by | Jun 29, 2006 | Uncategorized

Lonely At The Odeon
There’s a girl in the cafe downstairs, sitting in the corner on the faded green chair. I like that chair because the arms are at just the right height, and the cushion is just worn enough to be comfortable. She’s been staring out the window, watching the pedestrians with a certain expectant eagerness. She’s disappointed, but hopeful.

I was waiting for my coffees-to-go; standing at the bar, looking across the room. Scavenging for eye occupation while the espresso brews and the milk is steamed. She walked to the bar and asked for ‘another while I’m waiting, please?’. She asked with a questioning tone at the end, all at once pleading for mercy and kindness, preserving dignity with a snigger and shrug.

She sat down again, same faded green chair and pulled out her cellphone. She hesitated and then set to it, with determination. She exerted a thumping angry force on the keypad, and hunched over it like a demon working a lathe. So firm and hard, her thumb hitting out the message.

When she looked up again, and caught my eye, I looked away. Stood up and caring far too much, there’s a damp glint in her eye. You can see pride rising up, and melancholy approaching over her shoulders and into her belly. She cares too much for it to be trivial. Someone’s on the last chance, the close pass on thin ice and it can’t be good.

She’s as empty a vessel as ever I’ve seen in the few short weeks we’ve lived over the cave of the Odeon. I’ve not seen her before, and may not again, cos it seems like she came a long way to get here today. I left, and she’s probably leaving soon.

by | Jun 28, 2006 | Uncategorized

Far Away Fires Keep On Burning

for a long time I’ve written about the home fires. the mythical place where the fire keeps burning, awaiting our homecoming, and our returning. It’s the place that we call home. the space that we create in amongst the shadows of our loved ones. in amongst the spaces where they live, and where we long to reside, we let the sparks fly and there, we make our nests, and call it home.

yup. mcglashan has a handle on home. which means he probably has a handle on far away as well. my handle on far away is you, thinking about home, and me thinking about being where you are. just because away from home, with someone else who shares home with me, seems like the best way. yup.

strangely enough, cheese, you do seem like home.

Check out etnobofin on Don McGlashan.

by | Jun 27, 2006 | Uncategorized

Newspapers And Talkback Shows Always Have A Lot To Say
The current mood of the country is somber. There’s an air of aghastness permeating the coffee shop conversations, the loitering at gas station counters over the front page headlines. There are twin boys, dead and buried now. A nation that is demanding answers, a social support and justice system that can’t extract them, and now in this moment; a chilling window into the underbelly of NZ culture that we’d wished to avoid.

Perhaps there was a moment of relaxation in the years that have passed since Alan Duff’s ‘Once Were Warriors’ confronted us visually with the gritty reality of our day to day. There is a clean-cut intelligence of how we’d like to be; but we’re always subject to our lowest common denominator.

by | Jun 19, 2006 | Uncategorized

Dixie Chicks On The Tune-o-meter

“Favorite Year”

We were young and so inspired
We weren’t the only ones who thought
We’d change the world
No sun would set without us
No one we knew could ever doubt us

We had our future figured out
We knew a love like ours would always save the day
And that we’d always be ok

But would you know me now
Would you lay me down beside you
Tell me everything I want to hear
Like that was your favorite year
Like that was your favorite year

You looked at me like no one else
But sometimes love just doesn’t seem to conquer all
We search for someone else to blame
But sometimes things can’t stay the same

But would you know me now
Would you lay me down beside you
Tell me everything I want to hear
Like that was your favorite year
Like that was your favorite year

Holding on to the memories
Of when we were younger
I can’t forget
Cause when we were together
That’s when I was at my best

And would you know me now
Would you lay me down beside you
Tell me all the things I long to hear
Like that was your favorite year
Like that was your favorite year
Cause that was my favorite year

I’m at a loss most mornings when I wake up now. I have a great dream unfolding. It’s stinking hard work, but I’m working at it. I’m working with great people – and it’s all like I’m standing on ice, sliding into the deep. In the midst of this work/life/mission creative energy, is the dangerous precipice of standing alone.

I used to write that the drive home is the loneliest place, but I think I’m about to change that. I’m discovering the loneliness of happiness that happens on the outside of everything and everyone else. I’m discovering afresh the loneliness of the trusted not being there. I’m taunted in the small, dark, icicles of morning with the emptiness of my house, and the silence in between my breaths.

I never knew I was this needy – that I required so much sharing of the dream. Maybe J knew this all along and that was part of the magic of his friendship at d:camp and eastercamp, and on all the projects and journeys. The beauty for me is in the sharing of the laughter and the stories. The magic of the dreaming is all about the community of them.. that they exist bigger than just my own imaginings and deeper than my own heart and mind.

Some friends are like wallpaper. In a beautiful necessary sort of way. It’s important, and you certainly know if you replace wallpaper with paint, but you can get away with all sorts.. bare walls still make a house. Others, though, are like electrical wiring. They hide and curl around all the inside parts of you, and light you up, heat you up, spark inside you until you need their spark before you have anything to offer into the world.

Some journeys require more than a slap of a paint, or a 40watt bulb. They live on the livewire of the spark with the heartbeat of the mains throbbing at the end of the line. Hook me up.

Beating
Yeah, my heart is definitely beating. Definitely beating. Thumping.

Questions That Have To Be Answered. Questions I’d Never Have Written.

1. who is the target audience in terms of music genre?
2. What is the paradigm that is driving our style (ie: what models are we emulating?)
3. what is the process for adopting new songs into our repertoire> how is the selection of songs made> how are they tested for congregational sing-ability and theological content?
4. how loud is okay and how loud is excessive?
5. what is the impact of our seating layout?
6. how do we (ought we) to define worship?
7. what can we do that allows for meaningful response to preaching and worship?
8. what systems of critiquing (making good even better) could we develop of our services?
9. what does ‘seekerfriendly” mean or look like in a youth and young adult context?
10. how is important is stage appearance (what it looks like from the congregation’s perspective)?
11. what are the appropriate/inappropriate ways of asking people to respond?
12. what are the appropriate/inappropriate ways on engaging the congregation in activity? (is it appropriate to ask them to discuss a question/pray together in groups?)
13. what are we looking for in worship leaders? what are the critieria in their selection?

Hmmm… watch for the questions I’d really like to ask.

by | Jun 16, 2006 | Uncategorized

Gather Round Ye Old And True
So we moved in, and have started making progress on an enormous whiteboard of things to do, jobs to pitch, work to create and work to execute. We’re even now at the point of figuring out how much work we need to pursue in terms of big stuff and little stuff.

In the midst of all that, we are in the middle of discussing and dreaming how to make the Hymnbook possible. Getting caught up in all the ideas around the album recording and the documentary film, the artists and the production values – it seemed like we had almost lost the very focus with which this started for me.

So tonight, after a glass of far too fresh merlot, finally it hit us, that the first thing is to go to the text. And then the question of how much spirro to take in or out of the equation is answered in emphasising the storytelling, not just the scripture connections. So yes, and good.

Working With A Friend
It’s been good so far. There’s a relatively easy and comfortable working balance. The silence isn’t too heavy, we have the same taste. I wrote some stuff this week, and he editted. I pitched and we nailed it. It’s a good balance. There are other things as well though. Like the fact that I’m the luckiest girl in our office.. because I have the boy in my office. The boy who can lift and carry and drill and so on. Of course, having a boy in your office has it’s own issues – but I think just maintaining a careful eye is the best approach.

The Anti-Bride
Tere is getting married – and although she’s been engaged for months now, she’s finally picked the date and booked the church and the celebrant. These are major milestones. Not an engagement ring, but at least the main parts are sorted, including the cars. Hair and makeup isn’t too much of an issue either. As of this afternoon, the dress is done as well! Hallelujah. The reason why we are joking around about her being the anti-Bride is that so many of the little things that ordinarily matter so much to brides.. jsut don’t matter to our girl. And that’s a good thing. So we are hard at work, making this the best day so far, and a day where she feels like an absolute princess. The dress is stunning. Yay. Now shoes and jewels.