Naomi Reed's Blog, page 2

Like newborn babies

Darren and I are part of a local group that read the Bible together on Tuesday nights. It’s lovely – the kind of group that welcomes you in your slippers, or lets you cry if you need to. Two weeks ago, one of the couples had twins! The rest of us have got grown up kids or teenagers, so we’re frankly besotted. The twins came to the group last week – feeding and sleeping and cuddling and then arching their heads, asking for more. At the same time, we happened to be reading 1 Peter 2, “Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk…” Sometimes, you don’t need extra imagery!

There they were in front of us, with their instinctive needs and cravings and head turnings. It made me think about how, so often, I don’t crave spiritual milk in the same natural, eager way. I read the Bible because I have to, or as a task, often. What would it mean for me to crave it, all day long, like a newborn baby arches her head and cries, till she gets it… or till we get what we really need – time alone with our saviour, food from his word, hope for our souls, perspective for our muddled-up lives.

 

 

Teach us to number our days

Last month, we were in Cairns for our 25-year wedding anniversary… and we visited this grave. Anna Heinrich married Johann Hoerlein, who was a German missionary in Cooktown (far North Queensland) in the late 1800’s. They had one child. In 1900, Anna became very sick with malaria and she died, aged only 31. Their little boy was only three. It seems such a short time to live. Eight years later, Johann also died. The little boy was left an orphan and he went to live with his relatives. It must have been so hard for him. He never even visited this grave. Years later, the boy married and he had three children of his own.

One of them was my mum.

I knelt there, by this grave, so thankful… for the lives of those who’ve gone before us, who we find it hard to imagine. I’m thankful for Anna and Johann and the short number of days they lived on this earth. It meant that (amongst many other things) I’m alive, today. It made me think a lot about the impact of all of our lives, or the way we often try and think about our days, or measure the worth of them and our ongoing fruitfulness. How do we know what God might do in another 100 years, in and through the lives of one or more of our great grandchildren, or their friends?

Much later in the day, I read Psalm 90, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

 

To love and cherish

It’s been 25 years since we were married, so we got dressed up, walked down to the big rock and renewed our vows in front of the boys and the mad beagle. It was lovely. Afterwards, we ate bacon and eggs with them, and we reminisced, and we played old wedding music. And then we cleaned up the kitchen, sent some emails, and sorted out the tax. Marriage is a mystery, and it occurs within the ordinary. It reminds us to say sorry and thank you and please, all of the time, in the middle of the tedium and the ridiculously frustrating, as well as the beautiful moments that we choose to photograph. It causes us to be kind and to greet each other with love and affection, because every day is new and cherishing is a choice. It means catching glimpses of the eternal and sacred, in God’s world, and each other, even when we can’t find the keys, or the dog, or the piece of paper that used to be under that great pile of stuff. It’s a choice to love that grows softer and deeper, especially through trials and sickness and monsoons and civil war and life-threatening heart conditions… because to God, none of this is a surprise. It means we can enjoy the temporary gift of three sons, and notice how much delight and complexity and laughter they add to our living, and how much wisdom is required – much more than we have. It’s about all the ordinary moments when we look at each other and say, ‘Do you want to take the dog for a walk?’ And the answer is almost always, yes, we do.

Dear younger self…

Ten years ago, it began to rain. I sat on our Himalayan porch and watched the rain pour down on our terraced garden. Darren rode off to work at DMI, in the rain. The boys did three hours of homeschool and then made mudslides, near the corn crop. The Maoists called yet another strike and the army kept practicing and the king didn’t know what to do. It was the beginning of our seventh monsoon and I was struggling, so I turned on our laptop and began to write.

Ten years later (and six books published), this is what I’d tell my younger self:

Pour it out. Just write. Don’t worry about what anyone else is going to think, just write from the bottom of your heart about the things that make you laugh and cry and stare in wonder, and the reader will probably also stare in wonder and laugh and cry with you… because they’ve all had their own monsoons, or years of drought, or months of waiting and impossible questions… so stop worrying and pour it out.

‘Pace’ is very important, but even now, I can’t tell you what it is. You have to find it yourself, inside every sentence. But trust me, you will.

Stories need to come alive – so the reader can smell them and hear them and touch them – especially the mudslides, and the way the army boots sound when they march in rows past your house. So capture all of that, but most importantly, capture the soul – the thing inside you full of questions, and a longing for truth and beauty and love. Capture that, truthfully.

But as you do, try and focus on your unfathomable questions, rather than your neat, simple answers. None of us are in heaven yet and we don’t know everything, and some days we hardly know anything at all. So write well and honestly, but leave as many gaps as you can… so that the reader can put their fragile longings and questions inside your story, quietly.

More than anything, as you write, catch a tiny glimpse of what could be, of what is still to come, a plan for forever, and a purpose for now, so the reader can keep going too, and put their hope in a God who loves them, completely and utterly, and has invited them into his marvelous, over-arching story.

When you’ve finished your small story, smile for a moment (because it’s good to have written 65,000 words) and then sit back down and rewrite again and again (until you want to throw the whole thing out the window), because the rewriting is when you find the sparkly bits.

And remember, whatever happens next is not up to you.

Is it safe?

I met a lady in Singapore last month and she wanted to know, is it safe? Is it safe to go the Middle East with Interserve at the moment? I said I don’t know. Then I met a lady in the supermarket last week and she said, is it safe? Is it safe to go back to Nepal at the moment? I said I don’t know.

Last month, Darren went back to Nepal to help with earthquake relief. He said it was a privilege to be there, supporting the Nepali physios and being there with them through the second, devastating earthquake. He came home safely two weeks later.

This week, we came down to the South Coast for a short break, to recover. We chose the quietest, most restful spot we could find, by the water. Within hours of being here, Darren came off his bicycle and he ended up at Nowra Hospital. He’s fine. He only needed one plaster.

But it made me think. Is it safe to get up today? I don’t know. We don’t know. But we will get up… because we know there are other, better questions. Life isn’t safe… but it’s a beautiful gift.

The Zookeeper

Our most recent Zookeeper tour to the Tamworth area was so wonderful, back in March this year. We performed at six schools, to a total of 2,000 children and we loved it, especially all the conversations afterwards. Since then, though, the Zookeeper has been on temporary hold, while I prepare for the Interserve book tour, and then travel during July and August.

However, as of today, we’re opening up bookings for family church services later in the year. Hooray! We have 7 Sundays available – 25 Oct, 1, 8, 15, 22, 29 Nov and 6th Dec. If your church is in the greater Sydney region and you have a reasonable stage, and sound and lighting support, you might be in the running to host ‘The Zookeeper’.

It would be particularly suitable for an end-of-year, creative church service – telling the whole Biblical story in engaging allegory – with drama, music and puppets. To find out more, see the web page and then call our manager, Leeanne on 95013421. If you’re really excited, tell your friends.

Earthquake Relief

Thanks for praying for the earthquake relief in Nepal. Darren was able to be there for two weeks, spending most of his time at Dhulikhel Hospital (where we used to live and work), helping the physios with the inundation of patients from nearby villages. There are triple the normal number of patients in the hospital at the moment. One room has 72… and it wasn’t even a ward before. There are more than 40 spinal cord injuries in the hospital and hundreds of fractures and head injuries. Everyone has the same sort of story – they were sitting inside their house and a concrete wall or roof fell on them and they were trapped inside for hours and many of their family members have died and their villages have been destroyed. It’s heart breaking. The local hospital staff have been amazing though, working around the clock, and giving out relief packages, even though some of them have lost their own homes. Darren also spent time in Kathmandu, with Nischal (the head of the Nepal Physio Association) meeting with the Minister of Health, and helping to coordinate the rehab services across the country, alongside Handicap International, ICRC etc, with everyone focusing on working together and using Nepali resources well, which is all brilliant!

He was also there through the second earthquake (7.4), closer to Dhulikhel… and sent this message, “I’m ok. It was a rather large aftershock and not too far from where I am. The whole building I was in swayed/ shook for 30seconds or so but I wasn’t in it for that long. Nepalis can run very fast I have found out. I didn’t get to finish my lunch. Casualties started coming into the hospital nearly straight away. I’m sure there will be many more through the night and tomorrow. I am sleeping outside tonight with my friends. Everyone is very scared and so many crying because they couldn’t contact relatives. The hospital buildings have got big cracks in them after this one and all the patients are outside. Thanks for your thoughts. Keep remembering the Nepali people it is very tough.”

If you would like to see Darren’s recent photos in Dhulikhel, please go to my facebook page https://www.facebook.com/myseventhmonsooon

If you would like to give towards INF’s response to the disaster, please go to http://www.inf.org/earthquake-appeal-australia

 

 

Nepal Tragedy

At the beginning of the week, we felt torn. We were pre-booked to fly to Singapore for the World Physio Congress and an Interserve event. But our hearts were in Nepal. We wondered what we were doing. But now it’s the end of the week… and being here has meant that Darren has met with three of the key Nepali physios, and with Declan (our INF physio friend in Pokhara) and WCPT representatives, who are all here in Singapore for the Congress. They’ve had time to sit down and plan and co-ordinate a physio response to the disaster. Part of this will mean that Darren will fly back to Nepal with them on Tuesday, to help mobilise physio resources in local hospitals (and I will return to Australia as planned). We’re thrilled that Sydney Uni has given Darren time off to do this. His years training physios at DMI means that he knows many of them in the Kathmandu valley and beyond. Please thank God for his wonderful timing… and pray for wisdom and strength for all the physios!

Thanks x

Old Stories

I love making new things out of old things. It’s the challenge of it all. The leftover material from my bridesmaid dresses (25 years ago) is now holding back the curtains in the sunroom. Our gagri (water carrier) from Nepal is now sitting in the living room, holding up the Christmas tree every December. Our faded curtains from Nepal have come back to Australia and turned into comfy cushions in the den. I love the way that the new things connect our old worlds and remind us of other seasons and lessons learnt. But now I’m recycling again! This time it’s words. Back in August last year, someone suggested that I turn some of my writing into short stories for the radio. So I went back and read all six books, 200 talks and 36 magazine articles… and I found 100 new short stories! It was wonderful. I really enjoyed reading them and re-writing them, and I was definitely reminded of other seasons and lessons learnt – lessons that I needed to learn again! The good thing about recording them is that it has given me the chance to do exactly that. Even the two producers have been asking me wonderful questions about what it means for me, today. I’m still working on the answers! But in the meantime, you can find the first ten on the ‘Everyday Stories with Naomi Reed’ radio page, or you could listen to 45 of them on Inspire Digital – they’re being played every weekday at 1.50pm and 10.50pm.

Enjoy! And I’ll keep thinking about the answers and application, today.

Teenage Boys

I will not always be the mother of three teenage boys, so I’m going to give you my top tips now, in case I forget them. 1. Windows. Keep most of them open, most of the time, even if there’s a frost. 2. Soccer balls in the house. This is a tricky one. Start by telling them they can’t dribble soccer balls past you in the kitchen, while holding a plate of food. 3. Washing. Try making a rule that by the time they each turn 15 they have to do their own. But note that they may merely become better at pinching each other’s clean socks and underwear. 4. Your makeup and jewellery. They don’t want to borrow it! That’s so cool. 5. Small devices and the internet. This is even trickier than the soccer balls. Enjoy the soccer balls!

… with lots of love from Naomi, on an autumn day in the Blue Mountains, with the windows wide open and the soccer balls outside.