Jesus Jenga – a Passover to Easter Story-Game

(I wrote this as a blogpost for The Warehouse, where I work, but I thought some of the people who follow this blog might enjoy it too, so here goes :))

Planning activities for our life group always provides many opportunities for creativity- we have a family life group, with a mean of young boys between 9 and 13 years old and only a few other “outliers” on the age spectrum. The best activities are in short spurts with lots of physical activity and interaction.

Last night, we played a game which I, at least, enjoyed a lot (and it didn’t seem like my kids were just humouring me when they said they had had fun!). Having bounced the basic idea off a colleague, she suggested I write the game up for other people to be able to use for this weekend. Thankfully, I had actually written a short “script” (because I tend to get a little excited and intense around stories involving Jesus and I might have left a clutch of boys wondering what had happened to them 4 hours later if I didn’t stick to a plan!).

It is not a complete, water-tight theological work and definitely would need to be adapted according to age groups with more or less detail, discussion, participation, etc, but it was fun and I think it might be fun for others in helping kids reflect on this weekend, and so I offer it. We also didn’t follow it word for word (at all!), but skipped around and responded to what was coming from the kids. But it may help for a sense of overall flow. It would be really fun to hear how others would do it, what you would improve on, and what “lists” you came up with in your group (you’ll see what I mean). Here goes:

You will need:

• Some Jenga blocks (or, if you don’t have access to those, any things you can “stack” – tin cans, blocks, maybe cards, if you are good at building with them!)
• Colour one of the Jenga blocks in so it stands out (this is going to represent God/Jesus)
• A table and some space

Exercise 1: Get the kids to build a human pyramid (we had to imagine it because it was pouring with rain outside). Help them reflect on what people at the different levels of the pyramid feel. Is it fun for the people at the bottom? How would they feel if they were always carrying this weight? How does the person on the top feel? Is it fun, is it scary? What would the person at the top feel if the bottom became unstable? Scared, angry, anxious?

Exercise 2: Get the kids to stand in a line behind each other. Then get the line to “bend” so they are now standing in a circle, each facing the back of the person in front of them. They must move in really tightly to each other and then, all the same time, sit on the lap of the person behind them. (This is fun when it works: everyone ends up sitting and bearing each others’ weight, without anyone bearing it all…it is also fun when it doesn’t work, but may not make the point for the rest of the game!). Ask the kids how they feel: who feels like they’re carrying all the weight? Who feels like they’re heavier than everyone else? Who waited to see if others sat before they did? Did it feel risky?

(The idea is that the kids like the circle better than the pyramid…this may or may not happen!! Good luck!)

The Story: Now sitting around the table, set up a Jenga stack while you explain to the kids that the story begins in Egypt long ago – where the Hebrew people were slaves in a land full of pyramids: some of the pyramids were constructed out of brick and clay, some of them were in big piles of THINGS which people hoarded – money, goods, land. The more things they had, the more important they felt. some of them were in big piles of people – people who stepped all over other people to get their way and build their power. Some people were more important and others were less. The brick and clay pyramids were built by thousands and thousands of these  “less important people” – mostly slaves. some of the pyramids were built on lies about who could speak to God, who God loved (or “the gods”). The people who had less things, were poor, or sick or slaves – anyone who was at the bottom of the people pile – believed they were less important to God, and even that God had put them at the bottom of the pyramid. The ones at the top of the pile were closer to the gods. And the spiritual rulers told everyone that this is how the gods wanted it. And the army made sure that everyone knew this was how it would stay! There was brokenness between people, between the people and God and even within themselves. And God felt very far away… (Introduce the “Jesus block”  and put it far away from the bottom of the pyramid…)

As you move into the next part of the story, dismantle the tower (not piece by piece yet – just take it down really quickly) and place the pieces in a circle, with the Jesus piece in the middle as the concept is introduced. Continue to make little piles and dismantle them according to the flow of the story (you’ll see)… God then freed the Hebrew people – took them out of the pyramid land and into the desert, where God taught them about how to love each other and live together well. God hated pyramids – relationships, stuff, structures and beliefs which made some people feel more important, some feel less, gave some people more things and took away everything from others and made people in general believe that God was far away, and was only looking after the people who were at the top of the pile. God said: “NO! – you will be my people and I will be your God. I will live with you and I will show you how to live together.” And God guided the people with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night – they couldn’t collect big piles of things because, as soon as they could start, they were on the move again. And God gave them food every day – and whenever they tried to collect it and build piles with it – it would go ROTTEN! And people learned to live with enough. And God taught the people about sabbath, and rest and celebrating each other, and stepping away from their dreams of big piles of stuff and people and power. Even the animals and land would rest every seventh day and every seventh year. And God taught the people new laws: laws which would make sure that when some people were in trouble, no one built pyramids on them, but everyone shared what they had. If people got into trouble and piles started to form because of debt, or drought or death or other trouble, there were laws which would make sure things wouldn’t stay that way: Widows, orphans, the foreigner and the poor would be cared for All debt would be cancelled every 7 years so no one became a slave of money and no one could build people piles on them And if any piles of people or land or money did build up, every 50th year, ALL piles would be wiped out: land would be redistributed, debt would disappear and, if people had had to work for others as servants or slaves in troubled times, everyone…yes, EVERYONE, would be set free. The people would love each other, love God and know they were each and all loved by God. And people would know that God was always with them.

(Now you start building up the Jenga pile again, as you carry on the story. Keep the “Jesus piece” out of the pile for now ) But people didn’t listen to God. Even though they had hated being at the bottom of the pyramid, they still wanted to build pyramids on top of other people, and even over themselves. They looked at the piles other countries built up and decided they wanted piles too. They set up Kings over themselves, they neglected the laws and built pyramids on other people. And other countries around them would see a pile starting and think, “What a lovely pile to build on” and armies would come and attack them, capture them, take them away as slaves and build pyramids on them. (Remember to keep building the jenga pile as you show nations on top of Israel and Judah) As this went on, the people started to dream about a King who would come and save them from all these pyramids above them. And, even though prophets talked about how people were treating each other and told them they couldn’t build pyramids on people, the people still hoped the King would come and would sit at the top of a pyramid and put them at the top too. And there was brokenness between people, between the people and God and even within themselves. And God felt very far away… By the time Jesus was about to born, Judah was a land full of pyramids. And the spiritual rulers said this is how God wanted it. And the strong people and armies made sure people knew this was how it was going to stay. (By now you have a proper pile, ready to start deconstructing)

At this point, you can explain some of who would be on the bottom of the pile, and who would be on the top of the pile but, more importantly, get the kids to come up with the list and “structure” themselves. Here is a list of some groups of people you might want to include, but it doesn’t have to huge – you can also explain things later as you go along Slaves Women Gentiles People who were sick, lame, blind, deaf Farmers Merchants Romans Priests Pharisees Tax Collectors Children Foreigners Samaritans People with leprosy (these could be outside of the entire “system”)

And God seemed very far away. Even the temple had courtyards and walls and curtains which divided people from God. And then an angel came to a young girl and told her that she would give birth to the long awaited King…and His name would be “Emmanuel” – God with us! What GOOD NEWS already!! And although the people had hoped and expected that the King would be born at the top of the pile, there were a few surprises in store…. (Now take the “Jesus piece” and insert it into the pile. Ask the kids where Jesus would have fitted in to the pile. It is probably important to note that Jesus wasn’t at the very bottom of the pile – if He had been a woman, He would not have been allowed to learn, let alone teach others; had he had a disability, people would have considered Him punished by God and not listened to his words, etc. So he had to be a few layers up in the pile, but watch what He does with His position)

(From now on, we are going to list a whole lot of ways Jesus began dismantling this pyramid world. I will try and put each person or category into bold so it is clear. As each one is mentioned – and as the kids remember stories of their own – take a jenga piece out of the pile and start putting them into a circle to depict a new community. Watch how the pile begins to wobble.)   The new King was not born in a palace, but in a stable, in a strange town And the angels celebrated the news of His birth with shepherds in the fields And foreigners came to bring Him gifts And He lived as a refugee in Egypt (!) for the first few years of His life And then He grew up and he started telling people about another Kingdom – a Kingdom that was different to the one filled with pyramids and people who built piles of people. And He said He had come to proclaim: good news to the poor freedom for the prisoners recovery of sight for the blind And to set the oppressed free and And to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour (the Jubilee! The year of freedom from all debt and slavery and the restoration of the land to the people) (You could maybe even thump the bottom of the table here and make the whole pile wobble! I always think of the Jubilee like this!) And He told stories about this Kingdom and he said the Kingdom was a like: A shepherd looking for a sheep A woman looking for a coin A farmer sowing seed A fisherman catching fish A merchant buying land And there were stories where the SAMARITANS were the good guys! And He ate with prostitutes and tax collectors And He spoke to women (even Samaritan and Syrophoenician women!) And He healed the blind, the lame and touched those with leprosy (and then healed them!) And He healed little girls And He drove out demons, setting people free And He told the people that God prefered the widow’s two coins to the Pharisee’s bags of gold, and told the Pharisees they were vipers and hypocrites! (Because who was it who had been teaching people about human pyramids and those closer to and further away from God?) And just when people thought He was ANTI those on the top: He healed a the servant of a Roman Centurion (and commended the Roman’s faith!) and He invited Zacchaeus, a chief tax collector, to come down And He told Nicodemus, a Pharisee, that he could be born again (remember to keep taking the pieces out of the jenga pile and placing them in the new community) He preached to those in the towns and villages, and to those in the city. (you can gesture to the bottom and top of the pile respectively) EVERYONE was welcome in this Kingdom

(Show all the time how pieces come out of the pyramid, and how it is getting wobbly and very dangerous for those on the top! I kind of think, if the pile could handle it, that each of Jesus’ statements coming up and just before this should be matched with a big “thump” under the table, but only if the pile can still hold!) And if this didn’t cause the pile to wobble enough: He said, “Call no one Father – except your Father in Heaven” (at a time when Caesar had declared himself Father to all) (and He said, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father”!!!) and He told people they had all been created in the image of God (when only Caesar himself could claim that fame) and He said “Give your coins to Caesar, but give yourSELVES to God” And, when His disciples asked if they could have positions of power in the Kingdom, He said, “You have seen how other people like to build pyramids on top of each other, but it’s not like that in the Kingdom.” And He said “If you want to be great in the Kingdom, learn to be the servant of all”

And the people near the top said, “We need to kill him” And He said, “Don’t fear those who can kill you – rather fear the One who decides what becomes of you after death” And they arrested Him and beat Him And He said, “I could call down an army of angels, but I choose not to” And He said, “If my Kingdom were like yours, my men would be fighting with swords — but my Kingdom is not like that.” And they nailed Him to a cross  And He said, “Father, forgive them” (And God said, “Of course. That is what We do.”) And He poured Himself out And He died.

Now, at this point, I run out of a prepared script. Our story ended with the Jesus piece disappearing right down under the table, to the depths of the bottom of the pyramid and then total mayhem as the theme from “Rocky” began, with the beat being thumped out on the table (and by the Jesus piece under the table) and boys begging to be the one who could explode the rest of the pyramid…and the explosion was epic!

I think that was the best ending to the story and the game and I may have ruined it a little by trying to sum up exactly what this all meant! (especially now that each boy wanted a turn to explode a pyramid!). But, depending on the age of the group you’re doing this with, you can discuss how Jesus overthrew and broke the power of sin and death, that satan could no longer keep people trapped in spiritual, relational, economic, political pyramids, how a new Kingdom was inaugurated and “stamped” with God’s authority (Jesus was resurrected – it was God saying, “YES! To everything He said.”) and that people could be welcomed into this new way of living, loving, and belonging.    

You could also (again, depending on the group!) discuss what sort of  pyramids we see in the world around us today and who would fit where in these structures. And then discuss what it means to be Jesus-followers and do the things He did and say the things He said, and dismantle pyramids and pour ourselves out for others, and live in this new community.

Let us know how it goes!

Have a precious time this weekend celebrating this incredible gift with your families and friends and those on the margins of your world, and the strangers in your midst!

Christ is risen indeed!

Wrath like a broken foot

While we were driving to school this morning, my daughter, Zizi, asked me, “Mom: I know God promised never to flood the earth again, but do you think He is punishing us with this drought?”*. I answered by reminding her about the day she broke her foot…

It was Mothers’ Day in 2010. Zizi was 8 years old, her brothers were 5 and 11. I was coming out of a shopping centre, pushing the trolley which contained flowers for my mom-in-law – and my 5-year old child – and really hoping for an afternoon nap. My other two were running ahead, a little wild. I shouted to them, “Please stop running – you are going to cause an accident.” They didn’t stop. Instead, Thulani (the 11-year old), deftly tapped Zizi’s foot as she ran, tripping her up. She flew through the air, landed flat on the ground on the tar next to a car and then let out a scream I won’t easily forget. I moved as quickly as I could with a 5-year-old-laden trolley and saw, on arrival, that one of her feet was quickly becoming quite a lot bigger than the other one…We spent the rest of the day in the emergency room with her receiving strong pain-killers while waiting for x-rays which confirmed she had broken her foot. The weeks that followed saw her in and out of the Orthopod’s offices, undergoing surgery, moving around on crutches to school, bravely facing dressing changes, shoe braces, etc, etc. Thulani not only helped carry Zizi into hospital and looked after his younger brother while the hospital visit was going on, but also waited hand and foot on his sister over the next few weeks, out of love, no doubt, but also as a direct consequence of his actions which had caused her to trip.

Why am I telling this story? Had they listened to my instruction to slow down and obeyed me, it is very unlikely that the day would have ended the way it did. Had even Zizi obeyed me, she would not have been travelling quite as quickly when she was knocked and so would not have flown so far or fallen so hard. Had just Thulani obeyed me, Zizi might have tripped on her own, but I doubt the effects would have been as severe. Very definitely, both of my children were responsible for Zizi’s fall on that day, and thus her foot being broken.

But what was my role in all of this, as the parent? Did I in any way cause this to happen when I warned them that something bad would happen if they didn’t slow down? Did I want this to happen as a consequence of their disobedience to me? Was I satisfied when it happened because they had disobeyed me and were now facing the consequences? Did I walk up to Zizi and tell her that she had caused this herself and so she needed to deal with the consequences by herself? Did I, for a second, leave her side during her time of pain, while she was lying in hospital, while she was going under anaesthetics or coming out of it? Did I refuse her crutches because she had brought this on herself?**

And what of Thulani? Did I ignore him and refuse to speak to him for days? Did I insist that he too must have his foot broken as a result of his disobedience? Did I abandon him in the parking lot? Did I point out each time Zizi needed help that he had caused her to be in this position, or remind him each time she hobbled along on crutches (with him carrying her school bags for her) that he had made this happen? What would these things have accomplished other than prove to him that I was a vicious and vindictive person and actually, in a strange way, “let him off the hook” for making things right with his sister by making it seem like he had already paid the price in other ways? Would it have made him realise the consequence of not thinking things through (he hadn’t wanted to break her foot – he had just wanted to trip her), or would it have made him swear that, the next time he did something wrong, he would keep it hidden from me, or even worse, would it have bred a sense of deep shame around his own actions and identity and marred his sense of being worthy of love.

I believe that having him help me carry her into the hospital (while her pain was obvious at each move) and serve his sister through her 6-week recovery period was not only the best way of helping him see the full consequence of his un-thought-out actions, but also the best opportunity for him to show her that he was sorry, and for their relationship to mend and grow through the experience.

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There have been a few times since that I have referred them to that day, but never as an “I told you so” or with any kind of glee or satisfaction…I have mentioned it when I need them to think through some of their actions beyond some of the immediate effects they have considered. I have mentioned it when I am again needing to warn them against something harmful and need them to listen well.

And I mention it when they think for even a minute that our Parent – the One who created us and knit us together before anyone even knew we existed, the One who shows us the most beautiful Way to live, the One who promised we would never be forsaken, the One who poured themself out for all of us, the One who loves each of them more than I ever could (and boy, do I love my children!) – would actually cause them, or anyone, harm.

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*Cape Town, where we live, is in the middle of the worst drought we have experienced in the area in at least the last century.

**My sister, on reading this, said I needed to spell out the (what I thought was obvious!) answer to the (what I thought were rhetorical) questions…and that is: NO!! To all of them!

This story really happened, but I am grateful to Brad Jersak for the idea of putting it together as a “parable” for how we can understand God as Parent and reframe some of our thoughts around “God’s wrath”…You can read his “Parable: Wrath as a hammer-throwing contest” in his book: “A More Christlike God: A More Beautiful Gospel” published by Plain Truth Ministries in 2015

Can a Mother forget…?

“Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore?” – Isaiah 49:15 (MSG)

There is an unmistakable moment when you become a parent – something shifts in you on a tectonic level which changes your foundational identity for ever. For some, this is when they see the first heartbeat of their babies on the monitor*, for others it is when they hold their baby after birth, for others it is when our kids are brought home for the first time – at a few days old, at a few years old – for others it happens later…whenever it happens, the moment is the same: you are no longer the person you were the second before that fundamental shift.

The isiXhosa culture and language has a beautiful way of symbolising this shift. It led to a cute moment this week where a friend and I greeted each other at the same time, “Molo, Mama kaThulani” (“Hello, Mother of Thulani”)…the people with us laughed with joy as they were reminded that we both have first born sons with the name Thulani, and so now we have the same name too: we are identified first and foremost by those that make us “mother”. As we create or adopt our children, so they in turn create us.

(The highest compliment I was ever paid for an item of clothing was, “When you wear that skirt, you look like the mother of Thulani and Zizi and Masi”.)

I don’t want to limit this experience only to mothers or to parents – there are many people who carry children and other people in their hearts in ways which have fundamentally shifted who they are and how they perceive and act and “be” in this world. But I am a mom, and so will write from that perspective.

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I walk the earth in my pale skin and have benefited from a deeply violent social system which has perceived me and treated me as something better because of that pale skin…and people who look like my children as at best less valuable and, at worst, less human, than me. This is vile and I am committed to destroying this system.

As a mom of image-bearers of Christ with a darker brown skin than I have, I also walk the earth with a heart which carries my children as a foundational part of who I am – and so everything I see and hear and read and do is experienced through this identity. In a world dominated by the pale-skinned narrative – and everything which has been constructed around it to prop up its superiority and survival – I have spent years navigating this fragile journey of bringing my children up in a country where the minority of people are pale-skinned, but where my children would still be viewed as less-than or suspect because of the colour of their skin.

This past week, I have joined others in extreme levels of heartache.

I reeled at the results of the US election and swore that neither my children nor husband would ever travel there, while at the same time I mourned with friends and strangers who call the US home, that their very identity had been attacked, or at the very least diminished (which I think is attack)**, by those who voted in this man.

I have read people’s commentaries and comments on the proposed vote of no confidence in President Zuma – commentaries which are, not always but so very often, tainted with an undertone of racism, which people would deny, but is so evident to those with brown bodies.

In addition to this, through other conversations and happenings this week, I am recognising a sharp increase in some groups of people of colour shutting down other groups, or telling them that they have no right to speak because, while they have too been oppressed by the colonialist and apartheid systems, they have not been as oppressed as others. I have seen factionalism grow as people fight for who has the greatest right to speak of, and act in response to, oppression – a fight in identifying who the true revolutionaries are, and who, by inference, are then the sell-outs/colluders/house slaves/new oppressors, etc.

Where once I only feared for the warped perceptions of some pale-skinned people and how they would treat my children, I had now become fearful for my children’s safety (and that of my husband’s) should our country continue on the path of violent white privilege (make no mistake – this system is violent!) being met with violent black pain…but where more and more people in brown skin are being viewed as “not black enough” to be on the “right side” of the revolution.
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“Can a mother forget the infant at her breast, walk away from the baby she bore?”

This was read in church on Sunday morning. In that moment, I realised all the pain, confusion and fear which I had been carrying this week. With those words, my heart broke open – a yawning chasm of pure horror – a resounding NO!!! as this most rhetorical question suggested that this could ever even be considered a possibility…my face, which had held together relatively “well” for the days before, followed my broken heart and crumbled in weeping.

And then, having broken open my heart and shown me the depths of my fears this week, God was able to pour the words that followed like a balm into the chasm:
“Even if mothers forget [which I need to reiterate is entirely impossible]***, I’d never forget you – never.”
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This is NOT meant to be one of those posts which says, “God is in control – don’t worry about Trump/racism/xenophobia/sexism/fill-in-the-blank-ism” or “God elects the leaders, so all you must do is pray for them” or any of the other ways people have tried to comfort or pretend we are not responsible for the world we live in.

It might be saying more, but what it definitely IS saying is: which mother, knowing their children were hurting, being scorned, being crushed, being assaulted, would stop at NOTHING to protect them and work to establish a world in which this couldn’t possibly happen to anyone’s children ever again? Which of us would not put our bodies, hearts and souls on the line for our children? How much more would God – who poured out everything to take on flesh and walk among us, who put body, mind and heart on the line for us, who is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow – stop at nothing to protect all those who have been created and born in God’s image, and work to establish a world in which everyone, everyone, is treated as precious, precious, precious children and siblings?

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“See: I have engraved you on the palm of my hands…” v16

In the same way as our children create us as parents, through deep, unfathomable love for us, God also chooses an identity which is inextricably bound to that of Parent…what stronger way is there to show this than this image of us being engraved on the palms of our Parent’s hands?

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And we are called to be God’s hands and feet, and heart and head, and eyes and ears and mouths in this world.

“I form you and use you
to reconnect the people with Me –
To restore the land
And to resettle families on the ruined properties,
To say to captives, “Come out,”
And to those huddled in fear, “It’s all right. It’s safe now.”
Isaiah 49: 8-9 MSG/NIV mash-up

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Footnotes…(because I use brackets too much already!)

* Which is part of why miscarriages and still-births are so foundationally painful and can’t be dismissed lightly – there has already been an identity shift – one which centres our entire identity around that little being.

** I know a lot of people say they voted for Trump, but don’t agree with his views on people of colour, immigrants, women, LGBTQI persons, Muslims, etc – but if they could see ANYTHING else as more central to the vote than that (giving licence to these views), it feels like they have chosen other issues over people’s actual identities, so it still feels like attack to me.

*** (barring mental illness and huge brokenness which we need to acknowledge because some of our children are carrying that pain)

This wasn’t footnoted anywhere but, because Hillary is not the only one who feels like she has failed girl-children this week, I want to point out that God used the image of a mother to describe the nature of the love which is given to us through the Godhead. Jesus referred to God as “Father” – which is beautiful, especially given the way gods (and even God) were viewed in those days and the fact that Caesar had declared himself “Father” over all the people under Roman occupation – and it is wonderfully true that God is our Father. It is also true that God is referred to in female imagery (“mother”, “hen”, “many breasted God” and others which I shan’t go into now) and in a time in which women were treated as accessories by men (just think about how RADICAL that is!) – and so it is wonderfully true that God is our Mother…as well as an eagle, a lion, a lamb and many other images which can help to explain the completely Indescribable and Uncontainable. We are invited to explore a far richer and more beautiful image of God when we explore all these metaphors, and don’t limit God (and each other) by limiting our speech to God as male-only.

Checking my Shoes

Earlier this year, I was sitting in school traffic with the kids in a place notorious for people driving up the right lane and cutting in to a LONG queue in the left hand lane right at the last minute. It infuriates me at any time, but particularly when we are running late and we have already been driving for 55 minutes, 15 of which have been in that queue. I remember saying out loud to the kids, “Now, if anyone tries to cut in infront of me, I will be SO angry!”…which was really quite a silly thing to say because it was fairly inevitable and so I was actually just promising that I was going to be angry that morning.

When I got to work, we happened to be working through Ephesians and had arrived at the bit in chapter 6 around armour, and someone expressed that they struggled to understand exactly what “feet being fitted with the readiness that comes from the Gospel of Peace” means. As we discussed this, I realised that I had, that morning, chosen to fit my feet with readiness…a readiness to respond in a certain way should a certain situation present itself. But not the readiness which comes from the Gospel of Peace. I like Paul’s instruction because, in conjunction with the reflection on my traffic altercation that morning, it really points to intentionality in how we interact with different situations in life…to soak ourselves in the Gospel of Peace, to imagine different scenarios which might play out, and so be ready, when those happen, to respond in ways which make for peace.

This morning, I woke up in a foul mood. Not absolutely crippling, but just irritable – and not helped by our dog jumping on my son, and my son screaming like he was being murdered, on what had otherwise been a quiet morning for our neighbours. On the way to church, I reacted to my husband in way which made me realise that I had been READY to hear anything he said as an accusation, not an observation (it wasn’t a pretty reaction :(). On walking across the church parking lot and getting a piece of gravel stuck in my sandal, I remembered that I had even had a dream last night about walking barefoot with my husband and trying to argue that it was OK, even though I had had to stop every few steps to take the painful devil-thorns out of my feet as we walked.

And so I got in to church realising that I needed to do something about this mood. How do we fit our feet with the readiness that comes from the Gospel of Peace when we are just plain ratty? I sat during the worship time knowing that I couldn’t partake in sung worship to God if I wasn’t really serious about the state of my heart.

What came to mind as I sat there was a conversation I had with a “Kingdom-partner-becoming-friend” on Thursday morning. She had been struck around Jesus’ washing of His disciples’ feet. That He had told Peter that, unless He was allowed to wash Peter’s feet, he could have no part in Him. We sat realising that, as activist types, we are so often ready to run into action, but that Jesus has said that, unless we move from a place of Him having ministered to us, we have no part in Him…We are so ready to sing worship to God, to minister to others, to intercede for others, to do the things He calls us to do, to serve Him…but how often are we able to have Him serve us – to minister to us in deeply vulnerable, intimate ways? (If you have never had someone wash you feet before – give it a go and you will understand the vulnerability and intimacy of that action!)

My Kingdom-partner-becoming-friend had had the image of Jesus “massaging the good news into His disciples’ feet” before He sent them out into the world to do His work. This morning, I sat in church asking God to massage His good news into my feet, to help me to walk only when I have had my feet deeply nurtured and healed and fitted with a readiness which comes from HIM, from His good news, from the Good News of the Kingdom of God.

To be honest, I am still in a grotty mood. I am writing this not really knowing what Jesus massaging my feet with His good news looks like in practise for me today. And it is most likely different for each of us. But I do know that He is calling us each in to a place of Him being able to minister to us. And so I share the invitation with you.

Psalm 23, an orange octopus and Veggie Tales – Parenting Adventures with God

For the past 3 weeks, Masi has really been struggling to go to sleep. And when I talk about Masi struggling, I don’t mean that he just lies in his bed and plays with his fingers and can’t doze off – I mean he jumps out of bed and slams the door repeatedly, he pulls the curtains down, he opens his cupboard and flings all his clothes around the floor, he jumps on his sister while she is trying to sleep, most of the time yelling and screaming and kicking, hitting and fighting us when we try and calm him down.

Most of the parents (and others) reading this would probably say he needs a good spanking, or a firm speaking to, or some “incentivising”, or positive attention or some distraction, or many of the other ways we deal with children who have mutated into monster mode…most of the parents reading this also didn’t drink all the way through pregnancy, and so don’t really realise that most of the things which have worked with our other two children simply do not work with Masi…

We have always fought talking about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome with regard to Mas because we hate the boxing and limiting of children which comes along with this and similar labels. But a few weeks ago, in desperation, I started looking things up about behavioural issues, diagnosis, treatment methods etc because “normal” parenting methods weren’t working and we want to be as compassionate and wise as we can in parenting each of our kids.

One of the things I read with regard to helping with behaviour was “don’t try harder, try different” – as in, don’t keep just trying harder with the normal methods, try and find new, creative ways to come at the issue. The problem with new and creative things is that they are not generally things you know about or have tried (because we have tried SO MANY THINGS!).

Monday night this week was dreadful! Lucien had gone out, Thulani had one of his “once in every 3 years” mutations into horrible, disgusting, “who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-my-son?” behaviour and Masi would not calm down. After holding him in a body lock (helpful because it isn’t sore unless he struggles, but boy is he strong!), lying with him, asking him repeatedly and calmly to come down from standing on his head and to lie still, massaging him, doing deep-sensory stimulation, etc, etc for an hour and a half, he heard Lucien arrive home and ran downstairs, and I promptly burst into tears. So, poor Lucien arrived home to an 8-year old still awake and a sobbing, curled-up-in-a-ball wife!

The thing is, I had prayed and prayed for creativity, telling God that He had made Masi, He knew how to calm him down, that I was THROWING myself on Him for wisdom and creativity (as the One who put all creativity into us in the first place)…and I felt utterly abandoned. I am still not sure why Monday night happened the way it did, but I know and trust that God has longer and wider wisdom than I think I needed that night.

On Tuesday, after some time of tackling Masi, getting him into bed, half succeeding in the standing on the head thing (or the stopping of it), I prayed and asked God for the strategy for that night. As I started doing some stretching and relaxing exercises with him, I had the words of Psalm 23 come to mind, and so I used it as a visualisation exercise for Masi – painting the picture of a stream tripping over rocks, a beautifully warm (but not hot) day, long green grass (with no insects) – lying down in it, hearing the stream, hearing the birds in the trees close by…..and he was snoring by the time I moved on to the birds further away…shew!

The next night, asking for something similar, I ended up with a picture of him floating on his back in a warm ocean with waves rocking him…this didn’t get him to sleep, but it calmed him enough that he fell asleep about 15 minutes later.

The next night was a picture of an orange octopus and so I started talking about that (Masi loves anything orange and is intensely interested in anything wildlife related, and he quietened immediately). We talked about how strong octopuses can be, but then that they can also go totally squishy to get themselves into spaces and how he (as the octopus) found a space under a rock, away from danger, with warm sand underneath, where he could make his body go squishy to get in and then relax and sleep. I kept asking God to supply more images as the visualisation went on, and ended up pretty much praying Psalm 104 in 8-year-old, octopus-related language…and Masi was snoring again.

Last night was rather difficult. Masi had pushed Lucien down the stairs (a very scary moment) and was acting very violently. By this time, I had started to enjoy the partnering experience I was having with God and felt OK to tell Lucien to step aside and that I had the peace and strength for it. Masi was really physical (it is quite scary how strong he is – especially when he doesn’t realise the consequences of his actions) and so, after having to tackle him and pull him back onto the bed (declaring to him and to any other players in the game that the battle was already won, it was just a matter of time before he/they realised it), I had him caged in a body-lock, kicking and screaming. All the previous nights, he had calmed down relatively well first and then I had started with the picture stories. Last night, as I lay hoping he wouldn’t get his elbow in my face, God put the opening words of that famous song, “If you like to talk to tomatoes…” into my head. Absurd as it may seem to launch into Veggie Tales at a moment like this, I started…and, by the time I reached “tomatoes” he had stopped screaming, he lay still and, much as I thought it was all a trick to con me into letting my guard down so he could jump out of bed, he didn’t budge again! When I had finished a medley of the Bunny song, the Hairbrush song and the Cheeseburger song, he turned over, pulled the duvet over him and said it would be nice if I carried on singing, and dropped off to sleep.

Last night I had also declared to those other players, as well as Lucien, that that was the last time Masi would struggle like that. As part of walking that out, today I went and asked a homeopath for something which might help calm him down when he was a bit wild. I am glad that I have it, and I gave him some, but suspect I didn’t have to use it. Tonight Masi got into bed (after a quick, calm and friendly distraction from him jumping on my bed) and lay still while I asked God for His next plan – and then I talked to Masi about being a fluffy eagle chick, well fed, and curling up under the shadow of his mommy-eagle’s wing…went on to pray bits of Isaiah 40 (the famous “rise up on wings as eagles” bits as well as the shepherd gathering lambs up in His arms and gently leading those with young), just praising God for who and how He is…and left a sleeping boy 10 minutes later.

Much as I would never wish these 3 weeks back again (there are other nights I have not described and would love to forget), I have totally loved being reminded of my absolute dependence on God and His incredible faithfulness in loving, speaking to, holding and parenting us.

An afterthought: in case anyone thinks that we had never tried singing, visualisation etc – everything which worked then, we had tried before. The trick comes down to this: God knitted Masi together in his birth mom’s womb, He knows Masi in and out and knew the exact time and the place for which that dratted Veggie Tales song was written! It’s kind of like putting our nets out on the other side of the boat – we’re really just asked to do the same thing as we have always done again, but this time with the God of all creation letting us in on “the know”…

A story even worse than that – A Lament*

Three years ago, while camping with my family, I was chatting to the seven-year old girl who was camping next to us. She asked me what had happened to my three children’s birth mothers and so I told her their stories – explaining that Thulani’s birth mom had been too sick and poor to look after him and so had left him at a bus station where she knew other people would find him and be able to love him, and that Zizi and Masi’s birth mom had died 5 days after Masi had been born, and so I was given the privilege of becoming their real mom.

After hearing these stories, she was silent and then responded with words I will never forget: “Ek het a storie wat nog erger as dit is…” (I have a story which is even worse than that).

She then proceeded to tell me about her parents’ divorce – how they had fought for such a long time, that her mother had been so cross that she had hit her father with her handbag, and how now they lived in separate houses and weren’t married anymore…

The Psalmists use a word at a point like this: Selah (roughly translated as “Pause and think about that a bit”).

…I really don’t know why I asked the question, but I asked her which was better for her: her parents fighting all the time but all of them being together, or her parents living in separate places and the fighting stopping… I have never felt more stupid than I did when I saw the expression on her face…as if either of those two choices were ones which she would have made! What an absolutely horrible choice/comparison to put in front of a child…

And yet so many parents do that to their children. They make adult decisions to get married, they make adult decisions to have children and, when the going gets tough, they expect their children to deal with the consequences as if they were adults, presenting them with those two options…
“you know mommy and daddy have been fighting a lot lately…well, we have decided that it would be better if we didn’t live in the same house any more”…and the kids are meant to make sense of that? Feel better now that the fighting is over – with this as the solution? What kind of choice is that to give a child? To leave them with a life story that feels even worse in their imaginations than being abandoned or losing a parent?

(* When reading a lament/rant by me, please be aware that I hold so much compassion for people and am ranting more at the general pattern and the spirit of this world than the individuals who have gone through really painful relational breakdowns and whose hearts are breaking because of they know how this will affect their children and still think this is the best decision – or don’t think it’s the best decision and are wanting to fight for their marriage, but the (good) fight is one-sided. I am lamenting for the millions of children going through this, not ranting against the individual parents).