Bah, humbug

It's Christmas time! I do realise I'm stating the obvious, and I do also realise this will irritate some people. But quite frankly, I don't care. I am too full of festive cheer to be bothered with irritated people. And chocolate. But who's to say chocolate isn't festive cheer in another form?
    It's quite amazing how Christmas divides people. There are some people who love Christmas, and will consume mince pies with gusto, even if they're not that keen on them, simply because it's Christmas, and it's what we do (me). They listen to the same Christmas songs every year, engage in the Band Aid vs. Band Aid 20 debate, and feel full of glee as they open their advent calendar each day. Then there are other people. People who dislike Christmas. Shudder. For whatever reason, Christmas offends them on a deeply personal level. And they like to make sure everyone knows it. They can be spotted in various forms: the grouchy lady who practically runs you over with her trolley in Tesco, then acts as if it was all your fault that it's so busy, as though you went shopping specifically to inconvenience her; the miserable person who, when they hear carols being cheerfully sung in the street quickens their pace. Or the one who constantly bangs on about the commercialisation of Christmas.
    Perhaps Christmas is a little commercialised. Just a bit. I don't really need (or want) a Santa hat that flashes "MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!" in a garish red light. But I think so often for Christians, the temptation is to jump into the other ditch, where Christmas is disdained, and looked down upon as being ever so slightly beneath us. One hears such things as, "Oh, we don't really do Christmas. It's so commercialised now." or "Don't you know that Christmas was originally a pagan festival?". It makes me want to run and buy every tacky, Christmas-themed product available. The whole attitude reeks of gnosticism. We seem to forget that Christmas is essentially a festival of the material. God, the almighty, all-powerful God of heaven, became a baby. A real live sniffling, crying baby with a runny nose, that did everything normal babies did. His mother gave birth to him no one knows where (but we can be sure it was not a nice, relatively clean NHS establishment), and he had to be put in a manger. Which is pretty disgusting, because that's where animals eat, and dribble, and we don't actually know if there was any dribble-free hay to put in the manger. It was smelly, probably cold, and dark. Was there ever a more material, a more real event in the history of the universe? God became man. And whether we like it or not, that changed history forever.
    We forget that this event needs celebrating! As Christians, we should be creating a counter-culture that is attractive and good. What better to celebrate than the incarnation of God on earth? We should be the best at celebrating, throw the most enjoyable parties, know how to love the gifts God has given us, and how to share that love with others. God gave us the most precious gift, and I think that's worth celebrating properly.
    So I'm afraid you will find me enjoying Christmas this year. I will be staying up far too late. I will drink proper mulled wine, not some imitation. I will wear a paper hat that's too big for me and slides down over my face. I will eat chocolate. I will meet up with friends and laugh and have a good time. I will dance to "All I Want For Christmas Is You", and I will (provided the Royal Mail doesn't let me down) send presents to people. Let's reclaim the culture and celebrate Christmas properly! And I refuse to listen to any gnostic arguments to do otherwise.


Mandatory disclaimer: Don't overindulge, or Father Christmas won't bring you any presents.

A few thoughts on chivalry

I was thinking the other day (dangerous, I know), and my mind wandered to the subject of chivalry, and how it's applied and responded to. Now, I'm one of those poor, weak, pathetic females who's quite keen on it as a concept, so all fire-breathing feminists may want to beat it, or else risk getting quite annoyed. So that's my little disclaimer. Read on at your own peril.
    I said above that I'm quite keen on chivalry. On good manners in general, in fact. I get irritated when people don't say "Thank you" to the bus driver. I may need to clarify here. I don't support my local chivalry (Blimey Cow reference for any homeschoolers out there) because I am in some way incapable. I am more than able to open a door for myself or lift a heavy box or stack chairs. When I was younger, I used to refuse offers of help, not out of sheer nastiness or because I considered it an affront, but because I didn't see any reason why I should allow someone to put themselves out for me when I could do it for myself. Then I read some stuff online that made me think, and consider that perhaps I ought to accept help, that it makes guys feel useful if they can do something for you. And let's face it, does anyone actually want to stack chairs? What they're doing is serving us, a good and Biblical thing to do. So keep it up guys. Here comes part two...
    We've established the fact that being chivalrous often takes the form of offering a girl help. This is not, however, the only form which being a gentleman can take. I was in a lecture a couple of days ago, and the young (also very elegant and pretty) lecturer was having a really tough time because loads of the kids were just not engaging with her. I felt so sorry for her. But there was one guy who took it upon himself to make things easier for her. He asked questions, made comments, and was generally pleasant and affable. I was really impressed. I could see how grateful she was, and heard her thank him afterwards. That struck me as another way of being chivalrous. He deliberately went out of his way to make her job easier, without being patronising or obvious. This sort of thing can be really helpful. Socially awkward situations can be highly embarrassing, and it's relieving when a guy sees you're having a rough time of it and comes to your rescue, and either injects some life into a conversation or discreetly helps someone escape.
   However, some of the most meaningful chivalric feats don't have to be performed when a lady is present. (I shouldn't be too long now. Or I might start a 47 part series on chivalry, in true evangelical tradition.) Things that are said about a girl, especially behind her back, can be the most damaging. A girl's self-esteem can be ruined if she hears or learns of certain remarks made about her appearance. Her character can be falsely represented by unkind comments, especially by those who know her and whom she would have considered to be her friends. That is not a manly thing to do. To say something about a person not present is simply wrong. They have no chance to defend themselves, and were that girl there, what would her reaction be? Would she laugh? Or become angry? Or smile, while trying to hide the fact she's deeply hurt, and wants nothing more than to run away and cry? A man, a real man, does not allow anyone to say unkind things, true or otherwise, about a girl. He sticks up for her and tells them all to shut up. He does not join in.
    One more thing. Please do not be offended if a girl refuses help. She may have a very good reason for doing so. She may not, but that's her concern. There comes a point where it becomes ruder to insist. Unless, of course, her health and safety is in question. In which case, do what seems best.
     Having come to the end of this, it looks more like a to-do list than I intended. Please don't be offended! I mean well. Surely the principle at stake here is how we treat others, regardless of sex. We are told we ought to treat others the way we would want to be treated. Go and check out Matthew 7:12. And Philippians 2:3-4 while you're at it. We are called to respect and serve others. This is what Christ did for us when He came to earth ("The Son of Man did not come be served but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many.") and when He died for us. We are to follow His example, and therefore shine as a light in a dark world. So go out. Fight dragons. Bash the bad guys. Be a knight in shining armour. Might have to make do without a horse, though. They're quite expensive to keep.

Food

Having had writers' block for a while (that's code for: "I was really tired and couldn't be bothered to sit down and think"), the Muse has finally struck. I was strolling down the stairs yesterday evening, and suddenly thought about food. I wasn't hungry, as I'd just devoured supper. But let me explain.
      In our house over half term there were 12 people for a period of 6 nights. It was great fun. Loved it. And some of the most enjoyable times were spent crowded round the dinner table, eating together. There's something about food that makes for a good atmosphere. Some of the funniest things happened at the table. On the first night someone said something so hilarious that I choked and had to dash into the kitchen to recover, which in turn caused general amusement. I spent a happy morning scoffing dry Cheerios and Crunchy Nut from a bowl, while a 2 year old pilfered most of them. And it made me think.
     Our culture has seriously messed up how we view food. Food is no longer seen as a blessing, something to be enjoyed. Instead, it's something we are made to feel guilty about. That makes me mad. How can we take one of God's greatest gifts and make it into a massive stick to bash ourselves over the head with? Instead of just being grateful for what we've been given, we are manipulated into believing we are doing wrong when we enjoy a good meal, when we have dessert, when we eat chocolate. Especially us girls. It can be silly, I know, but we really do care about how we look. No girl is ever going to be completely happy with her weight, let's face it. We're always going to find something to complain about. I could have a long and most vindictive rant about how much our culture is to blame for our insecurities, but I'll save that for another time. Something to look forward to. But girls, is anyone going to love you less if you weigh more than 9 stone? Or 10? Or 11? (That's 57, 63.5, & 70 kg for metric people.) And if they do, is their company worth pursuing? I say this to myself as much as anyone. Will that cookie really make a lot of difference in the grand scheme of things? We're all going to die one way or another, and we might as well die well fed.
    Now, as an obligatory disclaimer, I'm not advocating being a complete slob and overindulging. That would be wrong. Our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, etc. When you're full, stop eating. Just stop. But don't ever say no to pudding on the grounds that it's not "healthy". Arsenic is unhealthy. Chocolate isn't. Do some exercise. But don't obsess about it. Can you see your toes? Tie your shoelaces? Run upstairs without suffering a cardiac arrest and needing the iron lung? Then chances are you're in decent enough shape. Don't let man call "unclean" what God has declared "clean" (Acts 10:15).
     I think Tolkien was on to something when he said, "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." I also think having a right view of God has a lot to do with it. If we remember who we are as children of God, and remember what Christ has done for us, we might stop being so self-obsessed. That would make for a merrier world.


“Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.”   - Mark Twain

Fear

I've never really shown my writing to anyone before. If I'm honest, it's because I'm a bit nervous. Nervous of what people will think, of what they will think of what I write, whether or not they'll like it... or even like me.

    

That's not all. For possibly the first time in my life I'm scared. Yes, me. Genuinely, honest-to-goodness, quaking-in-my-boots scared. I'm usually boundlessly confident. On the outside at least. But I find myself staring down the barrel at a decision. I have to decide what I want to do with the rest of my life. It scares me. I'm 17! I'm not ready to decide! I could go to university, and I could apply to pretty much anywhere I'm interested in, but do I really want to carry a £45, 000 debt with me into the future (and possibly into marriage)? And yet, I love to study. In a way, it's all I know. It's something I know I'm good at. Whereas if I go out and get a job, I might not be successful at my chosen field. Or I might absolutely hate it. On the other hand, I might love it, and if I never marry, having a career to pursue would be a great. But I just don't know.

     

But I am learning. I feel God has had to teach me to trust him the hard way. It's only fairly recently that I have learnt to trust God more completely for every area of my life. And he had to pull the rug out from under my feet for me to wake up to the fact that I am NOT Wonder Woman, that I don't actually have to do it all myself, and that if I insist on doing so, even if  I "succeed", it's going to be far more painful than if I just backed down and left it in God's hands. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to stop fighting, pray more, and leave it to God... Yeah, and some people might be on the receiving end of a fairly distraught phone call or two when it all gets too much, but hey, that's normal. Isn't it...?