The Hunger Project - Day 6

White hydrangeas which reveal something (unknown to me) about the soil

It's a grey December first. Fitting, because grey seems a theme of late. The only blue-sky day we've had recently was Friday, which I spent curtains-drawn in bed, trying not to keep my insides on the inside. The forecast says our next proper glimpse of the sun will come well into mid-week, which does not bode well for this sun-obsessed writer. 

Advent begins today. I'll remember that light is coming. 

The Hunger Project - Day 5

It's the thirtieth of November and the skies have finally opened. It's been threatening to rain all week, dark skies obscuring the sun and casting everything in a cool, grey light. They've finally fulfilled their promise today and it's bucketing down outside my window as if to make up for holding back all week. What took you so long? I want to ask. I know I'll receive no answer. The rain falls onto cars, dead birds squashed into roads, the pohutukawa tree. The garden knows not to ask any questions, simply rejoices. 

It's the thirtieth of November and I am full of clichés. Tomorrow is December, the beginning of Advent, the beginning of the end of 2024. I have only three weeks left of school and my bright, funny, goofy class will be mine no more, scattered by the winds to the other side of the school hall. My heart pre-emptively clenches at the loss. 

It's the thirtieth of November and my brothers won't text me back. I am trying to organise their Christmas gift, but their silence prevents me. 

It's the thirtieth of November and the fifth day of this project. Yesterday was a lost cause. I woke up sensing that the queasiness and unpleasant stomach systems I had suffered the night before had persisted. Texts were sent, plans reorganised and the covers drawn back over my head to fall back into a broken, sweaty, hours-long sleep. I ate what I felt like yesterday and that included some junk food. It was okay. I don't think it needs to bring these thirty days to a screeching halt. I'm back on track today, trying to pay attention to my body and being, and what both of them need. 

It's the thirtieth of November and the post-its on my wall are calling. It's time to pray those big prayers again. 

The Hunger Project - Day 3

My computer just died on me so today’s post is going to be really short because I hate typing on my phone. 

I said I’d report back yesterday, about whether I sensed God’s presence in tangible ways throughout the day. No-one who knows anything of God’s true and generous nature will be surprised by this, but yes! He was so present to me! This mostly took the form of being haunted by Colossians 3. Let me explain. 

For some reason this week, I’ve been drawn back again and again to Colossians 3, a passage I’ve always loved. Although I’ve always loved it, I’ve never experienced it to be as apt for almost every situation I’m facing as I have this week. 

In moments of anger in class, reminders to “rid myself of all such things as these” and “clothe [myself] with compassion, kindness.” For an old grudge, a call to “forgive one another” and “bear with each other.” For almost every other moment, a gentle reminder that I am “holy and dearly loved.” 

The Lord is and has been present to me. Hallelujah. 

The Hunger Project - Day 2

 

A grey day at the glorious Monte Cecilia Park

I'm wearing my Eeyore socks today. It's a private sign to myself that perhaps all is not quite right, and that that's okay. I can acknowledge it in the privacy of my boots. 

Yesterday went well, eating-wise and keeping-to-the-letter-of-the-law wise. I did find myself sitting in bed at night, contemplating the nature of "success," but that's to be expected, I guess. Who can say what success is after just one day? 

This morning, as I walked through a persistently grey park, I found myself enjoying the day's Lectio reflection, and felt immersed in God's story. Simultaneously, I was worried about the feeling that often comes mere moments after the track stops, the sense that as palpable as God's nearness was for those ten minutes, I've now been abandoned for the rest of the day. "You're on your own, kid," says God, à la Taylor Swift. 

I know this isn't true. So as I walked back over the little hill that brings me to my house, I asked: please, let me feel your nearness today. Let me sense your presence. I'll report back tomorrow. 

The Hunger Project - Day 1

The Donut at Monte Cecilia Park in the rain

By design, today's writing session is going to be short and sharp. It's mostly just to get down on the page what exactly I mean by "hunger" and to dump my thoughts on what I hope the next 30 days will look like before disappearing to school. 

I want to learn to hunger well. Currently, I am hungering after crappy processed food that provides a temporary reprieve from my feelings of stress and sadness. It's report season, it's the end of the year, it's almost advent - these factors combine to produce the sort of maelstrom that has me reaching for Kit Kats. Only I don't want to anymore. I can't anymore. Kit Kats and fries do not satisfy me. I have found this out again and again, but I still get stuck in an endless loop of eating, feeling shame, resolving never to do it again only to stumble and reach for the chocolate a few days later. It's hindering my intimacy with God, it's stunting my character growth and it's curtailing my influence. I will repeat again: I cannot do this anymore. 

I know that this is not about food, but rather satisfying my deeper desires. It's about hungering for the right things. 

So, I'm undertaking a project. I have all sorts of caveats about this which I will expand on at a later date, but I'm short on time so I'll just lay down the parameters of this project and run.

Over the next 30 days, I commit to: 

• Living by my Rule of Life
• Not eating any junk food (chocolate that's not dark, cookies & biscuits, lollies, muesli bars, fast food)
• Going on a short walk to listen to Lectio 365 each morning before work - seeking to start the day by stoking my hunger for God, not lesser things
• Documenting my walk in photo and my thoughts in writing on this blog each day
• Planning what to eat the day before and sticking to it 
• Reading Scripture whenever I'm feeling hungry 
• Rewarding myself with a little money towards my "Fun fund" for every day that I'm on track with my hungering 

That's it for now, little Internet home. See you tomorrow morning. 

The Saturday Diaries vol. 13

It's 11:15am and I have risen from bed; my brushed teeth and I are ready to write. The weather is changing. I can feel it, the forecast says it, and so, too, do the olive leaves outside my window, signalling something with their stillness. 

There's a reason for my unreasonably late rousing this morning. It's been a funny old week. 

I had a work promotion confirmed and noted the congratulations and conspicuous lacks of congratulations with interest. I joyfully congratulated a friend on her engagement, realising that with it comes the arrival of a new chapter in her story. Time will tell if there's room for me in it. I created a profile on a dating app, allowing myself ten minutes a day to scroll through the (lacklustre) prospects. I have already spotted two men I know on there, one with his shirt off, confirming my previously-established suspicions about his unsuitability for me. 

The week ended with an ebullient Diwali celebration at my school. Students and staff alike wore their finest lehengas and saris and jewellery. I began my attempts to tie my own sari at 6, finally making it out of the house at 7:30, pleats intact and eyelids covered in gold. We sat through two assemblies (the dance-based one more exciting than the other) and no-one was happier that me to hear the bell ring at 3. 

I arrived home, exhausted and ready to put my feet up, to a note from a ghost. I didn't recognise it as such at first, thinking it was my flatmate who had left a pink post-it attached to a block of chocolate by my door. But no, it was the ghost, passing through, asking if I'd like to catch up for dinner on Monday. It would mean a great deal, the ghost wrote, to connect. 

How to respond to a ghost? Do I say yes to dinner? Propose an alternative? Politely inform the ghost that I'm no longer interested in these visits from the other side? 

I have been to dinner with a ghost once, almost five years ago. After abruptly and unceremoniously dropping me as a friend, my first ghost reached out a year later to ask if I wanted to have dinner. I did, a little, so I said yes. Dinner with the ghost consisted of chit-chat, interrogations about my love life and, close to the summation of the dinner, being informed that my eyebrows were uneven to the point that the ghost had been able to concentrate on little else during our time together. All contact with the ghost ceased until a year later, again, when I received an invitation to a wedding in the mail.

 

The thing I recall with a great stabbing pain is that I discussed this invitation from the first ghost with my newest one. "Why would she invite me to the wedding? She's wanted nothing to do with me for all this time, why now?" Ghost No. 2 understood Ghost No. 1's logic. Weddings are a time where people get reflective and think about the people who have influenced them. Ghost No. 1 was remembering me in a  positive light, Ghost. No. 2 said, the light in which I should have been seen all along. "You are gold," said Ghost No. 2. Apparently not, I thought at the time. Two years later, it would appear Ghost. No. 2 agrees with me. 

All of this was enough to send me to bed with sushi and a queue of Bunheads episodes last night. It kept me in bed this morning, too. I still don't know how to respond to the ghost. Perhaps one ghostly dinner is enough for a lifetime. Perhaps accepting a dinner invitation will allow the ghost to change form. 

I shall continue mulling these things during and after my shower, but before I go, a few notes from the week.

Reading: In an attempt to slow down my reading life and not consume books at too voracious a rate, I have set myself the challenge of reading only ONE fiction or non-fiction book per week (theological/spiritual books are exempted, because I usually finish these at a slower pace). My book last week was You Need a Budget - much needed, but not enough to sustain my interest for a week. My choice this week was infinitely better on the interest and, let's be honest, fun front - White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Oh Zadie. I cannot believe she was TWENTY-FIVE when this amazing novel was published. I'm not fussed about not being a wunderkind myself, but I certainly appreciate them when I come across them, particularly if they're providing me with engrossing, astute and wildly funny novels. I am loving Zadie Smith's London and its characters and shall be returning to them this afternoon. 

Watching: CSI. Have you ever seen CSI? It is ridiculous and poorly-lit and impossible in so many ways, but it has been exactly what I've needed this week. Brains scattered all over a room and blood congealed in a corner? No problem - the CSIs are on it. The seedy Las Vegas setting makes for a great backdrop and the formulaic storylines have proved to be the balm of Gilead I needed this week. Plus, as with all long-running procedurals, there are some great guest stars. Mae Whitman! A pre-Office John Krasinski! That guy from Friday Night Lights! It's a guaranteed good time. 

Listening to: a great new-to-me podcast called Spilled Milk in which the two hosts take a deep dive into something food-related. Last week it was carob. The week before it was monkey bread (google it). Their enthusiasm and inevitable unearthing of something fascinating makes for delightful listening and much food-related googling. Look it up! 

28

R and I, lounging in a truly strange exhibit at the Auckland Art Gallery

I turned 28 last week. Learning from past mistakes, I threw myself a party complete with pink balloons and pizza. 

"It looks like I've decorated for a four year old's birthday," I joked to my flatmate while blowing up confetti-filled balloons. 

"I like it," she said, puffing into the last of the pink globes. 

"So do I," I admitted, surveying our handiwork. It was all very pink and glittery and it all felt very me. 

On my birthday, I walked through the streets of the central city with my friend, R. As we searched for a spot to read quietly in the sun (she knows me well), I turned to her and said, "I'm 28 and I'm so happy."

Without missing a beat, she said, "You know, I can sense that." 

It was the best gift she could have given me. To know that this profound sense of contentedness and ease-in-self can be felt by my loved ones is to know it's not all in my head. Cracked vessel though I am, this freshly-stoked joy fire within can be seen and felt from the outside. 

My 28th birthday featured lemon cake and cute cards and late-night ice-skating. It was a glorious, genuine, joyful celebration of 28 years of life and it came at the end of a particularly hard year. That buoyancy and happiness I felt while roaming familiar streets with R was hard-won. 

***

As a newly-minted 28 year-old, I am obviously a sage and therefore qualified to dispense advice, safe to be swallowed whole without hesitation. 

I jest, of course, but I have learned a lot in the past year, many of the lessons being - here's that word again - hard-won. I'll type them here lightly and leave them for your perusal and scrutiny; my 28-year-old self won't be bothered either way. 

***

28 Things I've Learned in 28 Years

1. You are allowed to change your mind. About people, places, TV shows, and jumpsuits. This does not make you an unsteady person, just a growing one. 

2. Just as you will change your mind about people, some of them will change their minds about you. Sometimes, this re-evaluation will occur simultaneously, as if the two of you are coal-miners emerging from a cave and blinking at each other in the harsh new light. Sometimes, only the other party will re-assess. This may hurt, but it will also, eventually, be okay. 

3. Don't knock your hometown. You may find yourself back there one week in the springtime and be brought to your knees by all the renewal you see around you.

4. When people show you who they really are, believe them. 

5. You are allowed to turn down nice boys simply because you have no romantic interest in them. Politeness, but no apology is needed. 

6. "Life does not consist in an abundance of books" Luke 12:15 (Jovita Manickam paraphrase) 

7. You are allowed to both have and articulate needs. This does not make you needy, it makes you human. 

8. Let people look after you. 

9. Life's too short to pretend you're okay with a potential paramour's obsession with Warhammer. Someone else will be into that, but that someone is not you. 

10. When people tell you how they really feel, believe them. 

11. Spring for the nice moisturiser. 

12. Your hunch that you should use your leisure time to engage with stories and perspectives that differ from yours? It's a good one. Keep at it. 

13. The accrual of years does not equate to the accrual of wisdom. It is possible (and surprisingly common) to have one without the other. 

14. Your voice will emerge as you practice saying things. It's okay if you sometimes croak on the path to clarity. 

15. The kids are alright. Despite the horror news stories and stats on anxiety and depression, there are some who are being raised as resilient, committed disciples whose passion for Jesus burns brighter than you'd ever dared hope. Pray for them, encourage them and cheer them on. God has marvels He's yet to perform. 

16. There are very few times in life where you will make a decision once and never revisit it. Convictions of all kinds require constant shoring up. 

17. You have a figure and this is good. The fact that a particular size of jumpsuit does not accommodate your hips means only that you need to find a bigger size. Wear that bigger size and admire the curves that God gave you. 

18. You are capable of enduring months-long heartache that has you waking and walking through your days in a daze. Though it seems impossible, with the newfound clarity you've acquired on the other side, you will be grateful for having gone through that period and all that you've learned. 

19. Be on the lookout for the surprising goodness of God. 

20. Record everything - if only for yourself. 

21. People will sometimes regard your wonder and curiosity about the world with disdain. This is entirely their problem, not yours. 

22. It is always, always worth taking a moment to pause and consider whether an action is kind. 

23. Take photos sometimes. You will enjoy seeing how happy you were and how much you loved the people around you. 

24. Celebrate yourself, and invite others into that celebration. You may not yet have hit the markers that our culture tends to throw lavish parties for (marriage, babies) but you have many things in your life that you can lavishly celebrate. Make the most of every opportunity to do so. 

25. When you are with a friend, make it your goal to be wholly attentive to them. So much of friendship is mutual seeing. 

26. Routines lead to flourishing. Do everything in your power to maintain yours, adapting as and when needed. 

27. Lean into seasons as much as you can. Winter is for watching Gilmore Girls in your pyjamas. Spring is for long walks around the neighbourhood. 

28. You might spend an entire lifetime following Jesus only in your twenty-eighth year to be absolutely bowled over by the depth of his love for you. Relish it, weep over it, stay in it.