Old Friends and Social Faux-Pas

I feel like Barney from How I Met Your Mother, but instead of dragging Ted around the local bars, I carry hypothetical reading material into any situation, trying to match-up one of my loves with another human being.

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People watching is the height of entertainment for me and, for varying reasons, the past month has seen my social calendar packed. Meeting all of the new people has been somewhat entertaining, as well as terrifying. Therefore, when I look back over the past few weeks, I sub-consciously realised that there are a few set-things I do when confronted with new people;

 

  • Analyse: Everything that I can see from body language or physical appearance, hear from their language or dialect, and feel with my gut-instinct. Trust me, I don’t do this to feel superior, or for the lols, but because it really does interest me. Everything about every person on this earth is different. Yes, some traits we share, picking them up from the environments and cultures we come from; but on the whole, everyone is different in their own special way. By looking at these differences and breaking them down internally, I am able to familiarise myself with the ‘idea of other’. This ‘idea of other’ is something that I use to cope in all social situations. We all see the world as ‘us and them’: the ‘idea of other’ simply helps in understanding that we all have flaws that we don’t want others to see fully into.

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  • Kick into Hyper-Drive: My sentences merge into one long stream of consciousness. All words get jumbled together in one long stream of internal panic. After all, what does one say when meeting someone new? If one is quiet, then awkwardness descends, like a cloud over the top of an already misty mountain. If one is talkative, the other person will label you as crazy and therefore run away as soon as possible. I am super aware that I fit under the latter. Motor-mouth-101 kicks in, and I will spew whatever comes into my head. As human nature and social skills promise, conversation will turn to things we find ourselves secure in: loves, passions, achievements, or interests that the talker lands on-top of the talkee’s shoulders. Thus, it sounds like I am boasting, or worse, being a self-righteous snob whenever I get going.

After all, who else has enjoyed reading Aristotle.    books2.0

No one.

I have met no one who has ever read Poetics outside of ENG341, who has done it for pleasure.

  • Churn it over: Taking everything that has been said and processing it to the nth degree. This will be done in great detail, and served with a twinge of regret. Regret, not for meeting the new person, but for dominating the conversation. I want to be curious without being nosey, yet not everyone wants to or feels able to partake in small talk. Apparently, the knack of small talk is to ask questions; but what happens when you are asking questions and getting one word replies? Tell me, oh wise etiquette people of the internet. What do you do then? So, I spend the rest of the day, maybe even into the next (week), thinking about different ways I could have been a better conversationalist. Being a little annoyed that I was provoked into Motor-Mouth-101 by the silence and then continue to churn over the conversation, trying to understand just how on earth I have managed to survive in this social stratum for so long and not be pin-pointed as a complete narcissist?

 

Now, there may be a person or two reading this shaking their heads; wondering ‘how Nesta, after all we have been through, are you still being introspective when it comes to meeting new people?’

Tell me how to stop doing items number 2 and 3, then I will: I promise.

To be honest, this is a frightfully long introduction into the main body of this post today, which is, that whenever I start Motor-Mouthing-101, my immediate subject with a new person is:

‘So, do you like books?’

I feel like Barney from How I Met Your Mother, but instead of dragging Ted around the local bars, I carry hypothetical reading material into any situation, trying to match-up one of my loves with another human being.

One of these favourites is called Flambards by K.M. Peyton.

No one has ever heard of it.

And when I say no one, I really mean that.

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OK, a friend from school bought me the book for my birthday about ten years ago, and it was so sweet of her. But the reason for her buying the book wasn’t that it was my favourite; it was because there was a horse on the front cover.

Prizes to the first one to message me confirming what type of 11-year-old I was.

So anyway, I always ask ‘What do you like to read?’.

For some inexplicable reason, this kind of question always throws people. It’s almost like they have social skills and have practiced other forms of commutation with each other, at some type of institution, where grown up people teach things like Maths, or Science, or English, or social skills.

Not that there is a lesson plan for such benign things as human interactions, but I clearly remember daydreaming through my playground days. Wandering around pretending to be Elizabeth Bennet, quoting letters from Darcy, and dancing a quadrille (on my own) was far easier than talking to other people. Or worse, playing 1-2-3-tippy.

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Due to said daydreaming, I don’t really know what to do when I meet new people. I’m still learning. At 22, it still frightens me: the idea of getting to know new people, making new relationships and starting new projects with said people. It is daunting.

Anyway, due to ‘So, do you like books?’ I have realised that I must be in the minority. I am not being elitist, or snobby, or snooty, when I say this. Books and reading have just dropped as popular media in the twenty-first century. Not that they aren’t being read: in fact, book sales have beaten e-books in their popularity since 2016 – #itsallaboutthataesthetic.

When I say that ‘I like a good book’, I mean it. Every part of it will enthral me; the smell, the plot, the characters, the narrative, the feel, the feels… all of it. A good book and a cup of tea does wonders for any time I am feeling blue.

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It then makes me a little sad when someone tells me that they don’t like books.

Not that I’d ever force a book on someone who wasn’t a big reader. But it makes me sad to think that they will never know the joy of opening up to a dearly beloved book, to delve into characters’ lives in ways we never can in real life. For example, no one has ever been able to share with me the heart break I experienced, aged 15, when a certain death happened in the Flambards series.

There is no spoiler alert here for I am not revealing anything. No sir. You may go and read, or listen to, or watch the TV series, but I am staying mute. For it felt like a friend had died.

This is what happens when you get invested into the life of a character. You become emotionally attached. As a person who finds emotions hard to show therefore, reading becomes a little outlet for me. It then keeps me sane as I use my over-active hyper-driven brain to analyse the text, rather than something else that I struggle a lot with: myself, as a person.

Reading, then analysing, and then thinking about a text really helps me to cope with the inside of my head. It may be a surprise, as I am not one of the unusually gifted of the world, that there is quite a lot going on up there. I find it hard to stop, take a break, to switch off.

In fact, switching off is my worst nightmare. Doing nothing while thinking about nothing is awful. I can’t do it.

How do I relax then?

Simple.

I read.

That’s why I love reading, books, my course, driving, people watching… all of it. It all helps me to relax. Keeping my mind busy helps me to keep calm. Oxymoronically, doing nothing stresses me out, while having a ‘little project’ relaxes me.

This post is a bit up in the air. But if you take anything away from here, let it be this: do more of what you love. I’ve been wired in a way that makes the way I read a social situation, incredibly similar to the way I read a book. God made me this way. Yes, I can pray, and yes, I can worship and read the Bible: but when push comes to shove, ‘whatever you do, do it all for God and His glory’ for me means doing what I love to do. There are desires in my heart, good ones placed there by my good Father. He knew what He was doing when He wired me up to be a nostalgic-realist-dreamer of a girl, who loves music, and being in her own world.

He knows what I love.

And He loves watching me do it.

Do more of what you love: it’s what we were created for. It may be hard at times, we may need help, but ultimately, as my La (my grand-father) says;

 

‘Do the work that’s nearest,

Though it’s dull at whiles,

Helping when you meet them,

Lame dogs over stiles’

  • Charles Kingsley

 

 

As always,

Love,

Nesta

 

 

 

Did You Just Assume My…

In our world today, we want to know the depths of everyone, including ourselves, as an individual. This is manifested in many mediums – social media, blogging, our jobs, hobbies etc – yet all comes down to one thing…

I wonder what your personality type is? According to the Myers Briggs model, there are sixteen combinations in total. Each Type is labelled under a Role of similar personalities. For instance, the Role that my Type belongs to is called Diplomat and within that, my Type is the Mediator. The personalities of the Diplomat Role are; INFJ, INFP, ENFJ, and ENFP.

When I first did the Myers Briggs test, I didn’t think that anyone had ever explained myself to me, in such a empathetic, logical, informative, and accurate way. Introverted didn’t come as a surprise at all. It just means that I recharge my batteries on my own, away from loads of people, rather than the common misconception of introverts: which is that we don’t like people.

Intuitive (the N of INFP), basically means that in most things I face, instinct will kick in. Coupled with strong Feeler and Perceiver traits, this means that there’s a lot going on under the surface, especially when it comes to the imagination. It also means that I enjoy people watching and reading body language. Don’t be freaked out if you catch me staring at you, and don’t be surprised when I will sometimes jump to the wrong conclusion if signals are mixed.

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Myers Briggs 16 Personalities

So basically, you now know me.

Or do you?

In our world today, we want to know the depths of everyone, including ourselves, as an individual. This is manifested in many mediums – social media, blogging, our jobs, hobbies etc – yet all comes down to one thing: identity.

We love to label ourselves with our different identities:

“I’m INFP.”

“I am female.”

“I am tall.”

“I like reading.”

“I like boys (preferably grown up ones).”

“I am musical.”

Get the picture? Our likes become who we are, or who we want to be seen as, or associated with. And so often we allow these things, these single attributes, to become our whole identity. For example, based on these statements, this is how I would dress with identity in mind: comfortable – because I can see that other people find it easier to be around someone who is comfortable #INFP – feminine, yet with that cool, basic edge that shows I think for myself (#bookbaes) and sure, I’ll grab that beanie to protect the headphones I’ll be wearing for most of the day, as it helps me to study/hide from the world.

It’s a lame example, but you should get the picture. We identify with the things we like, are or are talented in. These then, become our identity, and that is quite stressful when

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Y’all know I love to read, right? 

you think about it. When you tie up who you are in the ideas you have, you begin to lose yourself. It’s metaphysics; once you take away the possibility of the physical and solely push into the meta, you begin to lose the thread of reality. You lose the thing that was definite and wander into the surreal.

Also, whenever we try live in one identity, life itself becomes blinkered. You don’t want to see anyone else’s point of view because what if it changes you? You’d then be back to square one again: minus the identity you had idolised without realising it.

It’s easy to idolise an identity. To put all we have into it.

Personally, it’s really easy to clip a ‘English student’ tag onto my jacket as I run into uni every day. Frankly, because I am not your average person, I could go so far to idolise my course, living from one day to the next excited to be there, thrilled by my work (I do love it and I know that’s not normal, let’s move on), and stressing in the library at how much hasn’t been done that week. It is an idol which I have had to hand back to God, over and over and over again because while it is a good thing, uni isn’t god. I don’t get peace, love, provision, or identity from my university, or my course.

As a Christian, as a son and heir, as a daughter, as a lost sheep, I know in my head that God gives me all the good things I have and am. But I struggle in my heart to realise that my identity is not in the things I can see on earth; it’s in Him. Hebrews 11 says that faith is the ‘assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen.’

So, my identity is in Someone, Something, that I can’t see?

OK. Cool.

This idea of identity has been coursing through my head for over a week now. I can’t seem to get away from it. This post feels different to other ones I’ve written on here in the past months, as I am using it as a processing station. I have thought and talked it out to myself, walked, pondered, and prayed. Still I struggle to work out how to fathom it. My identity is in God, in the Trinity, in Christ’s death on the cross. What does that mean? What does it look like?

I know I need to spend more time reading about this and praying about it too, but for now, here are just a few thoughts. It’s Friday night and this may be heavy, but bear with, it can all be done with a cup of tea to take away the blues.

Sonship: For years, I struggled with Paul’s letters in the New Testament. I constantly thought ‘why is he so down on women all the time? Cultures may be different, but you can’t say “love others” and just ignore women, or say that they aren’t as important as men.’ This opinion was truly overhauled this summer.

Paul was being radical in the use of the word ‘sons’. Sons could inherit all that their fathers left for them; sons owned the promise they had received and they worked hard in preparation with the Father for the time that the land would be theirs. When Paul, throughout his letters to the early church, referred to sons he wasn’t over-looking women: he was setting a new precedent in society. Women were equal to men in the promises God had given through Christ; salvation, eternal life, forgiveness, love, to name but a few. Women could inherit. Women could be in a relationship with God as their loving Daddy, who would leave them everything, give them anything, provide what is good eternally.

In such a gender-fluid society of the 21st century, this concept should still be as radical as it was then: our gender doesn’t change, we don’t become men. But as sons in the kingdom, we have a place. We have an acknowledged place beside Jesus in heaven. We are above angels. We are inheritors to the kingdom. Both genders, equally. And this equality doesn’t come down to how strong we are, or our careers, or how much better one sex is than the other. This equality is founded on the fact that we were all lost. The Bible doesn’t say the opposite to ‘saved’ is ‘unsaved’: the opposite to saved is ‘lost’.

sheep

We were lost. But God wanted us to be found. He went looking, and looked everywhere for us. He adopted us into His family. We are no longer on the outside looking in, but with Him, looking out for others who are lost. We were full of sin and now, through Christ’s death and resurrection that paid the wages of sin for those who are now found, we can stand as equals as sons in the inheritance of God. This inheritance can mean different things for different people, I think, as the relationship between God and individual beings is different. It’s personal, it’s a relationship. So, we are sons.

Daughters: We’re also daughters and I want to be bold in saying this; girls and boys can be daughters. If ‘son’ is a word synonymous with inheritance and provision in the Bible, then with ‘daughter’ it should be with ‘protected,’ ‘cared for,’ ‘prayed over,’ and ‘surrounded by God’s love.’

I myself am a daughter. It’s actually a beautiful thing to be, when you think about it. I’ve never been one of those girls that is soppy in the relationship with her Daddy. In fact, we are the same person. He just happens to be male, a physicist, and twenty-seven years older than me. This sparks some embers when we are tired, or having an argument, but it also means that we understand each other pretty well. I know that if I am in trouble, one way or another, I’m good to run towards him, and know that he will help in any way he can. It means too, that as his daughter, he prays for me; that I’ll keep walking with the Lord, that He will help me when everything gets hard, and that I’ll keep dancing with Him in the Spirit. As his daughter, as Philip’s daughter, he will be the one walking me up the isle someday, to hand me over to a guy who is up to his standards (and they are high standards) and as his daughter, I know that I am loved by him, no matter what I do. Doesn’t God do this with all of us? Doesn’t He protect, love, care, surround, and defend us? If sonship is radical adoption into the family of God, then being a daughter is the reality of that radical adoption: once adopted into God’s family, you are loved and protected.

Sons and daughters of the King of kings.

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Gender is a big conversation at the minute. Not one that I am comfortable talking about, but nonetheless, I go into uni every day and someone wants to talk about gender. To be honest, and half of the two-people reading this will be cross when I say this, but I think that if you’re born with the equipment, then you can’t change it. But that doesn’t mean that I hate anyone who does struggle with their gender-identity. The total opposite. Because I have been radically loved, I want to love radically.

Can I leave you with one final, random thought?

Sons and daughters, male and female, both are universally ‘lost’. You can’t find yourself when you are lost. One is not more lost than the other, as both are lost. There isn’t a scale of ‘lost-ness’, nor will the person who is least lost will be found soonest. Lost is a state of being, as is found. Once found, there is nothing that you can do, or I can do, to make you more- or less-found. So, can we stop taking each other down? We are equal in our lost-ness and our found-ness.

We both have individual qualities, and we both are human.

We both are being called out too, and we both don’t want to hear what our rescuer is shouting.

We both can choose to remain, and we both can choose to be found.

We both can love. Because we have both been loved, radically.

 

Love,

Nesta

Setting the Record Straight

‘Make a little room in your plans for romance, Anne girl. All the degrees and the scholarships in the world can’t make up for the lack of it.’ – Anne of Green Gables

Confession: I love Gilbert Blythe. Always have, always will. It’s just a fact of life.

I have been in love with him, say, for most of my life. He is tall, dark, clever, funny, kind, devoted, a little proud, handsome and the first boy I’ve ever met who used Tennyson and the Bible within the same sentence to justify an argument. Unfortunately, he married Anne Shirley after a childhood and time of early youth growing together on Prince Edward Island, Canada.

He also, worst luck, is a fragment of Lucy Maud Montgomery’s imagination. He belongs to her world of legends and the færy beings that inhabit some corners of the world. 

His sole existence only within L.M. Montgomery’s stories is the truest thing about him. Despite all of my searching and watching and looking for a twenty-first century, Gen-X version of Gilbert, I cannot find him. Even committing this to type is painful. (Deep breath to calm nerves and wipe eyes) Moving on.

There are plenty of blogs out there telling the world about how brilliant Gilbert is. How he trumps Mr. Darcy, despite the latter’s income and penmanship; how he is a-hundred-thousand times better than Romeo who is a bit tragic, in the melter-kind-of-way; and one of the best male figures in literacy, ever. Period.

This may just be my opinion, but at a young age Gilbert told me something, through Charlie Sloane of course. He told me that ‘being smart was better than being pretty.’ This pretty much changed they way I thought about boys, my brains and all of the stuff we don’t get taught in school, all around the tender age of three.

Anne biffs GilbertConsider this then as an ode to Gilbert: to his love, character and perfection that will never be matched on earth. He wasn’t a saint however, and all the better for it. Anne sums up my feelings on the subject entirely; ‘I wouldn’t marry anyone who was really wicked: but I’d like to think that he could be wicked, and wasn’t.’

So without further adieu, I announce that Gil is my book-boyfriend. I’ll spend the rest of my days with his literary presence on my bookshelf and until any one reads of him in the Anne series or watches Jonathan Crombie act him, you may consider yourself on the bench.

With the love that’s left over,

Nesta xx

P.S. Anne girl, consider yourself privileged.

The Speech for the Defence

Hello world,

The last time I wrote to you, it was December 2016. Me, myself and I think that this is not good enough.

I promised blogs on books I wanted to read… that didn’t happen. My laptop broke down and a few things shifted in life, upsetting the previous rhythm, making a new symphony. I promised recipes, appaling spelling (see what I did there) and other things to cuddle down into with a cup of tea. This is embarrassing, the amount of things promised, but not delivered.

This month of September sees life kicking into a new gear. That gear being ‘Final Year’. There is even a hashtag floating around instagram in honour of this stressful occasion; #puttingtheENGintothird. I know it’s bad.

But away from all the negativity, I will claim this blog back as my own. I will try harder to write greater amounts of content, after all, writing is a form of therapy. It also really helps to develop your style and language. Perfect for those who happen to have the prospect of writing for a living to look forward to, as I am.

This is a ramble, and the grammar isn’t perfect. But this is what it’s all about. Try and fail, try again and succeed a bit before you fail. Getting back on the horse is all about putting yourself out there.

So go forth and get back on. After all, what’s the worse that could happen?

 

Love,

Nesta

 

 

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I failed at taking this picture for instance.

Shaken, Not Stirred

Some people, are born to be Bond.

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I give you, Mr Hiddleston and Mr Cumberbatch.

Some people are not…

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…such as the Galvally Gals.

Normally this character is played by a silent, moody and yet charming actor, who can make the most pansy martini sound like the Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnston’s, tipple of choice. However, heroes nowadays no longer conform to the stereotypical ‘type’ of Bond. Heroes are now flawed, with wounds exposing them and histories that would make Ian Flemming reach for the pansy martini.

That is because Hollywood has tapped into a growing realisation that, and get this, all humans have flaws, choices and self-responsibility. Shocking!

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This went through my mind as soon as I wrote that sentence. I apologise if the book-nerd factor has offended you. Please send your requests to Pemberly, Derbyshire, circa 1798.

This is what we in the west like to call ‘free-choice’.

Flemming’s villains always seem as if they are the worst people on the planet. Now we like to say that they were making their own free-will choices, and blow the rest of humanity. But I would say that the villains in Bond stories are the worst because they know there is evil in the world, take advantage and watch the cities burn and the people die, because let’s face it, we will all die at some point.

This is realism.

This is not an essay, promise.

But as there is no vlog for today, I thought that I would give you a post on something that happened to me this afternoon.

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A nice aesthetic picture to keep interest flowing.

Today isn’t a people day for me.

These days happen now and again. It’s sort of like scarring from an operation, or the ache of a bad sports injury; the pain has stopped but there will sometimes be a little twinge reminding you of what your body has been through. I am a melancholic, introspective person naturally, so depression and anxiety are my injury. The lack of people skills in general, coupled with the ability to hide from all social groups at short notice, is my scar [woe is me tirade over].

As a Christian, it sucks a bit whenever these days come over me. I love having fellowship with all my b’s and s’s in Christ, worshipping the only God I want to worship (having ruled out options such as myself, knowledge, celebrity, my boyfriend and the world in general) and generally having a bit of fun with people who love God and love others.

Normally on days like these, I would stick on a bit of Louie Giglio while doing something that completely relaxes me but Daddy recommended Tim Keller today. Usually, I would say ‘Ok Daddy’, then go on trying to find a Louie talk which I haven’t listened to before. Today, for some ‘strange reason’ I thought that I’d listen to my Dad.

I typed “Tim Keller sermons” into my search engine.

Oh.

My.

Days.

Who said that God doesn’t put things together in His perfect timing?

The first sermon came on. I didn’t even look at the title. Tim Keller is, well, Tim Keller. All of what he says is pretty good.

I needed to hear this talk, especially today.

The title of the sermon was ‘Does God Control Everything?’ and I will not lie to y’all, the inner Presbyterian whom I have been trying to suppress, really did leap out at this point – #predestinationdoctorinerighthererightnow.

Keller said that Western ideology is divided between these two states: free (unlimited) choice that will make your future, or realism.

But as Westerners we find it really hard to grasp the fact that we have both free-choice and a pre-determined future. How mind melting is that to think about, while making a gluten-free and dairy free sticky toffee pudding on a Sunday afternoon?

Romans 8 vs 28 says that ‘We know that for all those who love God [he makes] all things work together for those who are called according to His purpose.’

I will not give you his sermon (plagiarism and all that craic yeno) but I will try and give a summary of what he said:

1 – That we can be assured…

2 – Why we can be assured…

3 – How we can be assured…

by the message that God has given us both free-will/choice and pre-determined our steps because He loves us all. And I mean, all.

Please, bear with. I am getting my head around it too.

Culture says that it is one or the other, but God says that life is both. He has created us to have our own independent thought and already set us along paths that He has complete control over.

As to our own Western thought, we need no more example of our own free-choice than our world today. Our environment is not very healthy, our governments are not thriving, our culture says ‘Hey you! Yes you! You need to be thinner/curvier/healthier/cleverer/wittier/better/stronger/faster…’ All of this comes down to our own personal choice. Do we act on these messages that the world sends us, do we shut them down, do we even ‘revolt against’ them? Do we care about this or this? Shall we play x, y or z? Shall I blow my student finance in one week, or buy the occasional book from Waterstones [A very middle class problem in itself there]?

This is all exists because when we were designed, we were not made as robots, but as people. Humanity is complex and part of that is because we all make choices internally and externally that effect every single aspect of our lives.

If I am the only one to ever think, with my free-mind, that we all have an allocated ‘lot’ that will fall on you no matter what choices you make, then this is just a thought put onto the void: If, like God says, we do have a path that is fixed, then I can just sit back, drink my soya-milk cortado and watch everyone else panic from the sidelines. Right?

If however, the two ideas here, free-choice and realism, are symbiotic what does this look like?

Keller turns here to Acts 27 where Paul & co. were on their way to Rome, to stand before Caesar, charged with preaching the gospel, when a big storm came along and put the ship in great danger of being sunk. In vs21 Paul told the crew God had sent him a message, no one would die or even become harmed on this ship. Now, in the Old Testament, there was a law that if a prophet’s prophecy was inaccurate or unfulfilled, then said prophet was to be killed – sound familiar? Paul would have been 400% assured in God’s word/plan/love in order to prophesy like that in a life and death situation.

This is an example of predetermination of man’s steps by God. Following? Brilliant! Because I am proof reading this and I am having to concentrate, greatly.

But, as Keller points out, in vs30-31 Luke records that there were some of the crew that wanted to let the lifeboat down into the water. Paul told them ‘Unless [you] stay in the ship, you cannot be saved.’

What? But you said…

Tim,

Tim: ‘This doesn’t make sense to us does it? If God has already told Paul the plan, then who cares if they get off the boat or not? Who cares if they get into the lifeboat? They could go snorkelling, right? But because we think that if the moment is fixed, it’s fixed despite choices. Paul here has a biblical understanding here that our do choices matter but they don’t determine our future. He is not passive because he knows what is going to happen, but he is also not paralysed because the choices don’t determine the future.’

Paul is not passive or paralysed. He is dynamic in his faith.

He is dynamic because God has a love so big that we are constantly moving around in it, trying to acquaint ourselves with the surroundings.

God doesn’t love you because you have a,b,c or d. He loves us because he loves us.

Paul is shaken, moved into action by his faith in God while in the world.

He is however not stirred into worrying and fretting about the future.

So many times I find myself thinking about what will be next; job to save for post-grads, get married, do post-grads, get a job, have some money, live a good life, have kids,dogs,cats,animals,kitchen,clothes…

It’s all self-worship anyway, making myself the centre of my world, but why do I worry about the next step, when I know that God has my path laid out?

Is it because I want to do English post-grads that may take me down a secular job route, away from good-little-Christian primary teaching [not being mean or anything because all teachers have my utmost respect — they deserve OBE’s and high salaries because they teach kids to reach for the stars, to hope, to plan and to dream]?

Why have we got a problem with saying to our Father, who gives no bad gifts (James 1vs17), ‘Dad, can I have this? Is that OK with you?’

We just have to ask our Father for anything and He will either give it to us, if the object is good, or say ‘No, sorry that will not do you any good. Trust me on this’ if what we want will harm us in the end.

***

There are some people who are meant to be friends.

Here we have the Galvally Gals to the right and a slightly embarrassing picture to the left of myself and big cuz Antonia in matching pinafores. We have been friends all of our lives and despite the small problem that she lives in Abergavenny, Wales, conversation has always had a good flow and goodbyes are never easy. I will embarrass her here – not that I think she will be reading this or anything – and say that she is the first best friend I ever had and will always be up near the top in my eyes.

Whereas in Galvally, well, the banter never stops and as you may have guessed from the vlogs, we laugh almost every minute of everyday. I will steadfastly say that the reason that we are such good friends is because of the sistership we have in Christ. This is special for a whole heap of reasons, but I will single out one that is relevant now. The Spirit stirs each of us up, to shake each other. Constant reminders of God’s love pour through the flat from it being week 11 and there have been zero arguments (huzzah), to the little encouraging verses that are littered around the coffee table written in v hipster calligraphy, to the graceful treatment we have for each other…

Point is, we have no reason to be nice to each other, apart from the love of God that unites us as sisters in Christ.

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If God is love and sent His Son as atonement for our inherent cancer of evil (sin) to prove His love for us, then what’s the catch? If He is going to look after us and keep us from harm, why do we run away from the idea of God having total control of our lives?

Christmas marks Christ’s arrival as a baby, from a virgin’s womb, to a world being torn apart by this cancer. If God came to the earth in the form of a baby, to live and die, both as equally man and God, then why do Westerners think that the concept of free-will means that the future is unset and completely changeable? Or that the future is set and man’s will means nothing?

Why can’t we do both?

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“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: ‘I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God.’

That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher.

He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell.

You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”

– C.S. Lewis

See you tomorrow!

Lots of love,

Nesta

 

Bookish: North and South

As you may be aware, I love a good book. Or at least, a good story.

What better feeling is there than cuddling up on the sofa for an afternoon, knowing that these sheets of paper in your hands will influence your emotions, thoughts and coffee intake?

The short answer; there is no nicer feeling.

On a recent trip to London, I was deprived of these trusty home comforts during an afternoon’s reading. Nevertheless, it was an experience, however modest, that I will always treasure as special.

After a beautiful afternoon spent in the midst of Covent Garden, I decided to call into Waterstones, pick up a book and then find a park or coffee shop to sit in and loose myself for a few hours.

If, for some unfortunate reason, you have never set foot in a bookshop, then you are missing out.

Traditionally there is a higgle-de-piggildy type of organised chaos. Walls are lined with yards and yards of books, with titles ranging from books discussing the fall of the Roman Empire, to the proper way to reorganise bookshelves in your new apartment, to the black backed Penguin Classics.

Stepping amidst this oasis of book-lovers, I immediately started to scan the shelves, looking for a story to spend the afternoon revelling in.

Dragging myself out ten minutes later, I had in my hands one novel and one play; North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell and (oh joy of joys!) Harry Potter and the Cursed Child by J.K. Rowling and Jack Thorne.

I picked up North and South because over the past few months I had become increasingly interested in 18th and 19th century literature in my own university work. Despite the fact that I would love to tell you that the plight of the working class and their everyday struggle was my main motive in purchasing this book, I would be too precocious for words.

In reality it was this story’s central relationship between protagonist Margret Hale and the tall, dark and broody Mr. Thornton, that made this book an absolute need on my wish list.

Not going to lie to you either, I also had my interest peaked by Richard Ermitage’s beautifully detailed portrayal of Mr Thornton in the BBC’s production of this drama.

As for The Cursed Child, does one really need an excuse to delve into the world of Harry Potter?

Wandering around for somewhere to read, I found myself walking past the British Museum, around the back of Bedford Square and eventually found myself on the edge of Camden, in Russell Square Park. It was here then, that I settled down on a park bench to immerse myself in Gaskell’s imagination.

Until it started raining.

Then, Starbucks.

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The story of North and South follows a young woman, Miss Margret Hale, from her happily situated life, divided between her Father’s parish in picturesque Helstone, to the residence of her Aunt Shaw in Harley Street. Margret, who despite growing up beside her far prettier cousin, Edith, is the heroine who is accessible to all level-headed female readers; clever, practical, striking in her manner and equipped with a keen sense of wit. For this Margret becomes the much easier person to like of the two. Edith gets all she wants, including a marriage based on love, but Margret’s good sense makes her much easier to like.

Over the course of the story, Margret’s circumstances change with Edith’s marriage to a young and attractive Colonel Lennox and her own father’s decision to move his small family of three up from the southern hamlet of Helstone, to the cold, northern industrial town of Milltown.

It is from here that we really see what Margret’s character is full of. She shoulders responsibility of the household whenever her mother’s health deteriorates, meeting every new person and challenge with the same poise and ladylike ability that epitomises the ‘new woman’ heroine.

Unfortunately this ‘new woman’ status was not always well sought by wider society in the Victorian era. Gaskell therefore, had to introduce a plot line to sell her work.

Enter John Thornton.

It could be argued the whole narrative is about Margret and her relationship with Mr. Thornton. However, in saying this, some readers may be encouraged to think that this book is just a repeat of Pride and Prejudice’s love-hate relationship between Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy.

This is not the case in any shape of form.

While Margret’s friendship with Thornton was rocky at the best of times, the key fact was that they remained friendly towards each other. There was not a massive emotional upheaval at the first proposal, at least on Margret’s side, and neither was there a major excuse for her to reject Thornton’s advances, there rules out the George Wickham of the story.

Her father was even Mr Thornton’s tutor in the Classics, spending evenings talking about Ovid, Homer’s Iliad and Aristotle’s Poetics. This is a far cry from Darcy’s own education at Cambridge.

Thornton’s depth of character and utterly honest nature is so refreshing. This coupled with glimpses into his internal monologue creates a dimension to his character, which I had rarely come across in Victorian literature before. The feelings, which he holds for Margret, the friendship between himself and his friend Mr Hale, the relationship between even his own mother and sister, were shown through small intersections of Thornton’s internal monologue.

By creating Margret and Mr Thornton’s dynamic, Gaskell developed them into such colourful characters, which make this novel a delight to read. Not only do they depict the archetypal educated middle class of the Victorian era, but the relationship between the two allow the surrounding social issues to be given an appropriate platform to discuss these issues on.

If this is one of Gaskell’s novels that has been pushed out of the limelight, in favour of The Cranfield Chronicles, then this in my attempt at bringing it to the centre stage.

Gaskell, who was great friends with Charlotte Brontë, managed to move away from the gothic romanticism that Jane Eyre drips with. Maybe she avoided this style in North and South because she was a happily married woman who saw more in the world than her friend did. Yet despite the social awareness that permeates throughout Gaskell’s work, the relationships are often at the centre of her work. Ultimately, relationships between different people will always provide a relational subject that the novel’s audience can relate to.

This book is a dream to read. It is not always easy to read, this I grant you. The language can trip you up sometimes and yes, now and again you need to go back over certain paragraphs.

But that is just in the beginning five, ten chapters at most.

After that, you’ll just want to read the book over and over again once you finish. The plot lines are thick, the suspense is rife, the descriptions unimportant in the vast scale of character descriptions.

On a scale of one to ten, I would put North and South at a high eight.

 

I hope you enjoyed this new type of post. Yet again I will try and write more frequently, despite being back into uni and all of my reading lists.

Nesta xx

 

 

 

 

Lest Old Acquaintance Be Forgot

Hello friends,

This is pretty self explanatory really. I am setting up a new section to this already eccletric little corner of the internet, just because I can. And because I love talking about books. And reading them. And writing about them…

Basically I love books.

So, over the next while, as uni kicks off and life changes into a faster gear again, I have decided to help myself by doing a weekly post about books.

If you like these posts, I’ll contain my blog to book reviews and all things bookish, sallying away from the random and the politics.

See you soon then,

Love,

Nesta xx