Hospitals

Though I've never spent much time in one, I've always hated hospitals. Yes, lots of healing happens, but so does so much hurting and death. Also, with the cost of medical care, it feels like a place of hopelessness. Passing by an office for a financial counselor right near the front desk is never an encouraging sign. No one should need to worry about the costs of their treatment. Yes, it's a reality here, but still, health is not something we have complete control over and no one should be punished for what their body and/or environment has done to them.

Mini (and very simplified) rant aside, this week my grandfather was hospitalized for the first time since my mom's parents mover up here about two years ago. This is a miracle, in my opinion, considering the state of his health, but this first stay is still stressful on everyone. Meeting new doctors, a new facility, and a new building is taking it's toll on all of us, though mostly Mom.

As they settle in though, I get this feeling of safety and security. Part of it is that my grandparents have money and insurance. Not an endless supply of course, but enough to not need to worry about a short stay. More importantly, while he's there nurses and doctors are on call to deal with any medical issues. My grandmother doesn't have to worry about new symptoms or about his weakness. If he fell, there is someone there to help him. If he starts having a coughing fit, a nurse will be in to give him oxygen.

As Grandpa gets ready to go home, there's a part of me that's worried about him leaving. He will be so much happier outside of the hospital, but still, what if something goes wrong? Will he be ok? I don't know. I can't know.

So, there isn't much of a point to this - just something I've been thinking about. I guess I just wanted to remind myself (and anyone who reads this) that all places and people seem to have two sides to them. Hospitals are a particularly stark example, but even then I was oblivious to that. Maybe I should look harder in the future.

In Christ Alone

Christianity isn't the Bible.

It's not the church.

Or the saints.

The stories, songs, missions, creeds, traditions, buildings. They are a part, but not the whole.

Funny thing is, that's all I ever learned about. When in reality, Christianity is about being like Christ. Not determining set rules for how everyone should be like him. Not focusing on not sinning. Not arguing with each other.

Christ loved others. If I could do anything in my life, that's what I would want to do. I hate to admit it, since so much harm has been done while attempting to be Christlike.

Still, a religion that tries to be just as loving and kind and strong as he was, that I can get behind.

A religion that emphasizes sin above all else. A religion that loves it's book more than it's God. Not so much.

Maybe I can learn to be a Christian my own way, preserving traditions while understanding them in the spirit they were meant instead of the literal words I see in front of me.

I hope so.

Because the world needs Christlike people. I'm not sure it needs more Christians.

"All You Need is Jesus"

Robin Williams died today. He committed suicide. So many people laughed at his movies, but in the end, I guess it wasn't enough. Makes me want to cry.

In reaction to this, some Christians look at Williams' life, shake their heads, and say "all he needed was Jesus, then he wouldn't have been depressed." To them, it's a non-issue with a single solution: know God and you will have all of the joy you need. Because no Christian would ever lose the hope Jesus gave them, after all, depression is simply an emotion, right?

But depression is not only an emotional reaction to our surroundings, it's also a biological issue, treatable with drugs and therapy. It is a problem, not an easily dismissed figment of some disturbed mind. People suffering from depression need support and help, just as any of us would if we contracted a disease. As Williams just proved, depression can kill. It is not a non-issue.

I admit, I've never been diagnosed with chronic depression, but I do have anxiety and take medication for it. Since I started taking it, my life has improved drastically. Yes, in my case medication was not the sole factor in helping me overcome anxiety, but it helps a lot more than I had hoped. Is it a placebo effect? Maybe, who knows. I personally don't care. The fact that it helps tells me that I needed a boost to get out of the hole my anxiety created and start looking at the world around me.

As far as I can tell, depression is like this as well. Yes, praying and having a relationship with God is theoretically the best medicine, but would you treat a disease solely with prayer? No. Would you tell a friend going those the loss of a loved one simply to know Jesus more? No. So don't treat depression like a simple little issue that can be wiped away by "knowing Jesus." Life is so much more complex, as much as Christians would like God to fix everything.

That might not have sounded like a rant to you, but guys, I'm pissed off by anyone who insults depression by shoving it off. People are hurting and we are the church - love others, don't demean their problems. Listen. Help. Leave judgment to God. Just because you personally have not experienced a sadness so deep that you can't walk away does not mean to dismiss the problem.

I've had extroverts do the same thing to my anxiety. It affects my faith to this day. Sometimes we need to listen instead of fixing problems.

Memories

Today I sat with my mom in a beautiful tea shop, just talking and enjoying each other's company.

There are so many favourite memories.

The Nosebag watching my dad take his first bite of clotted cream.

Tea and biscuits in an attic room as my roommate and I watched North & South.

Tea and scones on the floor of another room gushing over David Tennant's pretty face.

Countless conversations in the Rendezvous as we recovered from a long day at the library.

The day the stress of Oxford made me break into tears and my roommate was there to drag my off to a comforting cup, despite her own busy day.

Snow piled high around a Finnish house as a friend's mom lays out an amazing tea.

Another roommate walking in to find me curled up on her bed in tears after a recent breakup and promptly asking if I needed tea, which she proceeded to make and then watch anime with me.

Mint tea made with loving hands and much complaining.

Deciding on iced tea flavours with Mom.

Carefully cleaning and polishing her old oak recipe box in order to fill it with our bags. Seeing many memories and stories hidden in its hinges.

Handing a 5 year-old his first cup, and watching him spill it all over himself.

Memories. No wonder the British are so obsessed with tea. It's like drinking a bit of home, all the different homes, even when I feel so far away.

Control

I'm a tiny little bit dyslexic. Not much, just enough to make spelling difficult and to switch around numbers more than some. Usually it doesn't bother me - just pay attention to reading numbers out loud and be constantly aware of double checking spelling.

Today though, I switched numbers and letters around constantly while completely paperwork with my boss. She would read a number to me and I would have it backwards. A customer or two had to spell their names twice. Apparently I was told to type "bry" and spelled "byr" several times before getting it right. I am completely convinced that I was spelling it right the entire time, but that's another story.

Anyway, it's weird to have your brain mess with inputs to spit out a different result. Not my favourite experience and shows that I probably can't stay up until midnight reading all that often.

Mostly though, I realize how much I hate being out of control. That's my safety zone. As my perceived control over my actions and environment grows, I feel more confident to explore and adventure. But take that control away, well, I'm not happy. Probably something I should work on.

Tradition

One of my good friends just wrote a piece on tradition and its value vs. technology (http://savannahcordry.wordpress.com/2014/07/26/tradition/). It's one of my favourite paradoxes to consider, so I thought I'd continue the conversation here, but with a more limited scope: the church. This is one of the places that is both helped the most by tradition, and yet so hindered by it.

First, I should note that I hate parts of tradition. Women should be allowed to speak, dress, and act as they please. Men should be allowed to express their emotions, give hugs, and dislike sports without judgment. Christians have fervently upheld many of the traditions that trap both men and women in little boxes based on sex, refusing to allow their unique talents flourish.

However, my favourite place to worship is in the grand cathedrals of Europe or Central America. Here you can feel the contradictions of Christians - servants and slaves built these beautiful buildings because their masters believed they were truly loving God. But then, there are the parts made by the master craftsmen. The places with such detail and beauty, you glimpse a bit of heaven. In these traditions, in these holy places, you can glimpse the wider world of Christianity and all it has encompassed over the centuries. Whatever your thoughts on Christians, our history is not something to be dismissed lightly.

Similarly, tradition brings us closer together, while tearing us apart. Belief in the cross holds us together, until some break with tradition as others cling tight. Tradition cannot be the end or the beginning of our faith, but in many ways it feels like the glue that holds us together. I want to weave the central part of tradition into my life, but reject the parts that disrespect and hate others. Not only do I want to learn from tradition, I want to actively use it to shape my life and use the wisdom (or mistakes) of others before me.

Why?

Today I spent the morning and afternoon running around with two great chatterbo kids, an 8 year old girl and a five year old boy. This resulted in several rather awkward conversations, but this was the true gem of the day:

Boy: "How old are you?"
Me: "22"
Boy: "Are you a mama?"
Me: "No..."
Boy: "Why?"
Me: "I'm not married, so I don't have kids" (keep it simple - he can learn about single parents later, and not from me)
*silence*
Boy: "Why?"
Me: "Um, I haven't met the right person yet" (Seriously, is there a worse question for a single, Christian, twenty-something watching her friends get married off?)
Girl: "Well how do you know who the right person is?"
Me: "Um, well, um, uh, everyone has different ideas..."
Boy: "Why?"
Me: "..."

And the conversation ended shortly after that, probably with the two kids having no greater understanding of romance.

This just barely won out over the brief discussion of armpit hair and why girls shave it and guys don't.