her. She feels unsteady in her high heels and wonders how long it will be before she loses her balance. She is delicate and feminine, yet doubt plagues her thoughts and clouds her perception. The door bell rings and her heart beats so fast that it almost hurts. For a moment she struggles to draw breath, however forces herself to answer the door. He’s here. She can feel her cheeks burning as she opens the door and stands in the framework. She searches his eyes for the look that will give her the answer to the question that her heart longs to hear. The question that she has asked since she was a child. The question that niggles at her conscience and desperately needs to be answered; “Am I lovely?”

Yes, I do realise that it is swot vac and that I should be studying.. but I unexpectedly found myself with a fair bit of time on my hands tonight, so I thought I may as well write down my thoughts. When I came home from work today, I made a spur of the moment decision to drive up Mount Stuart by myself to watch the sunset… which, by the way, was just stunning! It doesn’t matter how many times I see a sunset, it always takes my breath away and simultaneously makes me feel like jumping up and down with happiness. Beholding the beauty of a sunset, that is unique with each day, speaks volumes of a love so powerful. As I was driving down the mountain on my way back home, I heard a horribly loud noise that was clearly coming from the car. So I pulled over and hopped out of the car, only to discover that one of my tyres was flat. Great. Spontaneity isn’t always a good thing.. especially if you have no idea how to change a tyre, or even where the spare tyre is likely to be kept. But hurrah for RACQ.. after about 45 minutes a strapping young lad came around the mountain and changed my tyre… leaving me to drive home where I would face the laughter of my family. So that was interesting.. and it explains why I had time to ponder a few random things.

The question “Am I lovely?” is intrinsically tied to the nature of the feminine heart. As little girls we pursue an answer with unashamed joy. As women we feel guilty for longing to have this question answered. We yearn to be thought of as captivating. We desire to possess a beauty that is worth pursing, worth fighting for, a beauty that is core to who we truly are. I’m not just talking about a desire for outward beauty, but something much deeper. A desire to be captivating in the depths of who we are. This desire transcends age and, I believe, is inherently feminine. It is wrought with complexity and clouded in mystery, yet it’s existence is undeniable. We long to be delighted in, to be called lovely. We long for a beauty to unveil. A beauty that can be seen, a beauty that can be felt, a beauty that affects others, a beauty that is unique and ours to unveil. This is intertwined in the design of the heart of a woman, and therefore this longing should not conjure feelings of guilt. Although the heart breaking reality is that it so often does. We feel too intense, like we are ‘too much’ for those around us, that we should dull down what we are feeling and suppress the desires of our heart. We look to a multitude of things to answer our question, to tell us that we are lovely. We invest our hearts in things that won’t last, and suffer hurt time and time again. We yearn to be told that we are enough, just as we are. We grossly misunderstand where we derive our beauty from. It’s not from the clothes that we wear, or the shape of our bodies, or the makeup on our faces.. We are beautiful because we bear the image of God. This beauty is an essence given to each woman at her creation, and encapsulates the immeasurable dignity and delicacy of the feminine heart. “The King is enthralled by your beauty” (Psalm 45:11). I think that the tenderness and radiance of the heart of a woman says a lot about the heart of God. He has a heart for relationship, a compassion for His children that is insurmountable… and just as we long for a beauty to reveal, He longs to reveal Himself to His children. So.. are we lovely? The answer is a resounding yes! Not because we are physically attractive, appealing to men, witty, humorous, intelligent, or anything else. We are lovely because we are created in the image of a God who delights in us, and calls us to draw near to Him. This is where we need to find our self-esteem and our security.. because this love is eternal.

Maths...Why Bother?!

2008-03-19T03:02:00.000-07:00

At the moment I am working on an assignment for my ECE mathematics class. For the task, we have to make a poster detailing significant events in our mathematical history, and reflect on how these events contribute to our current attitudes regarding maths education. In an attempt to protect myself against emotional anguish, I had, up until now, managed to banish all memories of school-based mathematical experiences to the extremities of my consciousness. Some would call that denial.. and they would probably be right.. but I have no desire to relive the legalised torture that is maths education. However, I think that it is important for me to pass my degree and eventually become an accomplished teacher who doesn't let her fear of maths dictate the outcomes of her students.. so I thought that a positive first step to 'making my past experiences a reality', as my lecturer would put, would be to look through the pile of folders that contain my old school report cards and certificates. Now, let me just add here, that denial really is a safe and beautiful thing. Surely there is nothing wrong with shielding one's self from the harsh and confronting nature of reality and living life as a fulfilled, if not unaware, individual. Report cards, like reality, can also be cruel. Although I appreciate that monitoring student progress in all aspects of the curriculum and informing parents of areas of success and areas that require attention is the obligation of all teachers, the idea of measuring student ability against a preordained standard put in place by power-hungry-policy-pushers that blatantly disregard the individuality of each child is, in a lot of ways, a necessary evil in education. According to my grade one mid year report card, I could "successfully count to in excess of two hundred in ones" (not bad for a five year old), however it also stated that "Carly expresses frustration when others approach her for help". Could that be because, as an astute five year old, I was frustrated with the palpable incompetence of my peers? Or because I too was lacking the skills required to perform the maths tasks and was crying out for assistance, therefore being unable to help others? Or was it because I lacked a considerable amount of patience? Each of those scenarios are quite plausible, some possibly more so than others, but it's justifiable to draw many conclusions from such a vague report of student progress. So I moved onto my grade two report card, which stated that "Carly has a very determined approach to mathematics...works slowly and methodically...has made a determined effort to develop strategies that will help her solve basic facts, and, although she does not compute quickly mentally, her recall of facts is quite sound". I think any parent who receives a report card declaring that their child "does not compute quickly mentally" would fall into a shame spiral and agonise over how they went wrong as a parent. My grade three report card was slightly more uplifting, stating that I was "a cheerful and popular student who approaches everything with enthusiasm and gusto!". From grade four onwards, my mathematical achievements were indicated by either a tick in the appropriate box or a letter grade, sometimes followed by comments such as:
"A goal for next semester is to focus on the set work in class and not to be distracted by, or a distraction to, others"
"Carly is capable of a better result but needs to concentrate in class"
"Errors are made most often as a result of rushing her working and not checking her answers carefully"
"Carly found topics covered in class this semester quite hard to grasp"

The other thing that I discovered about my maths education, is that almost every single mathematics competition that I entered (why someone didn't discourage me from doing this I will never know) I received a participation for, and everyone knows that receiving a participation is like a patronising pat on the back followed by the typical "At least you did your best". The only time that I didn't receive a participation was in 2000 when I received a credit! That was an exciting day.
Yes, I know what you are thinking; this is going to be one cheery poster that will uplift the spirits of all who have the pleasure of beholding it. Fortunately I am going to spare you the details of my upper high school maths experiences. Mostly because I can honestly say that I learnt nothing at all of any real value or relevance, and the majority of our lessons were spent plotting revenge against whoever was responsible for inflicting so much pain upon us. So, not only am I questioning the value of maths education as a whole, but I am also questioning my lecturer's motives for forcing me to reflect on such a negative experience. Fortunately though, my school reports were really very positive in all of the other areas, particularly HPE and sports carnivals..and we all know that sport is much more important than maths. So, for my poster, I think that I have two options. The first being a stark white sheet of paper displaying emotionally charged pictorial representations of the pain that maths caused me accompanied by a poetic analogy that likens maths education to corporal punishment written in my own blood. Or the second option, which would display photos of me working on projects with determination and joy, followed by a written piece describing the impact that positive maths experiences in the classroom from an early age can have on future attitudes.

Take My Life...

2008-03-08T01:40:00.000-08:00

Well week one of Uni is over.. and I'm still alive! Hurrah! I'm sure you were all terribly concerned. So, being alive as I am, I thought I would write about something that has been on my mind today. I've been talking about this with my beautiful friend in Canada, but I thought I would share it here as well. I really should be studying.. but.. well.. you know how it is.

Some of you have probably heard of the band Third Day. The last song on their album "Offerings 2 - All I Have To Give" is called "Take My Life". Melodically it's rather simplistic, but lyrically it's quite profound, which I think is a nice combination. When I woke up this morning (or, more accurately, when the alarm clock on my phone dragged me out of my peaceful slumber), this song was playing over in my head, so I started singing it to myself as I was getting ready for work, and even though I have heard it 100 times, the words of the chorus really struck a chord with me:
"Please take from me my life, when I don't have the strength to give it away to You Jesus".

It takes strength to give our burdens and hurts over to God. It's not always easy, even though in theory it should be. Some Christians will undoubtedly call this an issue of faith, or lack thereof, because, as Christians, our reliance on God should be unfaultering. But, if I'm being honest, too often I try to take on my problems and anxieties and effectively push away the One who is so willing to comfort me, if I would only let Him. Trusting God with the things that are closest to our hearts takes courage. When we're going through hard times, we feel so weak and utterly powerless, and sometimes these earthly limitations get in the way of the help that God so freely offers to us. In our weakness and uncertainty it's hard to just let go, so we cling to our pain, even when we know that we are powerless. So the idea of God taking away my life, my pain, my hurt, and my troubles..when I don't have the strength to give it away to Him, is so powerful, and such an awesome assurance. Because it's all very well to 'know' that the best thing for us to do is to give our burdens over to Christ, yet sometimes that intellectual knowledge doesn't quite connect with our hearts, and we end up completely weighed down by our circumstances. I think it's so encouraging, and humbling, to know that when I fail, or when all around me fails, God doesn't change. And He never will. What a beautiful promise. When I don't have the strength to hand my life, the good and the bad, over to God, I'm trusting Him to take it for me.

The Ramblings Continue...

2008-02-24T23:55:00.000-08:00

"Only 4% of women have the genetic ability to match the 'ideal' body type presented by the media. The other 96% often take extreme measures to obtain this unobtainable image"
I think that we're all aware of the fact that most women have unrealistic expectations about their bodies and appearance. All you have to do is take a five minute walk through Stockies and you will be confronted with society's misguided notion of beauty, and how most of us fall short. The immaculately dressed mannequins that we'd love to rip the heads off leer at us from behind their glass windows, taunting us with their blank stares that so clearly say; you're not skinny enough, not pretty enough, your hair is too messy and your clothes aren't good enough. If anyone is actually reading this, you're probably thinking that I'm exaggerating, and I know that alot of people try to trivialise the problem of female body image and say that they are petty complaints...But from the conversations that I've had with alot of girls over the past few months, this is not a minor concern. This is a very real problem that is often all-consuming, and even though it is entirely irrational, it's existence is undeniable. So, for the sake of this blog, I thought that it was necessary for me to relinquish some of my pride and share a hideously embarrassing story. When I look back it gives me quite a laugh, but I think it also helped to cement a very important lesson in not gaining or losing my self-esteem through my appearance.

This story is set around mid 2007. I woke up in the early hours of the morning and I felt.. different. My face felt a little tight, so I stumbled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom to see what the go was. Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I realised that both of my lips had swollen to three times their normal size. Just pause and take a minute to visualise this....yes, that ridiculous picture that you are now thinking about is EXACTLY what I looked like. Really. I made Angelina Joulie look like a tight-lipped lemon-sucker. So, now mildly disturbed, I thought I should probably alert Mum. I went and woke her up, described my fat lips, and waited for some advice and encouragement. Although, as yet another boost to my rapidly deflating self-esteem, Mum couldn't bring herself to look at me for at least 5 minutes, and once she did she couldn't help letting out a horrified gasp. This was followed by quite alot of laughing and an Eddie Murphy reference, but eventually we managed to find some allergy tablets and went back to bed. When I woke up in the morning, the whole of my face from the nose down was unbelieveably itchy and now covered in one of those unbearable rashes that cause you to believe that getting a knife and slashing your face would actually be quite a relief from the itchiness. So, after numbing my face with an ice pack for over an hour, I made an appointment to go to the doctor. Now, I wasn't exactly thrilled about going out in public in my current state. My lips were swollen and the bottom half of my face was red and covered in a rash... society makes cruel assumptions about people who walk around with conditions like that. However slashing my face with a knife was quickly becoming a very real option in my mind, so I decided to swallow my pride and see a doctor. Because it was such short notice, I had to see the first doctor that was available. And, to add to the now mounting series of unfortunate events, I think it's important to note here that the doctor I saw was fresh out of med school and very good looking. Anywho, the poor guy was just as embarrassed as I was and completely stumped, so he had to call in one of the senior doctors who rattled off a list of possible causes (including wind burn if I had been out at sea..she didn't care that I told her I hadn't been near the ocean, and if I had I doubt it would make my lips swell). Long story short, they gave me some antibiotics and I later discovered that I had developed an allergy to the face powder I had been using, and subsequently vowed to never go to that GP again.

As embarrassing as this whole situation was, looking back I realised how easy it is to allow what we look like dictate what we do. I could have easily let my fear of being ridiculed for my appearance (a very real possibility in this case) prevent me from getting the help that I needed.I know that this is probably an extreme example, but I think it's still relevant to how so many women let their perceptions of their image, or other people's perceptions, or their perceptions of other people's perceptions control and manipulate their lives. But all of these can act as bondage that prevent us from being all that God wants us to be. So here's the truth, and "the truth will set you free" (John 8:32). Girls, we are beautiful! We are daughters of Christ and the handiwork of God, created in His image! Our bodies are temples of the living God! (2 Cor. 6:16-18). This is one of my favourite verses: "You knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well." (Pslam 139:13-14). So often our opinions of ourselves are crowded out by a list of shortcomings and flaws, but we are the FEARFULLY and WONDERFULLY made daughters of the Most High! Don't ever forget that...even when those negative voices in your head threaten to overpower you every time you look in the mirror. We are all unique, and loved in a way that we will never be able to fully comprehend. So often we try to manipulate our God-given beauty with layer upon layer of name-brand makeup (because "we're worth it") and constantly changing fashions that we're told have the power to construct the very essence of who we are. But these are all lies.
"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit." (1 Peter 3:3-4).

So whether it's only using all natural mineral based face powder that is solely produced in New Zealand, or if it's indulging in your girly love of anything even remotely related to makeup, take the time to stop and consider the role that these ultimately superficial things play in the development of your self-esteem and perception of beauty. I'm not trying to turn you all into hippies, but we are beautiful without those things, and the realisation of this is something that you hold with you always.

Even More Ramblings...

2008-02-16T19:37:00.000-08:00

I realised today that both of my other two blogs talk about love, and considering that Feburary is 'Love Month' (or so the radio insists on reminding me), I thought I would continue the love-theme in this blog.. then I promise I will find something else to write about :)
Today I stumbled across my old diaries from primary school and early highschool (which, by the way, are HILARIOUS! If I ever feel the urge to do away with dignity I'll publish them and say that they're fictional), and anyway, in between the fits of laughter and acute embarrassment, I found this email that I had saved that really made me smile. You may have been sent this at some stage, it has been floating around in cyber space for a number of years now, but I thought I would share it here anyway. A group of professional people posed the question to a group of 4-8 year olds, "What does love mean?".. and some of the answers these kids came up with are just amazing.. I think it's a really good lesson in not underestimating how perceptive children can be.. Here's what some of them said:

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too." - Rebecca, aged 8.

"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth." - Billy, aged 4.

"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other." - Karl, aged 5.

"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your french fries without making them give you any of theirs." - Chrissy, aged 6.

"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired." - Terri, aged 4.

"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen." - Bobby, aged 5.

"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate." - Nikka, aged 6.

"There are two kinds of love. Our love. God's love. But God makes both kinds of them." - Jenny, aged 4.

"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday." - Noelle, aged 7.

"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well." - Tommy, aged 6.

"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day." - Mary Ann, aged 4.

"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones." - Lauren, aged 4.

"I let my big sister pick on me because my Mum says she only picks on me because she loves me. So I pick on my baby sister because I love her." - Bethany, aged 4.

"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget." - Jessica, aged 8.

And, my favourite..
"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." - Karen, aged 7.

Isn't that awesome? I think that some of these kids could probably teach us a thing or two about love....like the significance of how you say the name of someone you love; or how love allows you to give even when it hurts; or the little efforts we make to impress, such as perfume or a nice shirt; or giving without expecting anything in return; or the ability that love has to make you forget your problems; or the value in not just loving those who love you; or how love allows you to enjoy another's company even when you know their every fault and flaw; or how important it is to tell those around you that you love them. I love hearing what children have to say about things that are often considered 'grown-up topics'. Their oppinions are so unaffected by society, and their honesty and ability to trust is something that, I think, we could learn from. So often people don't take the time to listen to children, but trust me, it's worth it!

More Ramblings...

2008-02-10T04:35:00.000-08:00

Oh goodness...Blogging really is addictive. I almost wish that I hadn't stumbled across this, because I just know that I'm going to waste far too much time writing about whatever happens to be on my mind...especially on nights when I can't sleep, which unfortunately happens to be most nights. And I know I know, I should be in bed with one of those ridiculous eyemasks on, sipping camomile tea and listening to a soothing recording of ocean sounds or something of the like...but I'm yet to find someone who actually considers those recorded ocean sounds to be relaxing.. it just seems like irritating noise pollution that prevents you from sleeping, which leads to frustration, which is compounded by the fact that you're overtired and already rather frustrated at your inability to sleep. Real life ocean sounds, however, are very relaxing...although driving all the way to the beach, just to sleep, when you'd probably just accidentally lock your keys in the car and have your purse stolen by a gang of teenagers who would then throw rocks at your car seems a little impractical. But anyway.. as interesting as all of that is (note the sarcasm), it's not actually what I planned to write about.

Once again today I found myself with far too much time on my hands, which was actually really nice, considering that Uni starts again in 3 short weeks, and I'll morph back into being a hideous nerd who survives on coffee and coffee alone. So, what with all this spare time, I started feeling rather nostalgic. I think that often happens at the begining of a new year, when you have the chance to stop and appreciate all that the past year has taught you about life. I know that I've learnt alot. So that got me thinking about all that we've gone through...collectively...because that's how it is with friends; their pain is your pain, their joy is your joy, etc. And, to be honest, there's some pretty good material here. Really. 2007 was quite an eventful year...if any of us are ambitious enough we could probably start a sitcom that would rival 'The OC'. Actually I think that 'Big Brother' (a.k.a "let's cram the shame of society into a house and see how long it takes for them to get naked..on national television!") rivals 'The OC' these days, seeing as it's no longer showing, so that probably wasn't the best example to use as a measure of greatness, but you get my meaning. Seriously though, I think that we experienced alot of what life has to offer in 2007.

Some of us found love, maybe for the first time, maybe for the second time; either way it felt like everything we had done before was new and exciting. Some of us learnt that we didn't really know what love was, and what we thought to be love was really a deception. Some of us lost love, but discovered that we could survive, and are stronger for the experience. Some of us had our hearts broken, and it may be awhile before they are whole again, but we have to be content in waiting for that day to come. Some of us made commitments to another that will last until our dying days. Some of us watched as family or friends succumbed to illness, and struggled with the uncertainty and that horrible yet humbling feeling of being completely out of control. Some of us said goodbye to family or friends for the last time, and persevered through everyday life as if nothing had changed, when at the same time it felt like life would never be the same. Some of us watched as our friends and family grieved the loss of loved ones, and wished that there was something that we could do to fix it, but at the same time knew that just being there was enough. Some of us struggled with not being able to be with loved ones as they went through hard times and cursed the ever-rising cost of flights. Some of us were awestruck by the gift of life and the blessing of children, and watched as they grew so quickly. Some of us travelled overseas and saw the beauty of God's creation abroad..be it for a few weeks, months, or an entire year. Some of us fought with lonliness that was a result of someone's absence from our lives, or a certain part of our lives. Some of us discovered new things about ourselves. What we can achieve. How strong we are. That we can still stand tall through adversity. Some of us learnt new things about our loved ones and redefined some of our relationships. Some of us tried new things, and pushed limits that we thought were steadfast. Some of us made new friends that we know we'll have for life. Some of us lost friends, yet now question whether they were really friends at all. Some of us learnt to laugh, and learnt to cry. We learnt to let others in, but also to guard our hearts.

So there you have it. Alot can happen in 365 days. Alot can change in 365 days. It's exciting to think that, in a years time, I'll be looking back again on all that I have learnt from this year that we're yet to experience! So I guess my little inspiring ending to this blog (you should probably imagine a violin playing now..it would help with the visual) is to appreciate the potential that all of our encounters each and every day have to teach us valuable life lessons. The gift of hindsight shows us that often we don't realise at the time that we're experiencing a truly life changing moment. Live each day like it's your last! Take chances! Tell someone something that you haven't had the courage to say! Dance like no-one is watching! Sing like no-one is around! Google some cliche's so that I'll have some better ones for next time!
:)

Ramblings...

2008-02-08T16:49:00.000-08:00

Well! This is my first ever blog! To be honest I don't really know what I'm going to write about yet...given that I'm home alone on a Friday night, determined not to tarnish my cognitive capacity any further by watching the senseless rubbish that's on TV at the moment, a little tired of reading my book, but not tired enough to go to sleep, this blog will most likely consist of the disjointed and drawn-out ramblings of an over-tired and under-stimulated hermit (hence the title..creative, I know). If the structure of that sentence is any indication of how this blog will be set out, it could be quite detrimental to your sanity, and you should stop reading immediately...really...just press the little red 'x' at the top right hand corner of the screen...that's all it takes...

Well if anybody is still reading this (and for your sake I hope that's nobody...I did try to warn you), I should probably start with what has been on my mind today, and undoubtedly on the minds of every love-struck 13 year old on an international scale...Valentine's Day! I was thinking about Valentine's Day mainly because tomorrow at work we will be inundated with men of all ages who have left it to the last minute to buy a gift for their sweetheart, and will leave our shop satisfied with their purchase of a single stem rose made entirely from coloured bird feathers that have been sprayed with rose incense oil, only to be shocked at the look of disappointment on their sweetheart's face come Valentine's Day. So, that got me thinking (yes, my own thoughts, deep as they were, got me thinking.. aren't I..err.. thoughtful?) how Valentine's Day means different things for different people. For some, Valentine's Day will be an awful reminder of a void that exists in their lives, that they have managed to convince themselves is merely a speck, when really it's a gaping black hole. For some, this Valentine's Day will foster a feeling of loneliness so intense that it's almost suffocating, and a longing for that special someone, who, for whatever reason, is absent. For others, this Valentine's Day will be a taste of things to come, a chance to enjoy simply being with the one you love, and a chance to appreciate the simple treasures in life; like a handmade card with a misshapen heart glued on the front, or the sweet fragrance of a scentless rose grown in vain at the height of a typical Townsville summer. Because it doesn't matter that the artistic design of the card is below third grade standard, or that the scent of the brown, wilted rose is remarkably reminiscent of dirt, all that matters is that they were given in love. For others still, Valentine's Day means basking in the liberating freedom of being a content singleton, scoffing at the naivety of young lovers and the abundance of clichés such as chocolates and flowers, which ultimately are superficial in nature and lack any real substance or significance. I'm particularly excited about Valentine's Day this year because I'll be at work (which, in itself, is particularly unexciting), but I will be wearing the most hideously festive costume I could manage to put together without losing my job...a bright red apron covered with pink and purple love hearts, red ribbons in my hair, rose tattoos..it's going to be awesome. So there you have it, four completely different perceptions of Valentine's Day...all very unique..

After thinking about how people perceive Valentine's Day in very different ways, depending on individual situations and circumstances, I started thinking about how Valentine's Day fundamentally exists to celebrate one thing.. love. Love, by nature, surpasses circumstances. God didn't create love one way for one group of people, and another way for another group of people. "Love is patient, Love is kind..." You know the rest. So, after pondering the concept of love (I would just like to pause here to say that, if you are still reading, I did warn you that this would lack any real direction, and next time you should take my warnings a little more seriously...), I started thinking about how people respond to love and perceive love in different ways, dependant on a multitude of factors. Trying to list some of these factors would be beyond the scope of this blog box, but I'm sure you can think of a few yourself. Some people react to love by falling hard and fast, by allowing another person to be privy to the intricate details of their very being, by allowing themselves to be completely vulnerable, and by being willing to give up life as they have known it just to be with another. Comparatively, some respond to love by freaking out at the intensity of their emotion and regress into being introverted and overly cautious; effectively pushing away the very person they're dying to let in, and losing what they were so desperate to hold on to. How we give, receive and respond to love alters and changes, for countless reasons. Human love is conditional, inconstant, wavering. I know that sounds cynical, and I'm not saying that all human love unequivocally follows that trend 100% of the time, but, for the sake of conversation (that I'm probably having with myself), human love is far from perfect.

So, that got me thinking about the One who created love, and the one true love that is so freely offered to us. It is unconditional, constant, unchanging, fixed, unwavering, unfaltering, we have done nothing to deserve it, yet there is nothing we can do to stop receiving it. How awesome is that?! It blows my mind every time I stop and think about it. When all around us is uncertain, when we are deserted and forsaken by those who claim to love us, we will always have the certainty of the love of Jesus Christ, which is so unwarranted, but given to us regardless, and all we need to do is trust.

So, this Valentine's Day, whatever Valentine's Day means to you - whether it's the chance to dress up as an escapee from the mad house, a chance to take great delight in mocking outward displays of love and affection, a chance to embrace the simple beauties of new love and the refreshing notion of beginning a journey with the one who captured your heart by your side, or if it's a chance to wallow in self pity in your pyjamas on the couch with a bucket of double chocolate chip ice cream and a copy of "The Notebook", take a moment to think about the one true love, that will never leave us, that can never be taken from us, that will never forsake us. The love of Jesus Christ, pure in every way, unending, steadfast, all consuming, a love that exceeds all bounds.