I pledge allegiance to a country without borders...

The title of this blog is taken from Switchfoot's 'Politicians', taken from Nothing is Sound. This track came on shuffle today, and I have not been able to get that line out of my head all day. What exactly does it mean to pledge allegiance to a country without borders? Two things have happened today to clarify this for me.

I met a friend for coffee this morning, and she told me that she'd been reading a book by a guy who mentioned that a homeless man had stopped him in the street and asked him for a hug. He obliged. In the book he went on to comment that Jesus lived life like this, without borders. If asked, he always engaged with the person, and the issue. His actions were a direct measure of the worth of each person. I don't see him ignoring one person in the gospels now I think about it. One thing I realised was that Jesus lived in a way that challenges us, because he never held back because the situation at hand was uncomfortable, messy or undignified. Most of the time, he had to get involved in full view of those around him, yet this never swayed his resolve or integrity. Jesus just WAS. He was how he was. He is how he is. Being in very nature God, he is unchanging. I am horribly aware of my own inadequacy in this area, I know that I can be very fickle. Or have the best intentions but forget to follow though.

This brings me to the second thing that happened. Tonight I spent some time with someone who brought to light my lack of follow through of late. I've had a lot going on, but admittedly, that shouldn't make a difference. I want to be someone who is relentless in their pursuit of Christ, all that he is and in constant renewal to become the person he has made me to be - a person more like him. He has, and will not ever let anyone down. It frustrates me that in my heart I have such good intentions, ones that I will even verbalise in the form of promise - and then as soon as the words leave my lips, I'll forget and then it will be a week later and too late to act. I don't want to be this way. Paul, one of the leaders of the early church, puts it this way, 'I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do' Romans 7:15. This is of great encouragement to me, because Paul had some of the most mind blowing revelations, and it's humbling to realise that he too struggled in this battle with contradiction, the tension 'between how it is and how it should be' as Switchfoot word it.

The thing is, when placed in the context of my initial thought 'I pledge allegiance to a country without borders', I think that for today, and for the coming days and weeks, this will be my mission. To live my life pledging allegiance to a country without borders. A place where, if Jesus would do it, so shall I. If he would stop, reach out, make a phone call, write an email, buy a coffee for someone sheltering from the rain, give away my shoes - whatever it is, that I would try to do so. I know (and in advance I apologise for this) that sometimes I will forget. I know that I'm terribly fallible and will certainly at points let my own borders hold me back, but I want to make a life choice now - to see things from the perspective of a citizen of a country without borders.

I pledge allegiance to that country.

And it's manifesto goes something like this:

Why not to get on a bus...

Today I was going to catch a bus home from town. I didn't. I'm glad I didn't, because I would have missed so many tiny splashes of beauty. The rain hitting my skin like a thousand tiny drops of sky. A delicious amaretto hot chocolate to warm both hands and stomach. The Narnian lamp posts of New Walk. The prison which with it's turrets must (I'm sure) feature in some incredible adventure story. The many many scores of men with their sons on the way to watch a Tigers game - so many different expressions of fatherhood. The silence of the back streets. Children racing each other to the traffic lights. The whoosh of each car as it passed me on the main road. The moment my thoughts shouted louder than the traffic and drowned it out. The inverted fleur de lys created in ironwork on the door of the bridal shop. The first star to come out. So many tiny reasons not to get on the bus...

A Perfect Moment

There is something about creating the perfect moment. This afternoon for example, I set our for such a moment. Knowing that I had some thinking to do, I made up a flask of hot chocolate (it's getting to that time of year when flasks come in handy again!), grabbed my notebook, sketchbook and Bible, oh, and Brooke's new album which is now becoming my soundtrack to this season... and drove out to the countryside to find me some space. I had three things I was looking for, a hilltop, trees (beech, of course) and a whole lot of sky. Don't you notice that in the city there is far less sky about than in the country? So, I ended up out near Bradgate Park. 


It was my intention to find a spot just over the hill a bit further out, where I spotted some incredible trees in the summer, and knew that autumn would have taken them captive with its flaming colours. I drove about for a while, partly because I hadn't quite found the right place, and partly because I was stuck on a track on the album which got me a bit lost in thought. And then I saw it. A glow of gold loomed in front of me as I drove up a hill, lined in trees. Around a bend, through a field and over a sheep's feeding trough, I caught a glimpse of more colour, and much much more sky. So I followed, winding my way uphill until I reached the brow, where I was able to turn off and caught the beginnings of a sunset in all its glory over a drystone wall. Amazingly, there was a car park, and a bench... just perfect. Grabbing my bag, I jumped out (I could sense that this would not be a lingering sunset) and made my way to the top of the hill where above some rocks, I had an incredible 360° view of the surrounding area. Breathtaking. 


And then, right in front of me the sun was slowly ebbing away below the horizon, glowing a deep fuschia pink, with streaks of gold flying out from it across the sky, and wafts of  pale pink floating like candy floss clouds across a sea of colour. It was stunning. I stood there a while, with my mug of hot chocolate, before wandering down to the bench to enjoy watching the colours fade as the sky returned to normal and night began to descend. 


Just as it began to get dark, and I started to get cold, I decided it was time to head home. Taking a different path back to the car, I found myself walking next to a shaded glade of huge beech trees, surrounded by a low drystone wall with plenty of gaps in it. Stood beneath a canopy of suspended colour, I was amazed by the variety in the colours of the leaves - I mean, I embrace autumn every single year, and yet I was astounded by the depth and variety of colour that occured on one single branch. Leaves of auburn, red, gold, bright yellow, green, ochre and brown. Some tinged with more than one shade or tone. Just beautiful. As I returned to the car, I remembered that I had found everything I had gone looking for, and found them all in one perfect moment. 


The thing is, I couldn't have created that if I'd tried. A tradition I have back home is to go outside to a grass bank outside the house and watch the sunset. Every day. I have done so pretty much every day that I've been at home since my first few weeks of lower sixth. There is something magical about the fact that every single night (apart from the rainy ones) the sun sets a completely different way. Sometimes it is sudden and violent in its dramatic array of colour, and others it almost slips away unnoticed with a glow of yellows and blues. The thing is, there are so many times where I've hoped to catch the sunset and just missed it. Or got outside just after the sun has dropped its head below the horizon, only to catch the end. Tonight, I hoped that I might perhaps stumble across it, but that was it. And I was completely blow away by it. 


When I thought about it as I drove home, it really spoke to me of God and what he does if we'll only expect of him, and then give him the space to do it how he would like. He is the great artist after all. I love the sentiment of 'Carpe Diem', the sense of seizing the day, seizing the moment and making it great. I think sometimes though it can miss that echo of needing to wait and savour the moment. It speaks of a valiant rushing out to battle at the right moment - to have that you must wait long enough to know what that moment it when it happens. Similarly, when we set our hearts to seek God, we too should allow him the time and space to truly create something great. I think today I learnt something as I dedicated that time to finding the sky, trees and hilltop. I was determined not to come back unless and until I had done so. I was expectant, that I would. And I wasn't exactly sure where exactly it was going to come from. Had I gone to the hilltop I first thought of, I would have missed the canvas that God painted for me, because it faces a different direction and the sunset would simply not have been visible. God is a God who loves and created detail, and I think in our eagerness we expect the best, but determine how it will arrive. 


I love the art of creating that perfect moment. A favourite evening activity when I'm on my own is to light candles around my room, put on a killer album, and paint. Or read. Or write. The thing is, when I do that, what I produce is of better quality but also, there is a stillness in my soul created by the sense of having arrived early for the main event. Like tonight, I arrived just before the first act. And because of that, it was so much better than I could have imagined. I think in my learning to seek God, I might try out the art of preparing for, and creating that perfect moment by making time for God, preparing the space for him, and arriving a little bit early... because I never know just how he might arrive, or what he might say, and I want to give him that space to surprise me.