God is sovereign.

I was asked a question by my wonderful husband and it has left me so amazed at God and His sovereignty that I just had to write it down. The question was, 'if you could go back 10 years in time and speak to yourself, what would you say?'. So.... whilst travelling through time in my mind, I thought of myself as a new teenager, and things I could have been told that would have helped me throughout that time.

"Don't worry about what other people think of you;" was the first thing I thought, "it doesn't matter what others think, only what God thinks. Make sure God is part of your personal life throughout your life, part of every day, and don't underestimate the importance of Christian fellowship". I think those would probably have been the most important things for me to hear before I spent some of my teenage years struggling with what others thought and not really thinking about what God wanted me to do.

And then J pointed out that even though I thought I needed to hear that stuff 10 years ago, God still had me in the place I'm in now. I'm in a relationship with Him, I'm saved, and I have a blessed life that I am SO thankful for. So even though I have some experiences in my past I would rather weren't there (and if I had the chance would erase), God in His sovereignty pulled me through to be where I would want to be anyway! And I still have lots of room to grow and become more like my 33 year old self would tell me to be if given the chance...but I am SO thankful that God has me where I am, has me in relationship with Him. Thank you God!!

-K

Blogged

I've been rather hesistant towards the blogging trend. Actually to be honest, I've had no interest in it at all. To me blogs seem like a place where angry teenagers rant about how unfair their parents/school/work/whatever are/is, or a place full of other useless information. But then, when you move away from those you know, suddenly it seems to be a good way to keep people in the loop; to let people know what is going on in your life. But is it??

There are 2 reasons I remain unconvinced:

1. You pour your heart out into a blog that a few people read (but You have no idea who of your friends or anyone in this strange blogging world is actually reading it), and even though people may be interested, you have no knowledge of that. You don't know if people are actually keeping up with what's going on in your life. When you catch up with people, you don't know whether to tell them what you've written in your blog, because you don't know if they've read it. And then, if someone actually does read your blog, it is very unlikely they'll comment. So you don't know if they care, or have advice, or want to share a laugh about something that happened. There is no communication between friends. Just a few words in a one-sided conversation.

2. I read your blog. You read mine. That's great... except I still don't feel like we've gotten any closer, and I presume you feel the same about me. So why do we blog? What is the point? Why don't we just email, phone, or (gasp) even write a letter?! And then get one back in return. One that responds to what you've written as well as passing on new information. The problem with blogs, is that everyone writes about how they are going without responding to any one else. How is this caring for others? Is blogging just a waste of time; could that time be better spent in another pursuit - perhaps even that phone call?

I need convincing. Is there purpose in a blog? Is it actually communicating with those you miss? Do you feel any closer to me from reading my blog? And should I feel any closer to you for the fact that you've read it and made no comment? (That's assuming I somehow know you've read it.) The jury is still out on this one. But maybe not for long...

K

The State (or Territory) of Things

I've heard that in England, around the 16-1700s, lawlessness and alcoholism were at a peak. People called for stronger laws and harder policing. Permanent scaffolds were erected in London for the punishment/spectator sport of hanging. Unemployment due to reluctance to be employed and inability to be were at a height. The country was headed on a steep down hill slope.

I had my first day of work today. As a part of my orientation to the aboriginally centred health service that I am working for I went out on the bus that goes to collect people from the town camps (areas designated for Aboriginal people to live in) for appointments. I have been looking after people who live in these areas for over a year now at the local hospital, so I had some idea of what to expect, but was never-the-less a bit disturbed by the state of things. The first place we went to was a camp of maybe 10ish houses. Out the front of the house that we were headed to domestic rubbish was scattered everywhere with varying density, the thickest area being a metre-high pile. A woman sat out the front on a wheel chair stamped with the mark of ownership which indicates that it should remain in the hospital. At another house in the dry-zone camps someone had at some point been industrious enough to start collecting cans in a large cage, with obvious success, as the hundreds of cans (mostly Victoria Bitter) in the cage were now running over. I saw next to one house a group of children leaping off of a post-2000 model Mitsubishi Magna onto their trampoline. Every window of the car was smashed except for the rear wind-shield which acted as a seat for those waiting to take the jump. Indeed cars with no windows or tyres, with extensive denting and, on occasion, rolled and torched, littered each camp. Perhaps half of them around the same vintage as my own 2002 vehicle, often newer. The cars could have been taken as a statement of fashion; no home is complete without at least one wreck and many had up to four visible from the front.

Is stark contrast the people that we spoke to were quite polite. There was no sign of active violence, vandalism or anger amongst any of the people in any of the seven-or-so camps we saw. No one was overly keen to help and about half of the people we went to collect weren't at the agreed upon place (although one of those places was "the tin shed" in a fairly vast set of three camps), but neither was anyone abusive, or even vaguely derogatory towards us. Which led me to thinking about what happens in these places at night. There is no doubt that rampant alcoholism and resulting issues are a large part of the answer to the question for what changes between day and night.

So what do you do? In a town where robberies and assaults are commonplace. Where so many fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, and their children go out at night to get drunk whenever they can. Where the per capita rate makes us the stabbing capital of the world. Where sexual deviancy and assault is so thoroughly ingrained that people don't say "larrikin" because of what it has come to mean. What can be done?

The local news paper tells me that we are receiving more police to curb the increasing issues. Another state's police force has even donated us another police dog out of acknowledgement of our issues. There are calls for stronger laws and harder punishments against "alcohol abusers". But from past experience people know not to get their hopes too high when law enforcement beefs up. Enforced dry zones lie covered in cans. Police are beaten up at under 17s football matches.

A great part of the fault in this answer to the issue lies in the fact that, while civilised society writes to the editor with one hand calling for more enforcement and crack down on alcoholism, with the other it reaps the benefits of the 96 local licensed venues. People cannot encourage alcohol sales and fight alcoholism. Although, if history has anything to say, halting alcohol sales just results in a flourishing black market and a turn towards backyard stills.

Politicians from local to federal level come and go, each one vowing anew to fight "antisocial behaviour". In a recent local bi-election every candidate cited cracking down on antisocial behaviour as part of their primary goal (except for the guy who wanted to start recycling. I don't think he got many votes). They've not found a lot of success yet.

Antisocial behaviour is symptomatic, it isn't the heart of the issue.

So I ask again, what do you do?

In eighteenth century England, when the country faced the real prospect of civil wall and moral conscience of any variety lay at the bottom of the Thames with a duelling pistol's shot firmly in it's back, something happened. A band of men went about the country telling people that they were sinful and telling them of the one answer to sin. They were told what punishment they deserved and they were told that God had become a man to take that punishment for them. People turned, both the sellers and the buyers because, if a final sense, there is not distinction. Society turned from it's evil and saw it's wretchedness and knew that there is no hope outside God. And people followed Him. And things changed.

J