My obvious Olympic prowess

I could totes be an Olympic swimmer.

I just didn’t want to get up at 5am every morning. I mean, I’ve got what it takes of course. I can eat 12 Weetbix like the rest of them. Bring it on.

But no, I’ve chosen a slightly more…. shall we say… idle path. My beastly engine is idling in the garage, you know, to give others a fighting chance at the race. Plus, I didn’t really like the idea of wearing my bathers in front of the nation, and don’t even, with that swimming cap.

There was a small moment, in my youth, when I foolishly thought I could achieve great things.

PFFT!

Thank goodness I learned to squash those thoughts, or at least to keep them private. It was almost as though I heard God say, I have created you for a full life, a life of wonder and passion and drive. I made that engine for a reason, so we can work together and run the race.

Who does he think he is? A performance enhancing substance?

Hard work? No thanks. As for enhancing my performance …. Could you just keep it to Sunday feelies thanks!?

So yeah, I could have.

But you know, sitting on the couch in my dressing gown watching other swimmers, shedding the odd tear, and felling proud of ‘our’ achievements is good enough for me. I don’t need any skin in the game.

In fact, I find that when you don’t take your engine for a spin, when it sits idling, you don’t need much fuel. Sweet.

I’m ultimately working towards a fueless engine, completely self-sufficient.

Whilst it’s nice to loll about watching Olympians, I’m glad it’s only every four years. I mean who wants to be reminded of the fruit of sacrifice and years of hard work, determination, commitment and perseverance? Who wants to be reminded of their potential and the value of team work and comradery? Who wants to be reminded that we are all created with spirit, passion and promise?  I don’t need that in my life.

Podium finish?

I guess I could aim for a Jesus style podium finish, although that may be too many metaphors for one blog.

#mymediocrelife

Utopia

Stupid Netflix.

Yeah sure, I’ve got house work to do, dishes to wash, places to go… well, the first two at least, but no… Netflix.

Stupid skinny, hot, capable, wealthy, smart, buff, quick witted impossibly good looking people on Netflix.

My life wouldn’t score a guernsey on Netflix. I don’t jog through central park with sweat in all the right places, vibing come hither undertones. I trudge through the burbs with sweat in places that shouldn’t exist vibing last nights garlic bread. I don’t power stride into my office an hour early carrying my macchiato ready to take on the world. I shove the kids out the door in my dressing gown, rush the kettle like a dog on heat, make myself a Nescafe gold and stare at the pile of breakfast dishes my tribe of 6 have left on the bench like an in your face ‘have a good day’ finger.

Sigh.

I live in the real world. How dull.

If only Netflix was pretend. If only the real world was real.

I suck at real life.

Look. I have improved.

I now bi annually make the bed, sometimes I get up early and make my husband breakfast and yeah I make my kids the same birthday cake every year but I haven’t Febreezed any undies since 2001.

Actually I lied, I’ve never woken early to make my husband breakfast… *teeth baring emoji*

Real life alludes me. How do the Netflickers do it? It’s almost as if it’s imaginary. Like a cruel joke engineered to make me feel dissatisfied with Febereezed undies, because my life should be full of colour coordinated days of splendour. I should enjoy daily witty banter, challenging and meaningful relationships while my hair looks on point.

Imagine if there could be life in this real life, that was satisfying, meaningful and purposeful. Imagine if it was ok to vibe garlic bread, if I could find fulfillment in the everydayness of things. Imagine if there were other people like me.

It’s almost as if I’m being tempted and tricked into thinking that a glamorous life is what I was made to strive for. It’s almost as if being dissatisfied with my life, dissatisfied with who I am and dissatisfied with God is some kind of ploy to distract me from knowing the true source of fulfilment.

Maybe the Netflix life is a trap.

Maybe my real life is a gift that I’ve hidden below years and years of greed, years and years of selfishness, years and years of self indulgence.

Maybe, at its core, the Netflix life is hollow. Shiny and appealing, but shallow and unfulfilling.

Perhaps, if I could find other people who suck, we could live lives that are authentic, open and honest. Not like in an oops yes sorry my bad I did exaggerate the other day when I said this dress was nothing just an old thing because I actually spend a small fortune on it type way, but more like a you know what I stuffed up majorly, I’m broken, feeble and small, and without God I am nothing type way we could break the bonds of this Netflix lie.

Naked.

Shudder.

Awkward.

Whose up for a nudie run?

Midlife

I know a rude woman. Seriously she is just so offensive, saying highly inappropriate things all the time, it’s embarrassing. For example, for my 30 day writing challenge she offered me the word MIDLIFE.

She might as well have slapped me on the face with a wet fish. I mean, what do I know about midlife?

Midstream, yeah maybe I could work with that. But Midlife? So rude.

Anyway, she threw down the gauntlet and I accept. I will muster all of my observational skills and creative wherewithal to imagine what midlife might be like.

I think I can sum it up in one word.

Gravity.

It’s proven that the gravitational pull gets stronger as you get older. Things… drop, droop and drag. Earlobes get longer, hairs drop from your head and start trying to escape through your nose, even you insides start trying to escape in unsavoury ways. Your skin loses any hope of staying abreast of things and just gives up, hanging there like a burst party balloon.

Boobs. I can’t even….

So yeah, gravity.

We don’t leap, spin and twirl like we used to or if we do, we end up requiring medical attention.

But it’s not all physical.

We are truly weighed down. It gets harder to take risks, the implications of failure seem greater. The more we have accumulated, the harder it is to give it up. We get scared, we are prudent. We are safe. We find ourselves trapped in a cage of our own making.

We are wise. Apparently.

We are not frivolous.

We are mature. We are mundane. We are midlife.

THAT’S A CROCK OF SHIT. *whistling sharply through false teeth*

We are fearless followers of Christ known for flights of fancy!

Isaiah 40:28-31   New International Version (NIV)

 Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.  He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;  but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

 Eat my dust young thing, my strength is renewed, and I’m grabbing a Poise and running towards Christ.

Legs

 

This is the internet. And we all know that anything that is on the internet must be true. So I feel it is important to put it out there into cyberspace that I have long lithe legs. Legs for days, the kind of legs that make other women weep with jealousy.

Excellent. I now have lanky cyber legs.

Shame about my planet earth legs. Perhaps… trunks would be a better word. Sigh. On the bright side, at least I’m not likely to be blown over by a gust of wind anytime soon. I do however, find I have a kinship with the hams in the supermarket fridge section which can be disturbing.

Anyhoo. When I was a young newlywed… you know, the sort that shaved/waxed said trunks more than biannually… we did a lot of travel. My husband is a traveller, and he also likes to ski. On mountains. With snow. (It’s proven to be better with snow present). Subsequently he decided to take me skiing. I had only seen snow for the first time 2 days before, so you could say I was a novice. For some reason he decided that my first snow skiing experience would be on Whistler mountain in Canada.

Wow.

No, really… wow.

What a mountain.

So in order to ski you need gear. You need clothing that makes you seem wider/cuddlier/everything I normally try to avoid. And boots. Boots that are not made for walking. Naturally I presented my slender calf, slipping it effortlessly into the boot wondering… will this be too loose?

I struggle. I cram, I hold my breath in, I squish and squeeze my hefty calf into the unnatural unforgiving cocoon of foam and plastic, praying that I won’t cause the buckle to burst off and hit my neighbouring skier in the eyeball, my leg finally acquiesces. I stand/lean awkwardly upright. I’m ready.

Then my husband, with so little experience in this wedded bliss we share says the unthinkable.

“Don’t worry Bec, you just have stubby legs”

(Yes, He is still alive, although he does now have a phobia of ski equipment.)

And there you have it. I have stubby legs.

I waddle my way in my it’s so tight I have no blood reaching my toes boots to the top of the ski run.

My husband, having recovered from his boot hire injuries, waved goodbye as he slid down the mountain like a gazelle.

I stood atop the mountain. I did know that the idea was to slide down the mountain. But I didn’t/ couldn’t. I just stood there, in my too tight concrete boots. I can’t go down there! What if I trip over? What if I run into someone? What if it’s a complete disaster and I embarrass myself?

I stood stationary for some time. Like a time lapse with people whizzing past me. I stood. I stood there ALL DAY. Knowing that there was fun to be had, there was freedom to be had, that yeah I might take a tumble, but the ride was worth it. I stood. Afraid.

I was on one of the most beautiful mountains in the world, an exciting and invigorating journey lay before me, but I chose to stay rooted in the known, in the security of my stubby legged hole in the snow.

Bummer.

2 Timothy 1:7King James Version (KJV)

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

Letterbox

 

What if we all had really ugly letterboxes?

Today I was assigned an important task by my husband. I have been asked to research letterboxes to purchase.

Because we have an embarrassing letterbox.

A letterbox is a box… for letters.

Who am I kidding? A letterbox is a defining statement of our worth on the posessioness ladder, a metaphoric finger at your neighbours, my letter box is bigger than yours, a phallic symbol of our success and enormous wealth. DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPORATNT MY MAIL IS?

Our embarrassing letterbox is clearly a bit of a weakling, a bit scrawny, somewhat flaccid.

I find myself apologising for it. Boring people senseless with my bashful banter about our silly letterbox *shrill stick poke in the eye level of annoying giggles*.

Please, don’t think we chose this letterbox, or that we can’t afford a better one.

Lord have mercy.

It is a box, it functions perfectly, it stores letters which I retrieve.

So why the angst?

How can a box on my front lawn designed to collect my Telstra bill and annoying real estate magnets (does ANYONE put them on their fridge?) cause me angst? How did this box become a defining statement of worth for me and my family?

Because that’s just how fucked up I am.

Truly.

I am seduced. Somehow, my brain is so conditioned, so covered in layers and layers of wealth filth and deception that I allow myself to be seduced by a letterbox.

I need a perfect letterbox.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg isn’t it?

Guess what. It’s a lie.

I don’t need a perfect letterbox.

But guess what else? I need help, I need help to not need a perfect letterbox.

Because that’s how strong the pull is, the deception, the slimy clever evil one will use anything at his disposal, even a freaking letterbox, to keep me from finding that there is freedom to be had.

I’m serious.

I am so fallen, so broken, so sold into the lie, that I would think for one nanosecond that anything, that any possession here on earth could come close to the majesty of Christ, and the freedom to be found in following him.

1 Chronicles 29:11   New International Version (NIV)

 Yours, Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the splendour, for everything in heaven and earth is yours. Yours, Lord, is the kingdom; you are exalted as head over all.

And here I am, clinging to my letterbox like a spoilt brat.

Rebel I say.

Be brave. Let go. Repent. Give it ALL to him.

I was going to smartly say in all my smarty smart smartness to save your gold letterbox for heaven ready for letters from Paul. But guess what? I reckon heaven will be full of ugly letterboxes, cos we will be too busy living in freedom to care.

Ps. I NEVER swear in real life! I tried and tried to replace that word but the creative in me just knew it wouldn’t be strong enough, and still the nerd in me must apologise – soz.

Fishing

 

Matthew 4: 18-20   New International Version (NIV)

As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.”  At once they left their nets and followed him.

When Jesus said “I will send you out to fish for people” did he mean:

a) Find a beautiful stream, make sure you wear on trend branded clothing, gear yourself up, (no not that rod, that’s sooo last season), gather some mates, throw your line in the water, sit back and enjoy the serenity, if you don’t catch anything, it’s all good just enjoy yourself, relax.

b) Stand out in the desert reading your fishing almanac and scream at the top of your lungs “You fish are all swimming in the wrong place, idiots!”

c) Sit in your dinghy staring at the fish around you, whingeing. I’m not really in to fishing, I’m not gifted in that way. I would however like a bigger boat…

d) Find a school of low key, bottom dwelling dull fish. Join them. Then proceed to judge the future prospects of the showy tropical fish given the climate change issues the ocean is facing.

e)Become vegan.

f) Get a massive net, scoop up as many as you can. It doesn’t matter if they flap around with no idea where they are or what is happening to them, as long as you catch lots.

g) Get a sharp hook, trick the fish into swallowing it thinking it was something else, yes it’s painful, but also effective.

h) Tease the fish, reel them in, then release, reel them in, release a bit more, until they are so confused that they acquiesce.

i) Get a baby fish, keep it in a bowl as it grows up, never let it out, maybe invest in a fake plant and rock.

j) Stand on the beach, marveling at your strength and cleverness. Haul in as many salmon as you can, unhook them and bleed them, bleed them dry, while you sit back and have a well deserved beer.

k) Gather as many shiny lures as possible and drag them in the water in the hope that the fish will miraculously understand your subliminal message that there is also a real fish to follow, its just a bit embarrassing to mention overtly,  but look at all our bright shiny lures...

l) Become a blow fish so you repel all the other fish.

m) Find out where the fish are swimming, dive in, join in, wiggle your tail and lead them to a stream of living water where you can be free together.

n) I’m not really sure, but I know it made a cool song when I was a kid ♬♪♫ “I will make you fishers of men if you foollloooww meee.”

Fairness

 

Jesus says the darndest things.

Like this corker:

Matthew 16:24    New International Version (NIV)

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Now if I was Jesus marketing manager I would advise against this as his campaign slogan. , “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” It is quite frankly, appalling. That does NOT sound like a fair deal to me. It sounds like something to run run as fast as you can like the gingerbread man from.

I don’t want to deny myself, let’s start with that. I LOVE MYSELF. I surround myself with things that bring me comfort and pleasure. Thanks for coming. I may deny myself but that’s only if it brings me rewards like fitting into the right size dress, there has to be something in it for me.

 “I want to carry a heavy burden”

                                                -No one, ever

 Perhaps we should read the rest of the verses…

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 25 For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.

Errr, well sounds fair EXCEPT FOR THE PART WHERE I LOSE MY LIFE.

I notice that this verse doesn’t say “If you don’t want to lose your life for me, never mind. You asked me into your heart in 1985 and I’m happy to stay in your life as a handy accessory”

So, when you say lose your life you don’t mean, like lose it do you? (The disciples are clearly not setting a good example on this one)  You mean choose that more modest tile for my bathroom renovation even though I can afford the more expensive one don’t you?

Cos let’s face it. Whilst there are people following you, being persecuted, tortured and killed for you as I write this, I’m not. I’m sipping coffee.

So, if it’s ok with you I might just water this down a bit.

(BPV)

“whoever wants to be my friend must love themselves, take up a position on a roster and invite me into their heart (whatever that means), For whoever wants to have a better life than their neighbour will be ok as long as they visit me, and whoever gives up the tiles they could have afforded because they are going to donate the difference to the offering will be rewarded.”

C’mon that seems fair yes?

You give… let’s see… your life in a gruesome unjust and excruciating death

And I… hedge my bets and give up some of my money, my time and my tiles.

Sounds fair.

(BPV) Bec paraphrased version

Clog

You gotta un-clog your drain dude!

                                                 -Jesus (BPV)

One of the best (if not the best) things about working in the hairdressing industry is the amount of times you get a clogged drain.

It happens quite frequently and of course, it needs fixing. I am just the person for the job. Now don’t offend me by bringing out the driano *waves finger *… my tool/weapon of choice is the coat hanger. There’s nothing more satisfying than pulling out a massive hairball from a slimy drain. Well, hopefully that sentence isn’t true… Anyhoo… I’m the sort that likes to take a photo of it, give it a name and keep it as a pet for a few days, whilst others are having a chunder in the corner.

I’d just like to interject here as the sane part of Becky’s brain and point out how mature she has been not to use a blocked toilet analogy. *pat on back*

But ain’t nothing gonna stop from me from going the enema route *in your face sane brain*

Just kidding, Sorry Mum.

Let’s just say, when I refer to a “clogged drain” you know what I mean *wink*

Right, where were we, clogged drains and the bible, yes, a natural segue.

Exodus 20:3   New International Version (NIV)

³ “You shall have no other gods before^[a] me.

Ok… seems straight forward?

So, you know how sometimes you think you can hear God (maybe) or you feel he is leading you in some way, but how his voice is so faint you can hardly hear it? You gotta un-clog your drain dude!

Or like you are in a church service and you think God is speaking to you, but you clench your teeth and grip your fists into balls and mutter under your breath... “not now God”… You gotta un-clog your drain dude!

Or how you worry that if you took your faith seriously and did what the bible says you might go completely nutso so you fill your life up with as many distractions as possible… You gotta un-clog your drain dude!

Or how you fixate on your friends drain and how they really need to sort that shit out… You gotta un-clog your drain dude!

Because when we put fear, possessions, pride, selfish ambition, freaking pretzels if you like, before God then we clog up our drain. We put these things before him like a slimy hairball. And we worship the hairball. Dude. That’s nasty.

Don’t worry, the spirit interprets your prayers, just ask him “Lord, please un clog my drain”.

But you better be ready for a serious shit storm. Because the evil one wants us to walk around crippled by our enormous pent up constipation. Bloated by our worship of our hairballs. (Rebecca 12 verse: 6,7 BPV)

I clog my drain all the time, filling it up with shit, in a desperate attempt to block out God.

Get your gloves on God, you got some serious work to do.

(BPV = Bec paraphrased version)

Willing

 

Morning

Morning

So, another day eh?

Yep

Hey, do you reckon you could...I dunno, make my life totally awesome today?

Hmm, how do you mean?

Like, can you make me kind of super christian like? Can I, you know… arrive today at that place I’m searching for?

Let’s see, you want to know me and be in a complete relationship with me?

Errr… kind of? I guess?

Well, as you know, I am who I am. I am the I am. I rock  amness in all it's amnessness.

Are you on drugs?

No, I’m just trying to make a point, maybe read it in that bible I gave you check it out Exodus 3:14.

Ok…

I am the Lord your God. Do you trust me, are you willing?

Do I trust you and am I willing to let you make my life awesome? Hell yeah, I mean yes please!

Well, when you say awesome you mean you want to know me more yes?

Yes! Especially if it gives me the warm and fuzzzies!

*sigh* Ok so you trust me yes?

YES!

Are you willing to put that trust into action?

Errm… I guess so... I say I trust you, so I must. Being willing is easy surely. But before I say yes, can you give me an example?

Sure, are you willing to be generous?

Are you willing to be uncomfortable?

Are you willing to face hardship for me?

Are you willing to trust me with your kids?

Are you willing to have less, so that your brother can have more?

Are you willing to suffer for me?

Cough…. Not reeaaaalllyy *awkward moment of naked truth*

Ok are you willing to be willing?

*scratches head*…. I’m not super keen.

What are you willing to do?

I’m willing to admit I might have a small willingness problem, and perhaps commit to someday in the future addressing the fact that I need to be willing to be willing, God willing.

That’s not really following me is it.

No, not really. Could you perhaps help me to be willing?

I can, if you are willing ;)

Touché!... You are the I AM! *high five*... Let's get willing.

Expectations

 

I like thinking about expectations. I have a lot of them. I think about what they are and measure how well God is doing in meeting them. I’m thinking of developing a grading system to make it easier to give God feedback, and reduce time needed on ‘prayer’. Perhaps there could be an app that measured my daily expectations and outcomes and gave God a score? Or maybe a chart on the fridge clearly outlining my expectations with rewards given when he meets them, next to my footprints on the sand magnet.

Anyway, I also find praising God when he meets my expectations to be a good technique. I like to ‘invite him into the room’ to discuss his performance. I either praise him, or sometimes I give him the cold shoulder or shake my fist. Either way the most important thing is that he gets the message loud and clear, that I have expectations, he needs to know what they are, and he has me to answer for if they are not met.

Most of the time he does a pretty good job, but occasionally he has a real balls up. Like off the Richter scale disappointing, painful and I am NOT HAPPY JAN.

I find the silent treatment is the only way to go at these times.

I can only hope that my expectations are met in heaven. *sigh/huff*

Frankly, I expected more from him.

Like, when is he going to update the bible to be more consumer friendly? Like this verse.

Luke 12:48     New International Version (NIV)

…From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

Wait… you have expectations of me? Since when? Lucky I haven’t been given much….

Also, I thought the whole you are the vine I am the branch verse meant that I am an awesomely connected branch so let’s get drunk on the wine people! But that might have been the BPV (Bec paraphrased version).

Ok, well let’s assume for the moment that the actual bible is better than the Bec paraphrased version, here’s the verses:

John 15New International Version (NIV)

The Vine and the Branches

15 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. ² He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes^[a] so that it will be even more fruitful. ³ You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. ⁴ Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

⁵ “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. ⁶ If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned.

Errr…. Verse 6 would rate low on my app.

So… you have expectations of me. Let’s not focus on that. Have you seen your rating today? Time for some praise… where’s my ipod.