Our Story: Just Friends (2)

Something I have been wanting to do for a while is write down our story. This will not be in the ‘right’ order, but should make sense both as a series and as individual posts.  I might ask her to write some too, so that you get it from both perspectives. Telling stories is important.

If you want to get an email each time the story is added to, just scroll down to the bottom of the page to follow the blog. No spam, I promise!

Read More:
Just Friends Part 1

Karlotte-Hannelie

We matter.

Love, we matter. I don’t know how else I can say it. Who we are, what we do, together. We matter.

A friend of yours is coming to visit.

We have been together what seems like a long time, our lives intertwining; sometimes beautifully, sometimes painfully. We have a little house which we pay for together by scraping together my student loan and your minimum wage salary. We save up and go away together – the Yorkshire Moors, Northumberland or the Lake District. You make me go hiking and I make you rest afterwards. We have ended up with a little, spiky, scared kitten that turned into a big soft lump of a cat. You are growing cucumbers in our living room, which block out most of the window so that the light that filters through all summer is green. I remember this detail in particular.

We sleep in the same bed, comfortably. We are done with being anxious about this. You and I know how to curl up around each other. You bring me coffee in the mornings and sometimes in the evenings we read out loud to each other; somehow such an intimate sharing. We have made a home, finally.

But a friend of yours is coming to visit. A Christian friend.  A friend from the past. Yours, not mine. She knows about us, and I can’t help feeling she has judged us accordingly.

Continue reading

Tagged

Our Story: Just Friends (1)

Something I have been wanting to do for a while is write down our story. Not necessarily in ‘order’. It has been ten years now since these events.  I might ask her to write some too, so that you get it from both perspectives. Telling stories is important.

If you want to get an email each time the story is added to, just scroll down to the bottom of the page to follow the blog. No spam, I promise!



lovely feet

‘Its ok, we’re just friends’

Just friends, just friends, just friends I think to myself.

It is not cool that I might be falling in love. Just friends, just friends, just friends.

It is not cool that I am looking for her the minute I walk into the church. That when I am supposed to be meeting her for a one-to-one chat a whole flutter of butterflies are loosed in my stomach, yet when I’m with her I feel a calm I’ve never felt before and we can talk and talk and talk for hours. It’s even less cool that I sometimes want to kiss her, just take her face in my hands and kiss her. That I want to lie down in the grass with her and do more than contemplate the clouds (though I’m not at all sure what ‘more’ would look like).

Just friends.

Continue reading

Wake up, Deborah!

And God gave them judge-leaders. Whenever God raised up a judge-leader among them, God was with them and saved the people from the hands of their enemies.
Judges 2:16.18

Deborah, a prophet, was the judge-leader of Israel at that time. Judges 4:4

Yesterday I preached on the story of Deborah and Jael. But before I begun, I read the following statements to the congregation and asked them to raise their hands if they recognised the phrase; if they had heard them before, whether spoken explicitly or implied.

1) Women must submit to men, in particular their husbands.

2) Girls must dress modestly to avoid causing men to sin.

3) Women are created for different roles to men: their ultimate calling is to serve their families by keeping things clean, having supper on the table by six, and, most importantly, making babies.

4) Women can’t preach in church, that is a man’s job.

5) A woman must not have authority over a man.

Our congregation at MCC Newcastle is very diverse, with members coming from various Christian traditions, and yet most of them had heard these statements at some point. Almost everyone raised their hands for points 3 and 5.

Then I asked for those who knew the story of Deborah to raise their hands.

One person.

And that’s when I could feel the anger starting. The good kind of anger, a kind that lent passion, nuance and humour to words I had fairly emotionlessly written earlier. The kind that finally gets it.

Continue reading

Tagged , ,
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 67 other followers