Task This

I was at work tonight, working, as you do when you're at work. The usual happenings were going on in and out of the shop, common to a Thursday night. There was a great deal of chit chat due to the lack of customers (most of who were probably in bed), trying on of new garments, testing fabrics, dusting, more chatting, people watching, chatting... the normal.

As I was working I got a thinking, something that is common-place in my day. Serving customers is second nature to me. I don't have to think about it, it comes naturally. I have done this task countless times that it is now routine.

However, when I first began my time in retail, serving customers was not second nature. In fact, I generally avoided any new customer who happened into my store. I would pretend like I did not see them. I would become so engrossed in the task at hand, such as boxing clothes hangers, that I 'didn't even see them walk in'. I would dread the day when a customer requested a discount due to a minor and inconsequential fabric flaw on the inside of a pocket (trust me, I have been asked this before...more than once).

The short of it was, I hated serving customers. I wasn't good at it and it was awkward central, as well as an incredibly painful activity in my day.

Eventually, I had to take a great, big, chompin' bite of the bullet and meet and greet the consumer of our product. The more I became accustomed to serving and meeting customer's needs, the easier it became. I found that I was actually very good at listening to a peoples needs and desires in regards to a fashion top and was able to meet their need with an appropriate garment. I was able to find the right fit, the right colour, the right fabric at the right price and make her fall in love with the clothes, so much so that she bought the whole outfit.

I was good. I was very good. I soon became known as a 'Retail Therapist' (I can neither confirm nor deny that this is an actual job role or title).

Earlier this week I was thinking, a commonplace activity for me, and got brainstorming with a friend (some might say whinging, but for the exercise at hand, let's go with brainstorming). And you know what?

Just like when I first sold my soul to the retail life, stressing about the new tasks to master...so goes life.

There are many things that I am not perfect at. I know, hard to believe, right? But seriously, I miss the mark on things at times, some more than others. Sometimes, I miss the mark so much that it's not even in the same ballpark, let alone the same hemisphere.

But I have found that some tasks and activities in my life require more effort than others to get under control. It didn't take me long to get over the desire to steal marshmallows from the all-you-can-eat Pizza Huts (this may have been due to the fact that all my locals have shut shop...maybe they went out of business because of all the marshmallow stealing...). And I have mastered the task of paying my bills on time. But sometimes I have rampant thoughts of intense dislike towards Andrew O'Keefe from Deal or No Deal that may or may not involve a punch to the throat, or very occasionally I let my mind run wild with the thought of marrying Zac Effron. Only very occasionally though.

What I have realised is this: the more I practice something, the easier it becomes and the better I become at it. I didn't sit at the piano for hours on end learning Mozart to become a hack job. I sat there to become the best pianist I could be. I turned up for work after taking a mouthful of metal bullety goodness and practiced, practiced, practiced selling skills until I was able to sell snow to the eskimoes.

My point is this. Life, sometimes, is hard. There are things that I don't want to do, things that I suck at, things that I need to gain control of. The more I practice doing these tasks, the easier it becomes. Life is full of these lessons. I guess I'm just trying to see the glass as half full.

Anyone for marshmallows?

Nothing like the new thing

This morning as I was washing my hair, I opened a new bottle of shampoo. As I was lathering up my locks I got a thinking - I love using new products. I love opening up a new bottle of something or a new jar of something else and using that face cream for the first time. There's something comforting and refreshing about knowing that, no matter what, the shampoo is brand new. The scent, the texture of the product, the benefits of what's in that bottle, it's all new. It's fresh, it's inviting, it's invigorating (I should write commercials or something!).

Am I talking crazy again? To the untrained eye, yes I am. But those with a keen sense of Naomi-understanding, you'll see what I'm talking about.

Recently, I bought a new car. Not a brand new one, but one new to me. And the experience of getting into a new vehicle is strange. I had to learn where the headlights were now located. It took a mild panic in the rain to figure out how to turn on the windscreen wipers. Better still, I have only just figured out how to open the bonnet. It's all new to me, an experience I've never had before.

Like the shampoo, it's inviting. When I opened the bottle of nourishing and moisturising shampoo this morning, I thought about how I opened the door of my little red car. It was a new thing.

Yes, I admit that I am sounding like I'm clutching at straws to be able to write a new blog (ha! I just said new). Maybe I am.

Or am I?

After I washed my hair this morning, I sat down and read my Bible, also another good thing to do, especially whilst drinking a mocha.

And it hit me.

The Bible of full of new things.

Nuh ah Spray-oh-mi. The Bible is an old book full of stories about old people that happened a long time ago.

Oh really? Just humour me for a few paragraphs. If something is living, is it not alive? (Let me answer that for you) Yes. Is something is alive, does that mean it is present and living in today's day and age? (I'll answer that too) Yes. The Bible is called the Living Word of God (You don't have to argue with me on that one, it's a statement). So if it is the Living Word, it is alive in today's day and age. This means, by my reasoning, that the Word is alive and relevant for my life today.

Okay, now we've got that out of the way, we can assume that you understand that the Bible doesn't just have historical reference, but present relevance. Forgive me for sounding like I lecture in a Bible college, but when I open the Bible, words leap off the page and dance and twirl around and flash like a broadway sign, so for me it's impossible to not talk about how important the Bible is in everyday life.

Back to the new thing. Check it.

2 Cor 5:17, "What this means is that those who become Christians become new persons."

Isaiah 43:19, "For I am about to do a brand-new thing. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?"

Ephesians 4:24, "You must display a new nature because you are a new person, created in God's likeness- righteous, holy and true."

That's just to name a few, to get you started. The Bible is all about the new thing, new seasons, new beginnings, new life, new, new, new. The new thing is so exciting. Just like when I opened a new bottle of shampoo the experience brought about a sense of excitement, of freshness, of a new adventure. Just like when I jump in the front seat of my new car, I'm still learning how to do the new thing, but I thoroughly enjoy the process of newness.

I will also thoroughly enjoy opening the new things in store for this year.

Do they come gift-wrapped?

Could the real Creative Genius please stand up?

Many moons ago when I was studying at university, I studied a subject about creativity, culture and communication. The aim of this class was to study the different theories relating to creativity in our culture and how this interacts with communication. Sounds pretty bland, right? For the most part, I admit, I found myself daydreaming about what to buy from Pinkie's in my break. But one tutorial is still embedded in my memory, and I fear it may never leave me (but there is always hope).

The lecturer stood before the class and cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses on his angular nose with an age-wisened hand. Slowly, he opened the textbook, turning the pages with a familiar calm, rubbing the paper between his fingers as if to appreciate the texture of every printed page. He lifted his craggy face and I marvelled how the fluorescent light bounced off his shining forehead. Taking a deep breath, he declared in a steady voice the well-rehearsed line he had lectured on so many times before.

"There is no such thing as a creative genius." The class collectively held their breath as they processed his bold sentence, stated so matter-of-factly that the young students were unsure of how to proceed.

"And I say to you today, the author is dead." He placed the heavy textbook on the desk in front of him, lent backwards and crossed his long, chino-clad legs.

"Discuss."

Was he being serious? How could he possibly say that there was no such thing as a creative genius? Had he not listened to Michael Jackson? Had he not watched films directed by Alfred Hitchcock, or read books penned by Jane Austen?

Who was this man declaring that the likes of Mozart or Beethoven or C.S Lewis were fraudulent, whimsical nobodies? Was he mad? Maybe he was a bitter man who was biding his time until long service leave, who thoroughly enjoyed torturing his students. And he dared to sit there wearing a smirk and attempting to chair our discussion. There couldn't even be a discussion. It was ridiculous.

The debate began, based on theories that theorists had theorised. We understood the class rules - you can't argue from emotion, you must only argue from accepted theories, you can't argue from a basis of things like God and religion. Those were the rules. The discussion included many different angles, psychology facts and figures, examples of real life scenarios, this that and the other.

But it didn't even begin to look at the truth - there was one Author and one Creative Genius. Being forced to examine the theory without acknowledging the Source of creativity proved futile, disappointing and empty. If there was no such thing as a person who could boast the anointing of Creator God, if the act of authoring a creative work was merely a production line for self-preservation rather than an expression of worship and a reflection of the image of the God, if a person who was seen to be creating profound works of art was actually considered a genetic mutant, then life was simply the act of survival.

If there's one thing I know, it's this - I am a creative person who is made in the image of a creative God. This goes beyond a theory. This goes into foundational faith. I like to think of it like a mathematical proof.

Do I believe God is the Creator of the universe?

Yes.

Do I believe that God's Word is the Word of God?

Yes.

Does God's Word say that I am created in the image of God?

Yes.

Therefore, by my above reasoning, I [insert your name here] am/is creative.

It's simple. There's no powerpoint slideshows needed, no tables and graphs of data, no textbooks of theories required. All that is required is for you to go outside and gaze into the night sky. The stars alone should prove it. Or the sensation of the sun warming your skin in the early morning. Or the sound of the waves crashing at the beach or the feel of the sand between your toes, or the fact that your body is the most complex thing about you.

So, dear lecturer, whose name I have long since forgotten. I have discussed your statement and have decided that your theories have a few holes in them and are missing many elements, such as the truth.

Could the real Creative Genius please stand up?

Count the Cost

I have this one secret desire - that my life would count for something. I am not one of these people who believes in living an average life. I do not believe that I exist for myself alone. I am not alive as an exclusive island who exists to gain the very best of life. I was not born into this world to go about life as a 'normal' person. There is nothing normal about me, and there is nothing average about my life.

I was born for greatness. I was born to make a difference and to bring about change. God's plans for my life are for pioneering new strategies and processes, for building structures and practices that challenge the normality of everyday life. His plans for my life are to fulfill a higher purpose, one that I can only dream about. In fact, when I begin to imagine what could be in store, my mind literally tangles itself into a knot trying to get itself around the possibilities of what may lie ahead.

I am doing God no favours if I stay small and in the background, out-of-the-way and unobtrusive, not wanting to make a fuss. No one benefits from my anonymity. I am who I am so I can achieve God's plans for my life and the world.

Am I big-noting myself? No. 'Gee, she's got tickets on herself' I hear you saying. Not true. This is the truth - I know that I know that I know that God's plans for me are for good and not for evil, that they give me a hope and a future. Before the earth was set on it's foundations God had chosen me to be holy. Only things He has deemed as holy may enter His presence. Only those who enter His presence can know God.

I want my life to matter. I want my life to count for something. This world tells us that in order to have a lot, I've got to keep a lot. It tells me that to get ahead I've got to be concerned for me, let everyone else worry about themselves. This world says that your influence is measured by how big your house is and how much stuff is in that big house. It also tells me that when people know your name, you've made the big time.

But everything in my being fights against these 'ideals'. Influence is not only measured by material wealth. You cannot put a monetary figure next to the chance to speak hope into someones world. You can't tell me that a new car is worth more than the chance to change a child's life in a poverty-stricken country. I may never meet him, I may never have the honour of shaking his hand and walking down his street, but right now I have the ability to positively affect his life through sponsorship. In a few years time, that shiny red car is going to be full of rust and blowing black smoke out the exhaust. But that child... I have given him the gift of life. How can you compare the size of your house with the size of that opportunity?

If I keep everything I have tightly grasped in my fists, how am I able to reach out? If my hands are busy keeping my possessions in check, they won't be free to lend a helping hand to the lonely widow down the street who needs help moving boxes in her garage. If I hold tightly onto my money, my hands aren't open to give and aren't open to receive. I would be missing the point.

What does it matter if people know my name but I do nothing to help them? What good is my name if I can't reach out to hurting humanity and do something to alleviate their suffering and pain? My name is but a breath if I'm not willing to speak words of life, offer hope and touch the wounds of society. If I ignore humanity and their desperation, I am shunning the message of the Cross.

Joel Houston from Hillsong states, 'If what we're doing within the four walls (of the church) is having no effect on the streets that we travelled down to get there, then maybe we're missing the point.' Maybe we are missing the point.

I was born at this time in history for a reason. At no other time has another 'me' existed. My words, my time, my finances... I have something to give. I'll always have something to give. My God has graced me with gifts and abilities that have a purpose attached. My greatest achievement will be to hear 'Well done, good and faithful servant' at the end of my time here. I must keep going, I must start something, I must reach out and extend hands of grace, mercy and hope.

How am I going to do this? I don't know. I don't have all the answers yet. But I do know that I won't stop praying for God to break my heart for what breaks His. I will beat with the heart of heaven. I'll put shoes on and run with the message of the Cross, the message of hope and redemption and restoration and mercy and grace. I know that I'll never stop chasing after the One who is these things.

I know that my life will count for something.

Could you please clarify?

Something interesting happened to me the other day. I was having a conversation with someone very close to me, and they mentioned something that confused me. Now, sometimes it doesn't take much to confuse me. Talk to me about something like the stock market or economics or mechanics and you've pretty much lost me as soon as you open your mouth. But for the most part, I can follow an in-depth conversation and generally understand what you're talking about.

So, here's my friend and I and she's talking to me about interesting stuff. I was generally interested in what she was saying. But pretty soon, she'd lost me. I was still caught up on her opening sentence and trying to understand what she meant. You know how you try to split your concentration between comprehending what was already said, and storing up what was currently being said in order to sort through it in a few minutes time? That's where I was.

Instead of walking away feeling refreshed by our discussion, I walked away confused and pensive, and by pensive I mean brooding.

For the rest of the night, I was left wondering, 'What did she mean by that?', 'Surely she couldn't have meant this?' and 'Great, so where does that leave me now?'. I was stuck between an immovable rock and an uncomfortable hard place.

Now, for those of you who have never had the inexplicable joy of being stuck between that rock and a hard place, let me paint you a picture. It's rough, it's sharp, there's no comfort, you begin to twist and cramp into positions and situations you were never meant to contort to. You begin to worry that people will overlook you and not be able to rescue you.

Basically, you're stuck.

Enter from stage left: me. There's the rock, there's the hard place, and there's me wedged between them both. I wasn't getting unstuck in a hurry.

Enter from stage right: a light bulb moment (bing!). Why don't I ask my friend what she meant?

Cue applause. Curtains close.

Act II.

The next morning on my way to work, I rang my friend. We discussed our discussion. The key to this one? I opened my mouth and asked for clarification.

Understanding is underpinned by clarity. The more clearly you see an issue, the easier it is to understand it. When my friend clarified her point, I was instantly able to understand her perspective and point of view. Brilliant.

As soon as clarity entered the scene, understanding and fresh perspective followed. I was able to twist myself out from the rock and hard place and keep walking along on my merry way. Am I saying that positive thinking got me out? No. Maybe I'm suggesting that understanding is the key to life? Nah, not really. Understanding is integral in knowledge, but revelation is integral to wisdom and wisdom is the front door key to living a full life.

All I'm saying is that clarity allowed understanding which allowed new pespective which allowed me to stand up and keep going.

Fade lights. Roll credits.

Thanks for watching Clarity.

In all that I do...

So it's been a very long time since I have sat down to write one of these things. Perhaps it is more that, it's been a long time since I've had time to sit down to write one of these things. Time seems to be one of those things that, if you don't harness it correctly, it can bolt so fast you don't even know which direction it went in.

But that's beside the point. It hasn't been for lack of inspiration that it's taken me so long to sit down with laptop in tow. I've got hundreds of ideas swirling around in my brain. There's movies, books, songs, blogs, sermons, photos, designs... how do I get them all out? Someone said the other day, 'If you can think it, you can do it'. That is true. If there's nothing going on upstairs then there's nothing coming out. So all of that to say that I really should have been more productive, blog wise. So my apologies.

I like words. I go through word phases. I like the word surreptitious. I also enjoy spouting off discombobulate. Big words make me happy. Words with big meanings are also lumped into this category.

Lately, I love the word excellence. What a word. What a meaning. What a life statement. All that excellence encapsulates, I want to manifest in my world. In all that I do, I hope to bring excellence, deliver it to the platform, build it as a pillar in my functioning.

Excellence is not just neat handwriting that deserves a sticker in your book. Is is not just a word that spawned from 80's cult films like Wayne's World. Rather, excellence implies above and beyond. It provides a standard of performing and living that is greater than just good. It's very definition is superiority, quality, virtuous, supremacy, superbness. It is a noun, a thing, a quality that can be obtained.

If in all that I do I want to achieve excellence, does this mean that I want to be viewed with supremacy? No, absolutely not. Excellence in and of itself that exists for it's own gain is not excellence. That is pride. Excellence attached to a cause is what makes it excellent. When you join excellence to a reason, you create the catalyst for heaven to invade earth.

Is this lofty and high end philosophy that is futile in its existence? No, I don't think so. When you insert excellence into your daily life, you find something that, in its very nature, is great. When I create something and do it with excellence, then that thing is great, it is above average, it is superior. It is now something that goes beyond the mundane into the realm of supernatural.

Am I saying that everything I do is better than what everyone else does? No, I'm not. What I am saying is that excellence honours God. Excellence doesn't honour the gift but honours the Gift-Giver. Excellence takes the gift, such as musical talent, creative writing, business solutions, sporting skill, and says, 'Since You gave me the best, I'm giving You my best back.' Excellence doesn't call for perfection; excellence calls for the best that I can do. It's not in my strength anyway, but in God's. But I can surely bring Him the best offering I can and stand back and watch Him move.

Excellence ensures that I enable my world. It positions me for God's best. If I am diligent in operating in excellence in everything I do, I am sure to unlock God's best in my life. God can and will move independently of myself, He is God. But time and time again in the Bible, people's honest and excellent offerings moved God's chess pieces. Think Esther, David, Nehemiah, Gideon, Jeremiah.

I exist in life to bring glory to God. That is what I want to do and that is what I will do. I can bring glory to God by operating in excellence. It's about going above and beyond. Doing a half-baked job does not bring glory to God, nor does it honour Him. Being diligent and prepared, not being satisfied with 50% and ensuring I give my all is what brings honour. God gave His best for me, He gave me Jesus. The least I can do for Him is give Him my best. I can give my best to Him by doing tasks for other people with excellence. If someone asks me to do something, I'm not going to give them less than my best. For giving my best honours God.

I'm starting to sound like a broken record. That's fine. It's just that I've gotten this revelation of excellence. I hope that in my ramblings I shed some light on it for you.

Love all round.

sitting on the throne

I was reminiscing today about my holiday in Europe. My friend and I spent six weeks swanning around Germany, France, Italy and England, shopping, sightseeing and enjoying being a very obvious tourist (maps + camera = Aussie out of water).

Whilst in Germany we travelled to Munich and went to visit Schloss Neushweinstein. Basically, it's a castle. You may know it from such films as Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and the puzzle in the back of your wardrobe. It's a famous castle, built by some famous king in the foothills of the German Alps. It's beautiful, it's decadent and it's extravagent.

Of course, the day we decided to visit the castle the buses weren't operating which meant for a very long, very tiring trek up the side of the mountain to get to the castle. But that's an aside. Once at the top, we were ushered through the castle. The guide began telling us the story of the king who built the castle, saying that it took years to build the castle and longer to decorate inside it. In fact, it took so long that the king died during the process and the castle was never finished.

Despite this, the rooms that we were allowed in were, needless to say, fit for a king. Golden this and golden that. Wooden carvings and statues, paintings, lavish fabrics...stunning.

Until we entered the Throne Room.

Paintings like I had never seen covered every inch of the ceiling and walls. Gold was in abundance, colours so beautiful you felt like crying. I should've put out a search warrant for my breath because it was taken away by how magnificent the room was.

Yet something wasn't right. It was empty.

Crazy? Yes. There were people there, or course it wasn't empty.

The king wasn't there? Of course not, he was dead long ago.

So what was it?

A throne room suggests, well, a throne, right? That's what was missing. How bizarre? A throne room with no throne?

What exactly is a throne? Well, it's where the king sits and rules from, makes decisions, does this and that. Basically, it's where the king is king.

But this castle, in all it's extravagence, had no throne. That makes me sad. The king never actually ruled from this particular castle because it took so long to build and then he died. So this throne room never saw the king be king.

Are you seeing what I'm getting at?

I don't ever want my life to resemble that castle. A throne room with no throne, a castle with no king. That was the saddest room I have ever been in. In all the majesty and splendor, there was no room for the king, nowhere for him to sit and be king.

This is probably the part where I say, 'Who is sitting on the throne is your life?'. Wow, tacky Christian-ese. But in all seriousness, you can be sure that my life won't look like Schloss Neuschweinstein!