From Friendship Circles to Whoville

The month of December was, quite honestly, a blur.  A beautiful blur, but a blur nonetheless.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks so.  But now that Christmas is past, I have a bit more time to reflect on some of my holiday activities at Dundonald Methodist and DFCI, and I thought I’d share a couple with you.  But before I begin, a warning: this account contains an alarming number of Christmas dinners.  And by “dinner” I mean the whole shebang: turkey, dressing, potatoes, Christmas cake.  Thankfully, these dinners were not all consumed on Christmas Day—they were mercifully spread throughout the month of December.  It was like having five Thanksgivings in one month minus the American football and pumpkin pie.  Another turkey dinner might have killed me, but, let’s be honest…it wouldn’t have been a bad way to go.

Since we’re on the topic of food, let’s start off with the Friendship Circle Christmas Dinner.  Every week, I get to spend an hour and a half with a group of seniors/pensioners from the church.  The Friendship Circle (which has also epically been referred to as The Circle of Trust) meets on Tuesday afternoons to share conversation, tea, and biscuits.  There’s often a special speaker or activity, and there’s always a good hymn-sing involved.  Our last meeting of 2010 was the annual Christmas dinner, complete with turkey, Christmas crackers (thus the paper crowns), and a visit from Santa.  Oh, and I should have given this warning earlier: this account contains pictures of me dressed as one of Santa’s elves (who, if the hat is any indication, obviously has some relations in Whoville).  This is possibly more alarming than five Christmas dinners in one month.

Next came the Christmas Party for Sticky Fingers, the mums and tots group that meets at the church every week.  There was a lot of great food, some good laughs, and—you guessed it—another visit from the North Pole crew.  The Christmas magic never stops.

Me and Kelly, youth worker extraordinaire and reluctant wearer of
reindeer antlers.

Then there was the Christmas dinner with the Sticky Fingers mums.

And possibly another Christmas dinner with the DFCI staff.

We also did a couple of special Christmas activities for the afterschools clubs.  The first was a trip into the city to experience Follow the Star, an interactive version of the nativity story.  The kids got to knock on the inn door, listen as Mary and Joseph told their story, and watch as the wise men made their journey to Bethlehem.  We all laughed as the shepherds kept confusing us with their sheep, and some of us might have been a little intimidated by King Herod raging around his throneroom…until he appeared after the play with cookies and juice to share.

The second event was a Christmas activity afternoon, where we gave parents a chance to finish their last-minute shopping while we entertained their kids with games, cookery, crafts, drama, a DVD, and a visit from Santa.  I was on cookery duty for the afternoon (Some of you are laughing.  Stop it now.), so with the much-appreciated help of my fellow YAV Miriam, I spent a few hours introducing the kids to the American Christmas tradition of decorating the sugar cookie.  It was a bit of a sugar surge, but a general success overall.

The month came to a close with a couple of firsts: trying mince pies and Christmas cake for the first time, and joining my first Christmas choir. 

December may have been a bit of a whirlwind, and this Christmas season was different from any other that I’ve experienced, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.  From laughing with the Sticky Fingers mums to eating shortbread with King Herod and a group of 4-year-olds, I am so thankful for the experiences I’ve had, the people that I’ve met, and the friendships God has given me here.  And I’m thankful to you for praying for me and following my (often sporadic) updates about my life here.  I am honestly really excited to see what the new year will bring.

Christmas Comes

Christmas Comes

Christmas comes every time we see

God in other persons.

The human and the holy meet in Bethlehem

            or in Belfast, Baghdad or Boston,

for Christmas comes like a golden storm on its

way to Jerusalem—

determinedly, inevitably…

Even now it comes

            in the face of hatred and warring—

                        no atrocity too terrible to stop it,

                        no Herod strong enough

                        no hurt deep enough,

                        no curse shocking enough,

                        no disaster shattering enough.

For someone on earth will see the star,

            someone will hear the angel voices

            someone will know peace and goodwill:

            the Christ will be born.

                                                                        ~Ann Weems

Sometimes Christmas seems to come unexpectedly—you’re surrounded by lights and ornaments and Christmas carols for weeks, but you still don’t realize that the day is approaching.  At other times, Christmas seems to come too fast, the day careening toward you, gaining momentum with every expectation and to-do list.  Sometimes, when Christmas comes, it doesn’t feel at all how Christmas should—the right people aren’t around, you’re tired, there’s an emptiness.

But Ann Weems’ poem reminds me that the beautiful thing about Christmas is that it doesn’t depend on me—my feelings or my preparations.  It is a far greater and more glorious thing than that.  The grace of God and the love of God—the things that we remember at Christmas—are here.  God is present and working, despite the fact that people are trying to stop Him, that others aren’t thinking of Him at all, that I don’t feel prepared or equipped. 

And I think the storm is all the more glorious and golden because of it.

Happy Christmas.

Depend Upon It

There are a few things in life that you can absolutely depend upon—and I’m not thinking right now about family, good friends, or the grace of God.  I’m talking about those little plot twists in life that take you by surprise and frustrate you beyond belief—until you realize that they’re not plot twists at all.  They’re actually the predictable parts of my life’s storyline.  For example: if I decide to grab a quick dinner while I’m out running errands, there will inevitably be a meal waiting for me at home.  If I forget my umbrella, the clouds will darken and the floodgates will open.  If I have more than enough time to style my hair in the morning, the result will be subpar (at best).  All of these situations can, of course, work in the reverse: forgoing Taco del Mar means that there will be no dinner at home, an umbrella brings the sun out in full force, and 12 minutes with the curling iron looks like an hour.  Those are the predictable plot-twists in life.

There is another dependable aspect to life—one that I like to call the Kia Sedona Phenomenon (KSP).  Here’s how KSP works: whenever you consider buying a new car, the scales will immediately be lifted from your eyes, and you’ll realize that nearly everyone else in the world has just purchased the exact make and model that you want.  No matter how obscure or unique you think your car is, the roads will suddenly be filled with them.  I’m assuming that the same rule applies to baby names and new handbags.  There’s no explaining it.  It’s KSP.

I’ve recently been experiencing a little KSP here in Belfast, but it’s been more of a sobering realization rather than the annoyance you feel at the sight of Subaru Outbacks clogging up the freeway.  You see, during my first week here, I saw a church with a wall around it.

But it wasn’t just any wall.  It was a wall with frayed metal spikes protruding from the bricks—it was the sort of wall you really weren’t supposed to climb.  There was a gate at this church, too, and as you can probably guess, it was closed.  This wall was guarding the squat brick church and twenty pristine parking spaces, their lines clean and stark against the pavement.  

Now here’s the other important thing about this church: its building, its wall, and its car park sit right in the heart of a government housing estate.  It is surrounded by rows of brick houses, unruly plots of grass, and crumbling sidewalks.  Some of the murals on the houses have been repainted to portray children holding hands and playing games—but others still show masked men with guns.

Now, this next bit is just me speculating, but…the fact that this church cradles its parking spaces means that its members don’t come from the nearby houses—they have to drive a distance to get to church.  Now I’m sure that these members are wonderful people, and when the gate opens on Sunday morning, they take their regular parking spaces and their regular pew.  And I’m sure they’ve wondered why so few people from the surrounding estate attend Sunday morning worship.

Now here’s where KSP comes into play: after that first week, I’ve seen churches with walls all over this city.  But then the KSP caused me to have an even more sobering realization: Belfast isn’t the first place I’ve seen churches with walls.  I’ve seen them before in the States…and I’ve seen them in me.  Now, these walls aren’t necessarily made of brick—they’re often made of attitudes, routine, and a focus on the things within.  And that sort of wall is even harder to scale than the sort with the frayed metal spikes.

I’ve strengthened this wall when I forgot that there are important ministries outside of those that take place on a Sunday morning.  I’ve fortified it when I said that my church needs to sort out its own problems before it can effectively reach out to the surrounding community.  And I shut the iron gate when I wondered why people weren’t taking the initiative to come through the church doors themselves.

Through some of my work at Dundonald this year, I believe that God is trying to teach me to be quicker to recognize the needs of the families that live in those surrounding brick houses.  He’s showing me that the church will never be perfect, but He is big enough to use us right now, in spite of our imperfections.  And He is helping me to realize that some people might never take the initiative to come in through the church doors…so we have to go out to them and meet them in the place where they are.

All this from a little KSP.

Of Hula-Hoops and Buttered Toast

Lest you think I’m spending all my time playing tourist here in Belfast, I thought I’d write a post about the activity that takes up most of my week: afterschools club.  On Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, we open the church to the kids who live nearby, offering them a safe and fun place to spend a couple hours.  The activities we plan are many and varied—I’ve found myself playing relay games, baking cookies, making masks, and even writing poetry.  It all depends on the day.  Here’s a little sampling of what a typical afterschools club is like:

When the kids first arrive, they have some free time
to play in the Main Hall.  Here, some of the girls show
off their hula-hoop skills.

Paul is studying to be a Methodist minister, and he's
working with us on placement this year.  Here, he discusses
the finer points of hula-hooping.

Bill oversees an intense game of 10-pin bowling.

As the kids play, Heather and Gail start preparing the
afternoon snack: buttered toast and juice.

Paul and Kelly make sure that everyone has toast
and juice.

After snack, the kids go to different stations for the
rest of the afternoon: some to arts and crafts, some
to games, some to cookery, and some to drama.  I've
tried my hand at leading these different stations
...with varying success.  :)

Stormont

A couple miles from my house sits Stormont, the home of the Northern Ireland Assembly.  Although Great Britain retains certain governmental powers (such as taxation and foreign policy), Northern Ireland manages issues such as health, education, and agriculture.  Stormont, built in 1932, is the place where the Northern Irish government gathers to make its decisions.

Every morning, the bus takes me past the Stormont estate.  It can take you by surprise if you’re not expecting it.  The streets of brick houses and shops suddenly give way to a press of green trees bound by a wrought-iron fence.  And almost as quickly as the fence appears, it broadens and grows into a massive gate with clean-cut stones, ponderous lanterns, and heavy iron doors.  The road leading from the gate to Stormont is a mile long, bordered by two straight strips of sidewalk and lines of thick-trunked trees.  Even from the gate, you can see the grand building of Stormont presiding over its estate, over both politicians and dog-walkers.  It is dramatic and regal—a parliamentary Pemberley, almost. 

I love walking here, especially now that the leaves are beginning to turn.

Looking down from Stormont

Another view of Belfast from Stormont

Some Differences

Sometimes, living day-to-day in Northern Ireland lulls me into a false sense of security—since I can read and speak the language, I find myself assuming that communication will be effortless.  But then someone will look at me strangely after I say something, or one of the kids in the afterschool program will ask me a question full of words that I’ve never heard before (and trust me, I’ve learned the hard way that guessing doesn’t work well—it’s much better to ask them to repeat themselves).  Maybe if I were more prepared for these little differences, they wouldn’t surprise me so much.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad surprise—but it’s a surprise all the same. 

Here are some of the differences that I’ve had fun observing and, at times, putting into practice (with varying degrees of success):

Providing transportation is giving someone “a lift”—never “a ride.”

When eating, your fork is held in one hand and your knife in the other.  You turn your fork over and use your knife to pile food on top of it (your bite might consist of mashed potatoes and peas, for instance, or French fries—chips—and coleslaw).  If you’re thinking that this takes a fair amount of balance and skill, you’re right.  If you’re thinking that I probably haven’t gotten the hang of it yet, then you’re right again. 

You might describe a timid person by saying, “She wouldn’t say boo to a goose.”

You might describe a crazy person by saying, “He’s mad as a bag of spiders.”

Scundered: embarrassed, awkward, uncomfortable

A vacuum is a “hoover.”  This can also be a verb, as in, “I’ve just hoovered the stairs.”

When someone offers you juice, they’re likely talking about squash—not the vegetable, but a sort of liquid concentrate fruit drink.  You make it by pouring a small amount into a jug and adding water.  You end up with a vaguely fruity, vaguely sugary, vaguely carbonated drink.

Chasies: the game of tag

Pumpkin Spice does not exist as a Starbucks syrup here.  This is the only difference that I have not had fun observing.

Wick: rubbish; can be used as an adjective or exclamation 

In years past, trick-or-treaters have been given money more often than sweets.  However, it now seems that sweets are more in demand.  Also, Halloween fireworks are a big pretty big deal. 

How's the form?  It's another way of saying how are you?

More table etiquette: when I went out for lunch the other day, everyone at the table set aside the top half of their hamburger bun and proceeded to eat the rest of their burger with a knife and fork.  The leftover piece of bun was later eaten with knife and fork, as were the chips (French fries).  Now, perhaps this is also done in polite American society, but I have to admit that it was a first for me. :)

On the Train to Bangor

I’ve always enjoyed a bit of spontaneity.

Alright, maybe “always” is a stretch.  I usually like spontaneity, especially when I’m expecting it.  And last weekend, Jo and Miriam and I enjoyed a bit of well-planned spontaneity. 

We had decided that Saturday would be an excellent time for a day-trip, so we showed up at the Belfast Central Train Station with open minds, an Ireland for Dummies guide book, and no particular destination in mind.  After some awkward squinting at train timetables and covert glances at guide books, we decided to ask the man behind the ticket counter for suggestions.  In ten minutes, we found ourselves on the train headed for the nearby town of Bangor (pronounced bang-ger).  As you can see, it turned out to be quite a success:

Walking along the pier in Bangor.  We told ourselves that
the rain and wind just gave the place some extra flavor.

I may or may not have gotten splashed.  More than once.

Apparently, there is a park nearby with boats shaped like swans.
I thought that it might not be the right day to set sail in a swan.

Bangor Castle, finished in 1852.  The word "castle"
might be a bit of a stretch...but I mean that in the best
possible way.

View of Bangor from the castle.

Part of the castle grounds.

Inside the castle, Jo and Miriam were vastly entertained by
a movie on the history of Bangor as a holiday hotspot.

Bangor Abbey.  Although most of this present structure
was built in the mid-19th century, there has been an abbey
on this site since A.D. 558

The abbey may have been founded by St. Comgall, but
it still has the creepiest cemetery I've ever seen.  With all
the overturned and cracked gravestones, it was like there
had been a small resurrection of the dead.

Successfully spontaneous.