Accountability

her·e·tic
Pronunciation: 'her-&-"tik
Function: noun
1 : a dissenter from established church dogma;
2 : one who dissents from an accepted belief or doctrine

Two other guys gather into my living room whilst our wives meet elsewhere; each group forming a conclave of trust as our children sleep. Tension veneered with relaxed indifference is peppered with small talk; catching-up since we’ve last met. Each us know why we were here, but none of us want to openly admit the reason for needing this, or each other, as badly as we do. Drinks are offered, cushions rearranged on suddenly uncomfortable couches, conversation draws to silence, and someone suggests we get started. Somehow I’m nominated to open us in prayer.


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Lord Jesus, thank-you for bringing us here tonight, safely. We pray that you’ll watch over our wives as they meet also. Father, we offer this time to you to be made more like you. As we share our lives together, speak into us and through us. Make us more into the men you’ve created us to be. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

Nervous looks dart around the room like a frightened mouse. For a second the silence continues, but finally I offer it up, ‘Ok, I’ll go…’. And so begins the fortnightly accounting of my life. The good, the bad, the ugly, the spiritual, the not-so spiritual, the victories, the down-right sinful, and all the inner workings of my thoughts and actions.

In the days before we meet my stomach turns knots, trying somehow to hold within itself all that it is about shed. My soul writhes like a snake overgrown beneath the sin enveloping it, choking and restraining it. In order to grow further, the old skin needs to come off. But the process is painful, and it takes time, and it leaves you open and vulnerable. Like picking at dry flaky scales, prayer offers some relief. It at least calms me to the process, knowing that the get-together is in itself growth towards holiness. Every time we meet, a little bit more comes away.

We start by recalling our memory verses – something we’ve chosen to teach us, build us up, or correct our thinking. One by one we recite our latest scripture, with reference, each trying to out do the others with length, complexity and flawless repetition. Even here a guy’s competitive nature is not put aside! One falter, and there are sideways glances, half encouraging, half hoping to have at laugh at your less than perfect memory. The ice broken, we move on to more serious matters.

The usual stuff is talked about. How are we treating our wives? Our children? How is our time with God, one-on-one? Are we making the best of our resources? Is our thought life in line? What’s going on at work? Nothing is forced out – I’m free to choose what I share. My guys know they can ask anything, and equally I can say, ‘Don’t go there. I don’t want to talk about that.’ But we’re here to open ourselves, to get deeply into each other’s lives. What stays hidden stays unchallenged, and easily festers, infecting the good that remains in us.

We talk things through, mull things over, and generally challenge each other and ourselves on what we do and how we think. I often feel as though my metal is not iron, but yet we seem to sharpen each other.

Eat Less, Do More

There is no way you could call me a health nut. I love coffee and chocolate way too much be called health conscious! And I don't think I've ever lasted more than an hour on any diet known to man.

I was reading today that the latest craziness in diets might not actually be good for you. Low-carb diets can be unhealthy, and, The 'Glycemic index' is questionable as a diet tool. (Thereby making low-GI diets questionable). It seems that the only "breakthroughs" made in the world of dietary science requires complex counting, careful (some might say laborious) food selection, restriction of something that you probably enjoy, and may even be dangerous!

With all that said, I've managed to lose about 10 kgs (20-25 lbs) in the last 6 months. Along with eating healthily, there is only one rule I go by:

Eat Less.
Do More.

Hardly rocket science, is it? But for some reason, simple, straight forward, easy solutions aren't really in fashion. The more complicated you make things, the better the diet is...
Bolderdash, I say.

Eating healthily is key, of course. Fruit, vegetables, grains, fish, a little meat. A little bit of everything actually. But I still enjoy chocolate, and I still get the day started with fresh coffee (preferably straight into the blood stream, but drinking it is more pleasurable!). Keep it simple. Eat less. Do more. Just walking from the bus to the office a few times a week (its about 20-30 minutes one way) is all its taken. Allow yourself to indulge. Just keep it in check.

Does it mean I'm hungry sometimes - why yes, it does! Is this a bad thing? Why no, I don't think it is. You know, after a while, your body adjusts.

I could make a lot of this, and use the analogy for all sorts of things. Prayer comes to mind. Act less. Pray more. Then surely all my works will be more in line with acts of God. But I'll resist the temptation to make this yet another religious, philosophical diatribe.

Eat Less. Do More. Its the only sure fire way I know to become healthier.

Missing home?

My old pastor (and a friend) Brian has posted more about his adjustment from expat life. He writes far more succicently than I!

Dear Brian,

I wanted to respond on your post, Missing home, but I fear my thoughts are too long, and perhaps a little too self indulgent for a blog comment.

I appreciate you sharing your journey like this – in many ways it’s validated all that Alice and I have been through. We’ve few people around us who have lived the expat life and returned to the country of origin with a certain uncertainty. Certain of what we were doing. Not quite certain why, or to what to end.

Click the post title to continue reading...Home is a funny word for me. Sometimes I laugh at the concept, sometimes I can’t stand to think about it. Sometimes I catch myself mid sentence, “When we returned home in 2003…“, and it doesn’t feel quite right. For a long time, even now, the house, suburb and city, even Australia itself, has simply been where we live. We are here, but are we really “home”?

The feeling is unique. Things are familiar and in many aspects bland, for they lack the simple adventure of living outside of what was the “home”. It’s like going one too many times to the same holiday camp. Everything is as expected, and the familiarity breeds boredom and a restlessness that robs you of the relaxation and change of scenery you so desperately need.

I envy your opportunity to return to Amsterdam. I know that even if I returned now it would not be as I remember. Our friends have moved from the places we knew them in. The rolling sea of Crossroads I’m sure I could navigate, but only by the few landmarks that remain from our time. Mostly though, there is something in my soul that needs to put Crossroads, Amsterdam, and Europe to rest. I need to see it moving on, changing and growing without me. I need resolve the loss. Sombrely, it is like visiting the grave of an important high school teacher – to finally put that part of your life behind you, say thank you one more time, and move on.

There is a certain deep theology in the expat life: to be not where you really belong – out of your depth, with only memories and faith and wit to live by. And there is still yet deeper meaning in the adjustment of returning: the profound understanding that places are places, and not really home but a sort of makeshift analogy, with emotion ascribed in an attempt to feel “at home”. I wish I could live by these words, but I’m frail, and weak minded, and have the need of some tangible sensorium to reinforce my being.

I’m glad you’ve found your home.

Blessings,

Phil