Street Pastors - Cork

I've been assigned to Dave for the night. He hands me one of the notorious Street Pastor lolly pops, as we step out the door and head for town. We chat about Cork and what Saturday night in the town looks like. About his heart for Street Pastors, and what's God's done through them in the city. 

As we get into town my senses are assaulted with the smells of chippers, pizza, urine, beer, perfume, cocktails, fags and pot. With people brushing past through crowed alley's. Or getting hugged by randomers. Or someone grabbing my elbow as I try crossing the street before I look. My ears ring with girls screeching, men singing and pubs blasting music out onto the streets. 

Very early out, we come across Andreas. A polish man, begging. Apparently he's very well known, not just by the Street Pastors, but  also by the locals. He appears to be very well loved, and to have a way with the ladies. As it's mostly ladies that stop by to chat to him on their way to the pub, he kisses their hand's and flirts with them as only a 60 year old polish man can get away with doing. Very soon after saying hello and chatting to the man for a second or two, we discover that he's hurt his hand. He shows us that he can't even move his arm without it hurting. As the Street Pastors talked to him, and find out what had happened with his hand they are slowly able to convince him to go to A&E (the ER). He hates any and everything relating to A&E, so as he gets into the ambulance it's like seeing a miracle unfold before our eyes. 

I watched all this at an awkward distance during this whole 30 minute discourse. Unsure what my role was in this situation. I was out tonight strictly as an observer, did that mean I was strictly to be "observing" in this situation? Why did I find myself wanting to be able to love homeless people like this team of Street Pastors was doing for this man. Wasn't that supposed to be  something that flawed naturally from me? Loving the homeless? 

My heart for the homeless is defiantly not a 'natural' heart. And yet my 'spiritual' heart does hurt to help the homeless. I find that both these 'hearts' tend to be at war with each other whenever I come face to face with homeless ministry. Which is really just a testimony of Jesus at work in me. 

The Cork Street Pastors break up their night half way through by heading back to base and having a cuppa and biscuits. And sharing with the prayer team there all that's been happening so far. 

Now is what I expect to be the tough part of the night. The mental game of staying awake and loving people. 

But much to my shock I actually get a "second wind" and as the night goes on my energy level actually increases. 

My senses are again assaulted by the sounds and smells of Cork at night as we head back into the city. 

My heart drops to my stomach when I see a man start to kick a girl. I realize it's only the angle at which I'm standing and he's simply kicking the wall next to the girl. 

Or seeing for the first time a man being punched. Hearing the contact of fist to nose. Then seeing the blood. Wondering at the ache in my heart, was it only because he was so incredibly easy on the eyes? 

I've been put in charge of the bottle count tonight with an actual button to push every time we get a bottle or come across broken glass that we sweep up. It becomes a game of "I spy", and a bit of a competition between the team to see who can collect the most glass. This game turns out to be a hard game to turn off after a night of it, and I constantly find myself wanting to pick up glass bottles from the streets of Dublin. 

The other bit of Street Pastoring that's hard to turn off is the desire to run across the way and help the man that's falling down drunk, the desire to just sit with him till he sobers up a bit. Or the desire to see that a group of underaged girls get home safe. Or that girl that's walking barefoot, to be able to offer her a pair of flip-flops, so she doesn't step on glass. Or the homeless girl in the doorway crying because maybe next year will be her year, (implying that this year wasn't), just wanting to hug her and hear her story. 

I have to wonder that this is such a struggle for me.... Just months ago I would have seen all those same people and simply stood in judgment of them. Why didn't that man know when to stop drinking before he was too drunk to stand up, or why are those school girls out?! Or that woman without shoes on... doesn't she know that's a dumb idea? And while we're speaking of dumb idea's, that homeless girl.... But now my heart aches to just love these people. 

"I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh." Ezekiel 36v26

Gomie

Gomie with her violets

Just over a week ago my grandmother walked out of this world and straight into the arms of Jesus. 

My heart hurts that I'll never again see her this side of heaven. 

There will be no more chats. No more lunches of sandwiches, crisps and milk. With cookies and coffee afterwards. Or those late night ice cream raids. No more Blue Blood marathons. No more cooking lessons. No sewing lessons. No caining lessons. No violets. Or tomatoes. No more bragging on me. No more introductions to randomers. No more wisdom. Questions. Pictures. Gossip. 

They say this season is a season of hope. This is the first year I understand what that means. As cliche as it sounds Jesus is the reason for the season. Because of His birth at Christmas, I look forward to Easter and His resurrection from the dead, "The last enemy to be destroyed is death." (1 Corinthians 15v26) For that reason I am able to cling to the promise  of Revolution 21v4 "He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."

And in the words of Hunter Dockery,"when it says 'He will wipe every tear away', He's not merely wiping a tear from the cheek; He is putting His finger in your eye to wipe every tears away."

My mind goes next to the people that don't have this hope, is it any wonder depression is so real? If this life really is it and death really is the end... how do you get up in the morning? 

Because of the hope I have that death is not the end, I am able to  rejoice, even though my heart hurts, that my Gomie is once again with my Grandad. After 65 years of marriage, with almost a year gap, they're together again for eternity in heaven.

Hark the herald angels sing

"Glory to the newborn king"

Peace on earth, and mercy mild

God and sinners reconciled

Joyful all ye nations rise

Join the triumph of the skies

With angelic host proclaim

"Christ is born in Bethlehem"

Hark the herald angels sing

"Glory to the newborn king"

Hail the heaven born prince of peace

Hail the son of righteousness

Light and life to all he brings

Risen with healing in his wings

Born that man no more may die

Born to raise the sons of earth

Born to give them second birth

Hark the herald angels sing

"Glory to the newborn king"

The YWCA on Lower Baggot Street

Almost since September and the beginning of this school year the residents at the Y have been divided. 

Divided between the German's and the Spaniard's. At points it's felt like WWIII was about to happen. As a neutral party it's been comical to me to see and just watch. 

But it has hurt my heart to see, and at points being asked to join a "side".

I would tend to spend more time with the German side of the division. Mostly just because 2 girls I've cliched with are on the "German side", (and also they tend to be better at speaking English than the Spanish people). 

That said though, my roommate, Marta, is Spanish. So, if for no other reason than her, I have to be a neutral party! 

At this point you're probably wondering why in the world is there a divide? What's the big deal? 

Good Question. 

Apparently there's something about German culture and Spanish culture that naturally causes division. Something about the German's and their time management and general orderliness, and the Spaniards general lack of those....? I don't know. 

Just tonight, I got to go to dinner with some of the residence for my room mate's birthday. I was so surprised I was actually invited. (I was the only blond/blue eyed person in the mix of Spanish, Italian, and Turks.) 

  

One of the Spaniards I would have judged wrongly wound up basically sitting across from me during dinner, along with a Turkish girl and a guy from Italy (English had to be spoken!). 

The group out for Marta's birthday!! (Marta's 3rd on the right)

The question came up about what I was doing here, I work for the church, charity work, I'm a protestant.... Then it came out the Turkish girl was muslim (I had no idea). So I asked her all sorts of questions about why she didn't have to wear a head covering, etc. Then she in turn asked me all sorts of questions about Christianity and Jesus. Then it came out that the Spanish boy is Catholic (confusion on the difference between Catholic and Protestant!). The Spaniard and I ended up tag teaming about Christianity, (which needless to say was really special). 

I ended up inviting her to come to church with me Sunday. She's very keen to come. Please pray! Totally God showing up, yet again! 

As the 3 of us are talking, I suddenly remember the Italian guy... I ask him if he's Catholic. Turns out he was raised Catholic. But now doesn't believe anything. Before we can get too far into talking the legitimacy (authenticity) of the Bible we have to pay and go.... But man what a can of worms I'd love to open one day. Please pray with me for these moments. Just planting seeds. Pray that God would water. 

Later that night Marta and I had an amazing, "adult" conversation about the divided that's happening here at the Y. (This would be the first time we've actually talked about it). It meant a lot to her that I'd been a part of her birthday dinner. She invited me to join the Spaniards anytime. Which, now that I've actually gotten to personally know them, I will defiantly be doing just that. I feel like our friendship has now taken a turn, just by these seemly simple steps. Now, I'd say we're actually friends, (more than just sleeping buddies). So thankful we get to continue as roommates in the spring term! 

Christmas at the Y

I do realize that Thanksgiving has only just come and gone and I've put "Christmas" in the subject line. Don't be scared away, or fooled that I'm super organized. (Because I'm not!)

Much like I imagine it is in the States at this time of year, Christmas is in full swing here, and has been since Halloween. After the first lights start to appear, I'm able to just ignore it. Well... that is until the 4 weeks before. This past weekend was that weekend. In honor of that, the residents and staff at the YWCA decorated the Y for Christmas, which of course included hot chocolate and Christmas music, followed by a seasonal film.

I'd totally forgotten this was all happening. That is until I walk into the Y Sunday night very hungry, late for dinner, needing a toilet, too hot and very brain dead from having just had a 6 hour discussion about Christian marriage, and I walk right into the middle of Christmas!

Needless to say my heart isn't in it.

But one of the residents, Polina, is having a totally different reaction. (Polina is from Russia). She tells us, face literally glowing, "I feel I am 5 years old again!" (She's about 28.) With wonder she asks what hot chocolate is, how do you put toppings on it? And the decorations... she was like a child in a candy shop! After she asked if this is what we did every year, she told us that in Russia they don't decorate till at earliest the 25th of December, but they don't celebrate "Christmas" till New Years. Then it's 2 weeks straight drinking of vodka. (Ya'll, I thought that was a stereotype about Russia, not a truth! )

As the other residents share about their country's Christmas traditions, Polina looks at me and asks me what traditions do I follow.

Typical me, I don't understand what she's asking and I just word vomit. Is she asking about American Christmas traditions or is she asking about my family's traditions? (Because America as a country doesn't have any traditions...!) Polina then asks if this (a special weekend to decorate) is normal, is this Christmas? (again, is she referring to me or the whole country?) In my mind I want to say yes, the weekend after Thanksgiving traditionally is when you decorate for Christmas. But she is from Russia, Thanksgiving means nothing to her. Then my mind goes to Advent, this weekend is also always the 1st Sunday of Advent, 4 weeks before Christmas. She's not a Christian, what is Advent? My brain... Thankfully I'm sitting next to another American, Sara, who at this point enters the conversation, clarifying and answering the question. As I listen to Sara explain Christmas for Americans and how it's different for all of us, I realize Polina could have gotten 2 very different versions of Christmas. One being the secular Christmas, the other being the Christian Christmas. It begs the age old question, what IS the reason for the season?

 Christmas Festivities at the Y

Why have I shared this long story with you? Because I realized I need you guys to be praying for me and opportunities to share the gospel with my fellow residents just in the next couple of weeks leading up to Christmas. Chances are that when I am going to be interacting with the other residents, I am going to be brain tired and just the thought of engaging makes me want to shy away, but please pray that'd I'd not shy away. But rather in my weakness, God would be glorified. (Because He's the one that's going to be having to give me the words to say!) But seriously, is there not a better time of year to talk about the gospel than Christmas?

Where we are now

With moving to Dublin and being placed with a city church that has 4 services all in a different language, and living at the Y with international students; I had no idea what life would actually look like, working and living with internationals. 

What it means now is that I have a Dutch friend, South African, Romanian, French, German, Brazilian, Spanish, American, Mexican, Canadian, and Irish friends. What this has further meant is that I get to be a tourist and see and do a lot of fun things, and be able to do exactly what I came here to do. (To be in relationship with people, and (hopefully) reflecting Jesus to people). 

What this also means is that I forget that I have actually been in Ireland over a year now, and things like potatoes with every meal, I don’t even notice anymore! That is till one of the American girls here goes on a long rant to the cook about the dinner being not just rice, 'but rice and potatoes. Two starches! There have been potatoes with every meal for the past 2 weeks! That is just unacceptable!' (I hadn’t even noticed). -Honey, you’re living in Ireland. The cook is Scottish.- Hello culture shock! 

Prior to this conversation about food this girl, Rena, had been ranting to me about something else - and then when she started going at the cook about the food; clearly, there’s more going on here! So I very quietly asked her if I could pray with her. She said yes, so I did, almost whispering! (This is me having lived in Ireland a year, where praying out load in public is just not something you do!)

Implications of all of this? My social media probably looks like I live such an exciting life! I would truly hate to give the wrong idea about how I live life, especially to people back in the States. Yet as I was scrolling back through pictures I've posted, it is a pretty accurate description of my life here. Life in community with internationals. Of which I am one. 

Day trip to Killiney Hill via
Dalky with some of the girls
from the Y 

Killiney Hill 

Girls night at the Y

Trinity College Library 

It's always fun when people ask what it is I do.... Not. Ah, ya know, I get to be a tourist. When I'm not doing any of the above, you can probably find me in a coffee shop reading, pretending I'm not actually a tourist. 

The reality of it is though that it's hard. A lot of what I have to do that just comes with living in community, doesn't come naturally to me. Sometimes I'm sick of being around people and don't handle being asked "how are you?" one more time! And so I walk out of the room, unable to engage, but leaving someone thinking they've offended me. Or I just want to blow up at my room mate, (because I just want to be by myself), but miraculously don't say anything and just breath. 

Sometimes I truly feel like I don't fit in anywhere and I hate eating communally. Sitting at a table hoping someone will sit with me. But then the next day I go and sit with someone and even though I know they're not native English speaking, I start talking to them in English and have an amazing conversation. I walk away wondering why it is I don't try and engage more often.... Really, once again, I am reminded yet again that it can't be by my strength that I do anything that I'm trying do. It has to be Jesus in me. Unfortunately I forget to even spend time with Jesus, and much less even remember that it's not by anything I do, it has to be Him. 

So much easier to say then do! And that's all just life at the Y. I never did go into what church with all it's nationalities is like! Stay tuned for that one. Till then. xx

Street Pastors - Belfast

For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men..... 

But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong. 

1 Corinthians 1.25,27 

It must be pushing 1 o'clock in the morning. I'm feeling very abominable snowmanish for all the layers I'm wearing. Trying to stay engaged in conversation while keeping an eye peeled for empty glass bottles. My contacts are starting to try out and all I can think about is a warm bed or a hot cup of coffee. 

We walk past a rather popular night club buzzing with people just out to have a little fun tonight. There's a girl engaged in an animated conversation with a fellow. She's taken her shoes off and is just wearing socks. I walk over and try to politely interrupt their conversation so's I can ask if she wants a pair of flip-flops. She says no. My desire to just walk away is overpowering as I ask her again if she's sure, I don't want her stepping on glass... either because she wanted me to leave or because she genuinely changed her mind, she took a pair of flip-flops. "Save 'em for later" I said as I handed them to her, and tried to make myself scarce. 

As we moved on from the club to a quieter part, I found myself breathing again. 'This is what the night scenes is Jes, what are you doing here?' I ask myself as I pray for God to use me, and keep me open minded. 

Just then an intoxicated, young, married man out on the town with his wife, comes up to our group. He puts his arm around me and asks me something but between his accent and slurring, and being just slightly distracted with a drunken man that close to me I can't understand what he's said. Another of the girls on the team with me translated by answering his question saying, "there's a good pub just up there". Why did I have to have a moment of paralyzing fear that kept me from engaging with this man further by just asking him to repeat the question? Even with his arm around me, he was harmless. 'God, seriously, what am I doing out here?" 

A little while later we pass another couple walking away from a bar. She was barefoot. One of the guys in my group asked her if she wanted a pair of flip-flops. She asked if we were serious? Yes! Please! She didn't want to wear heels, but her boy friend had insisted, saying "she looked sexier in heels, than boots". But now her feet were killing her. As I helped her get the flip-flops on; she told us how much she "seriously loved us!" Who knew that a pair of cheap flip-flops could make someone's night. 

Later we came across a group of kids, that looked to be somewhere between 16 and *18 years old, just out to have a good time. And from the looks of it, they were have a good time. Just a group of happy drunks. But the girls in the group were all barefoot. I obviously can't do anything about telling these kids to go home, but I can help these girls protect their feet. As I'm asking the first girl if she wants a pair of flip-flops, she asks if I'm serious and then tells me how much she loves me. Another girl wants to pay for her pair, "no love, they're free". Yet another girl asks if she can give me a hug, followed by her asking for a second hug. Hugs are one thing I can do! In my mind though 'love, just get home safe!'. After being told in five consecutive rows how much they seriously love us, they went on their way and we ours. 

Now it must be pushing 3 in the morning and my feet and hips are hurting from all the walking and standing. I'm struggling to keep my wits about me and pay attention to what's going on around me. As far as the bottle count is going we're up to 30 glass bottles collected and binned. It's been a quiet night, just by that count alone. The leader of the team is about to go ahead and call it a night. I'm trying to not get too excited when she says "we'll just do one more round."

On this last round we come across a homeless man. One of the guys stops to engage him in conversation. The man asks for a cup of coffee. I'm given a tenner and told to grab two of the guys from the team and go to McDonald's. After retuning to this homeless man, I give him his cup of coffee. I'm surprised by how young he is and wonder why he's out on the street. Thankfully one of the guys on my team ask the man that very question. Turns out he is Lithuanian, a fisherman by trade. He came over on a boat, fishing. But when the season was over, so was he. 

After this, we head back to the base, where we have a little debrief about the evening and find out how the other teams got on. 

As I colaspe in bed, I'm struck yet again by the goodness of God. He certainly doesn't need me to take care of His people out in the streets. But He invited me along, showing me how He is glorified by my weakness. 

Street Pastor's - the church out on the streets 

*Please note that the legal drinking age in Ireland is 18

Chips!

Have you ever just had this craving for something? 

That was me last night. I literally had the worst craving for some chips. Not the fish, just the chips. With salt and vinegar. Now I'm not talking about those fries you get from Burger King or McDonald's. Those skinny pieces of potato fried in oil, delivered in a cup ranging in sizes small to large. No I am referring to chips. Big and fat. One size, a whole brown bag! (I mean if you're going to have a heart attach, you might as well do it right and go all the way, right?) With the option of not only getting it with salt and vinegar but the possibility of getting it with EXTRA salt and vinegar! Or if you're feeling adventures, you can get it with curry sauce or cheese. Or if your from Northern Ireland, you just order mayonnaise with your chips and your as happy as a lark. 

For living in City Center now, it's amazing how hard it is just to find the littlest things like a Chipper (a fish and chips shop). If you want coffee, there's a coffee shop on every corner. If you want beer there's a pub for every coffee shop. If you want ice cream, there's at least 10 shops. The same can be said for pizza, Chinese and Mexican. If you want to have a nice sit down dinner, you've got options. But if you just want a simple fish and chips, for take away.... you might just be out of luck! 

Thank goodness for sketchy-Turkish-hole-in-the-wall-kebab restaurants that not only sell kebabs, but sell chips! 

Strangely though, they didn't put any salt or vinegar on my chip. Or maybe not strange, as they weren't Irish. Maybe the strange thing was that they had chips at all.... 

But seriously though, what does one do when they just need salt and vinegar? Well obviously, hide the evidence of the chips in your bag and walk into Burger King and ask for a couple of packets of salt and vinegar.

Yes, that is what I did. 

Worth.It.