I have been living on the east side of the main strip for a wee while now. I’m finding it hard. The only buses that run are the more expensive ones and it is difficult to get back here later at night, which is frequently an issue as most of friends live out towards the west. There was a prophetic picture I was given recently that I was to be starting fires throughout the south up through the west and towards the north of the city centre, doesn’t necessarily mean that I shouldn’t be living out here but it is tempting to think that.
Anyhow, I’ve been playing more frisbee recently but need to get fit. I don’t like running, swimming isn’t a favourite either and gyms are too expensive. Anyone got a home gym I can use?
Back in the days of working voluntary for 24-7prayer in Manchester we lived, Oria, Resa and I, in the excitement and frustration of not knowing when we were going to get provided for next, or how. So while the three of us had little to no income we were learning how to gratefully and graciously receive, which I reckon is equally, if not more, difficult than giving. What I found quite liberating, especially from the sense of being a charity case, was to be able to give. And at times we felt it right to give away all we had just received, rendering us with little to nothing again. It keeps the flow flowing, no blockages in the pipes. I was quite convinced at one point that there was a magical ten pound note flying around our house. Oria would give me a tenner and then I would go and buy a finglands buspass, a lucosade for frisbee and maybe put my clothes in the launderette. I would then the next day go back to Oria, or Resa even, and give her a tenner for a bottle of wine and the ingredients for a big fat dish of nachos. Somehow the tenner just kept on going, just like that story about fish sandwiches.
I think I might have found another one. It’s only magic if you give it away.
Three years ago today I walked into a damp warehouse in the city centre with the essential stuff of my life in my backpack. I was planning to stay in the city for three months and then see what happens. The warehouse was The Boiler Room, I’ve out stayed that, but my so called essential stuff is back in that backpack and God is challenging me to start some fires, to ignite a passion for prayer in this city again. We’ll see where it takes me this time.
So far God seems to be messing my life up - leaving me even more aware of how I need to be completely dependant on Him, and I’m getting there. I’m realising that God made us to live life to the full, ask Jesus what that meant to him. There’s a number of us still exploring what it means to be an Urban Monk, you can find us expressing that question in cities all around the globe. Momentarily that question is leaving me without a fixed abode and without a paid job; as i said, dependant on Jesus. Some days I revel in the excitement and priviledge of being involved in a new, wild move of God and on others I pull my hair out, doubt and frustration kick in.
We are all on a journey, we are all works in progress.