Boundaries: You Are (Not) Responsible

I’ve got good news and bad news.

The good news is that you aren’t responsible for the happiness of your partner, spouse, family or friends. They are responsible for their own happiness. So phew, you can stop juggling that ball!

The bad news is the exact opposite of that; your happiness is your responsibility, no one else’s. In case I walked in on you blaming your parents, friends or the world for your problems. I know I know, life’s tough and so unfair! Tell me about it!

To break that down, you’re the one that has to create the boundaries in your life to not take on other peoples issues and problems. But that also means you also can’t blame anyone else and remember that your happiness falls on your shoulders. It’s one of those damn two way streets…

These two things sound simple in theory, but I’ve been surprised by how hard it is to put it into practise. This year has been a lot of learning how to for me.

You and I are different people and I don’t know your story. Maybe you have healthy relationships with every one in your life and you’re the King or Queen of boundaries. Though with all the angry, broken and selfish hearts roaming the streets, you and I included, I doubt that very much.

My story is that I spent years carrying people because I’m a rescuer. Growing up I wanted to make everyone happy and couldn’t stand to see the ones I love upset or hurt.  I’d run circles mentally and emotionally trying to fix everyone and everything. Angry at myself when I couldn’t, as if somehow I was lacking. The truth is that I was just a kid taking on responsibility that wasn’t mine to bear, and that no one has asked me to.

There’s compassion and empathy which is in our human nature. However, without clear boundaries  it can quickly turn into unhealthy rescuing. Pair that up with being a people pleaser (which is more or less most people, in varying degrees) and you have a very burdened person who is always fretting for someone else. Fretting for someone that has a mind, heart and the free will to make decisions for their lives. It’s interesting how often I forget this.

We all have within us the capacity to choose. Some people make good choices, others not so good. Whether you are making the bad decisions or watching someone else do it, look after you and do your life well. That’s the best thing you can do. You’re a better asset to the world and your future that way, not to mention your present life.

I’ve made some good decisions and some bad ones too, and they bought me here, to this very place in my life where I am totally humbled and deeply happy. I’m looking after me and making decisions that I hope will inspire others, but I can’t make them for anyone else. You are always being watched, remember that. Be an example to those who look up to you even if you never see who those people are.

When I was in a relationship, making my boyfriend happy stressed me out. I saw it as my job, my role to be his constant provider of joy. It was hard work for one reason: I was taking his whole life into my hands and buckling under the pressure, when I didn’t need to. He never asked me to. I just thought that’s how it went; that from day one it was my job to make him happy.

Obviously it came from a place of love and because I wanted to make this person happy, but that’s not what relationships are for! Romantic, friendship or family based; it doesn’t matter. Human relationships are to share, come alongside, support, uplift, love, bounce off and have fun with each other. To enjoy life together! They are a source of happiness, of course, but I believe that’s ones own responsibility. Not the people that they do life with.

I want to fix, please and encourage. I can absolutely encourage, but I will only die trying to do the other two. I will never fix anyone or please everyone.

Do your life well and empower others to do their lives well, but don’t do try to do it for them. Your happiness is on your shoulders and you have everything it takes to tackle the daily curve balls of life.

They are responsible for them and you are responsible for you.

Does any of this strike a chord with you? Have you experienced the burden of making someone else happy, or have you blamed other people? 

What’s Your Love Story?

I am petrified of love. What it does to me, where it will take me, who it will turn me into. For both reasonable and irrational reasons, I don’t have the best view of it. I do in an idealistic way and I know it’s a beautiful thing, but I feel like love and I don’t go well together. I’m working on that, because though my being single right now is amazing and purposeful, I don’t want to be single forever.

I was read this quote the other day by a friend and I adore it. It made me look at love, something that has perplexed me and confused me for years, in a completely new light. It is the best definition of romantic love I have ever heard:

“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”

― Louis de Bernières, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin

This quote is both romantic and sweet, but incredibly realistic, which is why I love it. Now, I put out a call for your voice and input. What do you think of the above quote? Are you single, dating or married? I would really like to hear your love story in the comments section, whatever it is. Sorry to be a little cheesy but I like these stories because they give me hope. I love that every person’s story is different, and the same way no two people are the same, no two love stories are the same either. That is a very good thing and your love story, messy or simple, is to be cherished!

Will you tell me your love story? Or just share your experience, view, or definition of love?

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Dedicated to my Mama

At the centre of my blended and beautiful family is our hero of a mother who holds everything together. She holds us together and does an incredible job. I think I can safely speak for my siblings when I say that collectively and individually, she is our rock.

However, in my past pain, frustration and anger I’ve thrown rocks of judgement and words of poison. Poison that has stung her. I regret that and have apologised, but this is where I give her the credit she’s due.

Here’s what my mum did right and why I’m thankful to be hers.

She was spontaneous and fun. I will always remember the hot Summer nights when I was 6/7 years old, and she would get my brother and I out of bed at 10pm to go swimming at our favourite beach. Which happened to on the other side of town, a thirty minute drive away. Why? In her words; “because we are hot and why not!” We had school the next day, it could have been deemed as irresponsible, etc etc. But heck, we loved her for it. Those late night swims were amazing.

She stayed awake with me while I cried. I was an emotional child and I am an emotional adult. I was probably a pain in the ass to raise, because I cried at the drop of a hat. It’s a family joke! (I’m gentle, okay?) But she let me release the pain of rejection that my childhood was marred by. She encouraged me to talk everything out and she listened while I did. Those heart-to-heart’s set me free to be me.

She had the important things covered. We were never rich. I didn’t have all the latest and greatest gadgets or clothes, but my dear mother made positively sure that I would go to my highschool balls in stunning (expensive!) dresses, that I would go to the school camps, and that I would do a season of rowing. She took me to Australia for my 17th birthday because she knew it was an important trip for me. We could never afford it but she made sure I did the big stuff, no matter the cost.

She introduced me to God and laid my early foundation of faith. My mum taught me to always pray first and when I deeply struggled with fear and couldn’t sleep, we prayed through Psalm 23 every night until the fear was gone. Her faith is so everlasting, it astounds me to this very day. Despite all of the trials and suffering she has faced in her life, she still says with absolute confidence “God is so good!”. And I believe her, because in my own adult experience and conviction, I also know this to be true.

We were her priority. Work and a career came second to looking after all of her babies herself. This is how I know I was loved, because she was there. Through the thick and thin, she was there.

She uplifted me and supported me. She always made sure I knew I was important and beautiful. When I wanted to come to London straight out of high school, she encouraged me all the way. She didn’t want to lose me but she knew I needed to do it. She put my need for discovery and growth before her maternal need to protect me and hold me close.

I say all of this in past tense because I’ve lived abroad since I was eighteen. I have an independent life as an adult and I’m not around for her to mother me, but I know she would if she could. She will always be my mum.

You did damn good mum, and I love you. x

What did your parents do right that you would like to pass on to your kids? Leave a comment. 

Thank you, Internet

When I went through a break-up that rocked my world and tipped it upside down, I started reading a lot on the internet and discovered a whole world that I never knew existed: the blogosphere.

The hundreds of relevant, interesting and encouraging blogs for women, singles, travellers, Christians, or whatever your interest is. Written by a melting pot of people from all over the globe, each with their own story.

I was feeling more alone and misunderstood than ever but after reading some of these blogs, I realised I wasn’t alone at all. Others had been in my shoes and it was a welcome relief. I started writing everything out on my own space of the web, and it was a way for me to process the pain and draw out a gift at the same time.

Recently I was sailing through Croatia and my mind was battling against me. I was supposed to be on holiday, but it’s true that the wicked never rest and my fears were running riot. I think too much and sometimes it gets a bit much.

Happy from the travel but weary from the worry, I hung out in Istanbul airport for 5 hours on my way to Athens. While sipping my ice-water and sweating it straight back out, I caught up on my favourite blogs. There were two posts that day which changed the course of my thinking for the rest of my holiday.

Written by women that I don’t know personally, but whom basically gave me a virtual hug. They opened their hearts and shared stories of their past, and essentially said ‘I’ve been where you are and it sucks, but I got through it and so will you’. When you’re alone in a foreign country and fighting the devils of your mind, reading such pieces of writing are exceptionally helpful and comforting. There is nothing like it.

We are a self-documenting generation. The internet has exploded and plays a massive part in our lives, and people will debate all the good and bad of it. Yet I can only speak for myself, and for me the internet is a profound blessing. It’s connected and enlightened me.

Thank-you bloggers and readers, one and all, you rule!

In the spirit of sharing, here’s a categorised list of my favourite blogs:

Faith/Life
Modern Reject
Allison Vesterfelt
Prodigal Magazine
Good Women Project
Ruthie Dean
Sammy Adebiyi

Travel
Twenty-Something Travel
Nomadic Matt
The Great Affair 

Funny
I Can’t High Five
Why Am I Weird

Photography
The Big Picture
Canadian Hiking Photography

What are your favourite blogs? How has reading blogs or writing one yourself helped you? What do you love or hate about the internet? 

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A Farewell to Paperback

I love books, especially second hand ones. Take me to any charity bookstore and I will take a big breath in as I gaze in wonder at the loot around me. I could spend hours and a lot of money in those places (which I have, many times).

Ask my mum about the time I ran up to her in our local shopping village, distraught and begging for $5. “What for?” she asked, confused.

“To pay my late fees at the library, because otherwise I can’t borrow any more!”

I would go home with my bag of books for that week, jump length-ways on my bed and delve into those worn pages. At dinnertime I would have to tear myself away. Those were my favourite nights – buried in a good book.

In the past couple of years e-readers have broken into the market and are rapidly replacing books all over London. I have despised them from the start. They are so practical, the books are cheap, I just love mine, the converts would tell me. And I would doubt and dismiss them because, simply put, they weren’t real books. They didn’t have the charm of dog-eared corners and ancient scent. I was going to have a library in my house one day and no e-reader would steal that dream.

Then I looked at the books on my shelf that I was so proud of. Some really good ones, others unfinished because they were rubbish, and a load of them unread. They’re not literary classics or collectors items, just a random selection of novels that I loved or didn’t. Essentially, I have a bunch of books in my bedroom in this city that I don’t plan on staying in. More than anything, those books are a future expense and setback to my plans of long-term travelling and relocating back to New Zealand.

But maybe the real truth of it is that I’m holding onto them because they’re all I have. Since I’ve left New Zealand, paintings that my best friend gave me have disappeared and the beautiful set of journals that I was saving are gone. Lost. I don’t know where and neither does my family. Yes, these are special things. But I’m learning to let go because life isn’t about holding on to the past.

I’m starting to accept that after moving countries twice in the last four years and moving house in London a bunch of times, that I don’t own much anymore. I have some nice keepsakes from travelling, but no furniture or big items. Enough to pack up in a couple of suitcases and move again.

Except for those books, which I can’t take with me. It isn’t even about the books. It’s that they represent my journey as a reader, as a collector, as a human being who needs the comfort of things sometimes. They are things that have made my temporary bedrooms home.

The other side of this struggle is embracing technology and how it’s changing our everyday life. Everything is better and faster, but it means less snail mail, journals and paperback books. Less of these beautiful things and more digital words that can be erased in a second.

When I’m travelling and want to take notes, it takes more discipline to stop and handwrite it in my travel journal instead of on my iPhone notebook. I don’t own a point-and-shoot camera, just a big DSLR for artistic/travel photography, because my iPhone takes great pictures of my day-to-day life. CDs? I’ve forgotten what they look like thanks to iTunes.

There is always an easier and faster option. Do we accept it and say goodbye to an era, or stretch out the inevitable and refuse to transition? This is how I am feeling about books and technology and laying roots and the lack of things in my life.

I’ll get an e-reader soon, and I will give away most of the books on my shelf. I will keep a few special favourites but the rest will go, and I will grieve. For the things and the home and the roots that I don’t have. That I will have to pick up and leave again. This city that I love but isn’t home, because it’s just too far away from the people that make home, home.

The world is changing, books are dying and I am letting go of things. And though books will be around for a while yet, I won’t have a library just for the sake of it. I will have a special wee shelf with the best of the best, in my home that I have created, and that will be enough.

After all, e-reader’s are so practical, the books are cheap and I will probably love mine.

How do you feel about e-readers and the future of technology? Have you held on to things for comfort reasons? Leave a comment. 

Guest Post: In Line With Our Dreams…Or Not

There’s not a lot to say here other than I totally adore this girl. We met in our early London days and so much has changed in our lives since, but our friendship has only grown. Check out her words, coming from the girl living the good and bad days of her dream. You can read more about her at the end of the post. -Micaela

Here’s the way I like to think about myself in relation to my dreams, and about the line that connects me to them: Strong, solid, as though I’m in a boat and that line is a sturdy chain reaching down to the ocean floor.

With my dreams as an anchor at the end.

After all, isn’t that what Paul says in Hebrews? “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”

Now here’s the way I more often feel in relation to my dreams: Weak, wavering, as though I’m ten years old again and that line is attached to a capricious kite. The kite being my dreams.

There’s hardly any wind to lift the dumb thing off the ground, and when a breeze does pick up, the kite dips and dives and drops away from me, forever uncontrollable. Up when things go right and I hear back from editors (as a freelance writer, this isn’t always the case); down when things don’t and my inbox is empty.

But a little while ago, I came across a verse, another classic from Paul, that began to change my perspective: “The lines of purpose in your lives never grow slack, tightly tied as they are to your future in heaven, kept taut by hope.” (Colossians 1:5, MSG).

There were a lot of words in there I didn’t recognise, not when it comes to feeling secure in my dreams, at least: Never slack, tightly tied, taut.

Each phrase paints a picture of a kite filled to the max with wind, soaring so high it’s actually pulling at the spindle of string in your hand. Certainly not the measly, homemade kite I often feel stuck with, especially when another round of doubts and questions kick up:

Am I really a writer? Will my book ever be published? What am I doing with my life?

Sound familiar?

But Paul’s verse was a revelation – that no matter how far away I sometimes feel from realizing my dreams, if I stay grounded in a perspective of heaven and continually acknowledge my true purpose here on earth, then I’m closer to my dreams than I think.

Pursuing your dreams isn’t easy. Keeping the faith often feels more like a roller coaster of emotions. But that’s where things like belief and hope come into play.

Because ultimately, the spool of kite string isn’t in our hands. It’s in God’s.

——-

Candace Rose Rardon is a writer and photographer with a passion for travel and adventure. After finishing her Masters in Travel Writing from London’s Kingston University, she celebrated by driving an auto-rickshaw 3,000 kilometers across India. Thankfully she lived to write about it and can’t wait to see where her dreams take her next. Read about her travels at The Great Affair and on Twitter.

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Guest Post: Virgin Faith

I know Melissa through the blogging world and I love her style of writing so much. This story is raw and beautiful, and I am honoured to have her share it here. You can read more about Melissa at the end of the post, and be sure to check out her blog. -Micaela 

I don’t know any girls at church camp. They seem like they have no idea what life could throw at them; they are stupid, innocent, seemingly flawless, spoiled girls. I’m angry at God. I’m a stone wall—hardened and cold. I don’t think about how there is “power in the blood” or “washing in the blood of the lamb” or being “covered by the blood of Jesus” until I wake up in my bunk covered in my own blood. And I don’t tell a soul because they’re all just interested in saving my soul.

Camp is not the first time I’ve seen the blood. Several months earlier when the blood appeared, I knew I’d “become a woman.” But when it disappeared for months, I guessed it was a false alarm. Perhaps I wasn’t actually ready to be a woman. I felt like a girl, a bud not ready to blossom, too ugly and stupid to bloom. I wanted to shut the world out and remain tight, forever in a bud.

I have stained sheets and stained faith. I tear strips of my white washrags. I then wind toilet paper around the rags and wrap them around the crotch of my panties to keep everything secure while wondering why those ridiculous wing commercials on television make having your period seem glamorous. I don’t think I can speak to anyone about supplies. I’m never good at asking for anything, especially asking for things I need. I bet the girls in the bunks surrounding me would have no problem asking. They seem like they wouldn’t be ashamed about talking to their moms about shaving their legs or using scary looking tampons or needing a stronger deodorant to prevent sweat stains from going all the way down to their waists.

I don’t think I can speak to anyone about anything. I can speak, technically, but what I can’t do is hear, not very well. About a year before I came to camp, God decided to take most of my hearing, take it away from the girl who is scared and awkward already. We went to hospitals and specialists. No tumor, no blow to the head, no ear infection. God just took it suddenly with no good reason. Now I feel stuck in my own world where the real world is muffled and muted, slightly spinning and baffling to me.

The bell signals flagpole time. I waddle to the circle hoping blood won’t seep through my jeans. With my luck, today’s Bible lesson will involve Moses and the parting of the Red Sea. Instead, we’re each given a notebook. I am handed a red one. Red must be the theme, the color of the week. I run my hand over the smooth cover and fan the pages. The first page is so white, so blank, and so pure. I stare at the first page for two hours. I write, “God, You feel far away.” There. That sentence wasn’t so bad. The act of writing was easier than holding hands around the table and listening to my disappointed parents beg God to fix me. Writing was easier than my dad’s idea of allowing the Elders at church to place their hands on me. I didn’t want them to touch me or hear them say, “Thy will be done- heal this child- out demon, out- restore her- to God be the glory.” I could, however, handle a notebook. I could control a notebook. I could fill it with what I wanted. I could take away from it what I wanted. I could close it when I felt like it. I could rip out pages. I could chuck it across the room. I could sleep with it under my pillow.

I tried to explain that I couldn’t pray out loud. When my youth minister took me to a shelter house to talk, he didn’t actually make me speak. He simply sat with me and read to me Romans 8:39 NIV: “Neither height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, nothing will be able to separate us from the love of Christ that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” I wondered, “Nothing will be able to separate? Not my wall, not my distance I put between us, not my faith so spotted with questions and doubts and the embarrassment of being me?” Did God take away my physical hearing so that I could spiritually listen? Though I don’t know the answer to that question, I do believe God started listening to me. In Genesis, when Cain kills Abel, the blood cries out from the ground. God hears the blood. God heard what was happening inside me, inside my hopeful, pumping heart, inside my changing body.

That night, as I took my flashlight, virgin faith, pen, and red notebook under the stained covers with me, He heard the words I no longer hesitated to write but instead thrust onto the paper. I spilled out questions. I reminded myself that even Job questioned. I poured out fears, anger, and brokenness, knowing I’d heard somewhere that God uses brokenness. Faster than I could think, my words dripped out of the pen. At that moment, I realized writing was submission. Writing meant opening up, stretching, tearing, releasing, and most of all, giving and letting go. It was writing that redeemed me. Writing is what broke the shell, tore the curtain, destroyed the wall, and awakened a woman.

During invitation, I put one foot in front of the other until I made it to the altar. Jesus bled and died for me. Blood stands for sacrifice, for pain, for lifeblood, for womanhood, for birth, and for me—rebirth. As I emerged from the water with the floating melody of “Now I belong to Jesus,” I noticed, with a slight smile on my face, that I had stained the baptismal water with the slightest tint of red.

———–

Melissa Kiefer is a high school English teacher and writer who lives in Illinois with her husband Josh and black lab Jovie. She strives to live deeply, genuinely, and soulfully as she watches God work in those beautiful, mysterious, in-His-time ways. You can find more stories of grit and grace at her blog On Bruised Knees.

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Work-in-Progress

I’m figuring out what I think about Sin.

I’m figuring out how to live by Grace.

I’m figuring out where I stand on Calvanism, Arminianism, and every other theology there is.

I’m figuring out what it means to truly love and faithfully follow God.

I’m figuring how to live by the Spirit, and not man-made Christianity.

I’m figuring out how to show Christ in a real way, while being totally crippled by my own humanity and incompetence at the same time.

That’s the truth of it, and because I’m just figuring it out, I can be very mediocre. I sin every single day, some more than others.  I’m not going to lie to cover it up, or tell you that I’ll change. Some weekends I drink too much, I occasionally drop the F-bomb just for effect, I’ve kissed strangers before. Those are the sins we zero on and gossip about, right? Yep, done a bunch of them that I won’t list here.

But my other struggles, that are just as sinful? Unforgiveness, gossip, rudeness, impatience, resentment, gluttony, envy, judgement, unfaithfulness, bitchiness. Unseen or seen, all sin is the same in the eyes of God. The only difference is the consequence that comes with it and how other people (also flawed) judge it.

God forbid, I’ve done this whole walk as a Christian. It’s not my big dirty past, some of it is very much my present life. Forgive me for that and I’ll forgive you for thinking I’m a crappy Christian.

I am a crappy Christian according to society’s definition of the word. Thankfully, I’m not looking to please people. I’m looking to please my God who sees my heart, sees all my brokenness and sees how far I’ve come. He knows I will always fall short of His glory (Romans 3:23), but as long as I’m leaning hard on Him, I’m doing good.

Some days I bring Him glory, and I pray that as time passes that evolves to most days. As the weeks, months, years go by, God will continue to change me. I will continue to sin less, but I will never be sinless.

I’m not where I would like to be, but thank God I’m not where I used to be. For all my self-deprecation, I can see that I’m doing well (my best) on this journey of life, and of that I’m pleased. I’m not squeaky clean, but Jesus doesn’t ask for squeaky clean. He asks for followers and for us to have faith, and He desires us as we are.

So if you’re also a work-in-progress too and you’re discouraged, be assured that in all of your humanity and bad decisions, He loves you. He is willing to meet you where you are. Heck, we’re all the same, just figuring it out best as we can.

Thoughts? Criticisms? Wisdom? 

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Flying Solo, Literally

This post is dedicated to my beautiful and courageous friend Candace, who is sometimes afraid but does it anyway. 

In less than three weeks, I will go. Not very far or for very long, just a couple of weeks on a little adventure. Leaving my very normal, routine and safe life behind, I’ll step into my travelling shoes and pretend that there’s nothing waiting for me at home.

I will go to some of the most beautiful places in the world, places that I have wanted to see since before I knew my own mind or heart. The Santorini and Plitvice Lakes that I saw in pictures, inwardly declared “I must go” and added to my Life List.

The only sacrifice is that I’m doing it alone. If that’s even the word for it. I’m not sure it is.

Travelling with others is difficult, when everyone has different budgets, work schedules and bucket lists. I asked around to see if anyone was keen, and though friends would have loved to join me, it just didn’t work out. And it just didn’t seem a good enough reason not to go.

I’m scared. Of getting lost (highly probable given my track record), being in unsafe situations and plans not working out. (Don’t worry though, I’ve seen Taken. I won’t share a taxi with anyone.) And I’m excited. To step out of my comfort zone, and just see where and who my wandering leads me to. And the sun of course, oh how I pine for the sun.

I haven’t even gone yet and I’m already a little different. Just planning the trip has come from a Micaela that didn’t exist a little while ago; the insecure and needy Micaela that hated being alone.

The best experiences are always rooted in risk. I would rather have someone there with me but I feel like going alone is, if I’m honest, ordained. A friend was close to joining me in Greece, but her plans changed and she can’t anymore. I was disappointed but unsurprised, because like I said, I have a feeling it’s meant to be this way.

If it is a sacrifice, that’s okay. The bigger sacrifice would be not going at all.

Would you ever travel alone? Any tips or advice? Is there anything you’ve done because the risk was worth it? Leave a comment.

Pssssstttttt! If you’re interested, this is the itinerary:

29th June – Arrive in Dubrovnik, Croatia
30th June – Sailing begins. Dubrovnik – Split
7th-9th July – Bus from Split to Zagreb, via Plitvice Lakes
9th-11th July – Athens, Greece
11th-15th July – Santorini, Greece

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Opening My Mind

Meet Esther. She’s an awesome God-fearing girl that loves Jesus and isn’t afraid to show it. Esther was raised in a Christian home, and growing up she adopted the beliefs of her parents. They screwed their noses up at homosexuals, distanced themselves from any other religion, and criticised people with tattoos. They did a lot of great things for people too, but always for the cause of conversion.

Esther went to University and immediately made friends with other Christian girls who agreed with her way of life. They supported each other in their walk with Christ and they mixed with others occasionally, but usually because they had to. Esther found it uncomfortable being around people that swore a lot, dressed promiscuously or drank a lot of alcohol. She was disconnected from the world.

Now, let me introduce you to Sophie, who is also a God-loving girl. She had much of the same upbringing as Esther; strict parents with firm beliefs. But that’s where the similarities end. Sophie chose to go to University in a City that was known for it’s diversity. She lived in halls, and on the first day she learned her roommate was a staunch Muslim. This was a shock and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Sophie had never been close with someone who’s life was so different to her. But she opened her mind, and determined that despite their obvious differences, she would make an effort to be friends with her new room mate.

Who will have more impact in her world and sphere of infuence? Whose walk with Christ will be seen more, just from her way of life?

In all of our diversity and multi-culture, each person in the world has one thing in common: we all have a world-view made up of opinions and beliefs. Some of us are more convinced and assured than others, but we all stand somewhere. As Christians we are to be in the world, but not of the world. So yes, we need to be careful who we mix with. We need to watch who sets the temperature in our lives. Are you surrounded by people who make good decisions and encourage you to as well? You should be, because iron sharpens iron.

However that doesn’t mean you cut off everyone else. Which is tempting to do. Obviously it’s easier to hang out with people that see things exactly the way you do. Me? I can strongly relate with Esther. I find it hard to be around people whose life choices, outlook and attitude greatly contrast mine.  But that’s just my pride talking, because really the issue is that I don’t like being questioned or disagreed with. I want to have it all together and when people ask hard questions or challenge me, my weakness is revealed. And my pride is hurt.

I’m really confronting my tendency to be narrow-minded, because I don’t believe I will have much success in being a light to my world if I don’t. My prayer is that I would be humbled and open my mind, because there really is something to learn from everyone. Each and every person has a story and is on a journey, and they’re learning too. The pace may be different, their teachers may not be the same as yours, but they still know a thing or two.

When I moved to London all of my friends were from church, which was important for me in the delicate and immature stage I was in. I still spend a lot of my time with friends from church, but I don’t want to live in a safe Christian bubble any more. I want to be surrounded by people from all walks of life, from all over the world. And London is a thriving hub of multi-culture, so it’s the perfect place to start.

Everyone is a brother or sister in Christ, no matter of race, religion or political position. So let’s swallow our pride and opinions for a minute, and get out of our comfort zones a little in our social lives.

Do you struggle to mix with people that are very different to you? Or do you enjoy debates and discussions? Leave a comment. 

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