Author: <span>Rebecca Matheson</span>

“And your love remains a mystery, that’s woven all the way through me.” – Brooke Fraser

It’s funny, your head overloads with so much stuff that you don’t have the capacity to write it down and then you leave it and later have absolutely no idea where to start.

So God, you’ve been showing me a lot about ‘story’. How you have your timeless outlook on history. The story of you, of the human race, of earth. And we as individuals have our lives, our stories to live.
I guess I’ve been intruding on other’s stories in some ways.

Stop.
This feels so awkward writing like this.
Start again.

——–

Yesterday. Highlighted, outlined, underscored myself, in that I played the objective being. Attitude direction is a masterful thing sometimes. And although the mental ‘not good enough’ monster reared it’s head it was kept at bay. Thanks God. And I was able to see beyond it, than the more usual (of the past few days)giving into the ‘but what if’s’ and the ‘they really think this’. I verbalised how I was feeling – as if YITS was a bit cliquey. Both for me and conversations that I’ve had with a few others. Yellow group with Tilla (facilitator) is good. It splits me from Jess and Sam so I am away from the very familiar (sorry sammy 🙂 but it’s true) neither Katie nor Jo are in Yellow either.

Alice is an interesting character. I have a good mind to give her the blog link. Maybe.

As to the story thing I so badly started with. Warwick (in Youth Ministry) showed us this piece of weaving – each individual strand getting caught up in a greater picture. Each strand an individual story. It’s (this has) been jumping out at me. God you bought back to mind the ‘author and perfector’ verse (Hebrews 12:2-3).
You let us in on our own story, however strangely that is, as we are already part of it.

And I frequently try to jump strands, solve/carry/heal/fill other people’s problems when it isn’t always my place. To be their counselor when ha, God has/already one through the Holy Spirit.

Is it a trust issue? I don’t know. I thought I trusted God. Maybe not completely.

And despite the call to walk/concentrate on our own lives, there are these disjointed moments where we are bought together. Here’s where to restrain my head from running off on relationship tangents.

Aside from all this ‘story’ relevance, the class was on listening to God.

“My way isn’t yours God. You bring this author and perfector thing back up. What’s up with that? I’ve realised tonight that yes to use my journal for thinking through stuff, to take more time. You want me to include you in that. To have an ongoing conversation with the great conversationalist”

And then I listened.
Or stopped. The same.

Words Rebecca. I have given you them and a heart to seek, to listen to search after me. Use your words. Know me more. What an amazing story you life isnot has been, nor will be. Is. I will show you more of your story and more of mine. You each have your own individual paths to walk, crawl, stumble and run. Yes you can help along their way. (As they do for you). But don’t miss the point of walking your own path, taking part in the story I have scripted for you.
You feel overburdened Rebecca and then seek satisfaction in what you almost foolishly think you are doing for others. Only I can do that. I love using you. But don’t look fo rothers to fulfil and complete you in that way or you are always going to be dissatistfied. I am making you into something beautiful. Selecting each word of your life by hand.
“Peace, peace to those far and near.” Isaiah 57:19
I will find you. I have found you in your divide. Your tearing between countries. I will hear you, heal you, make you whole. I know who you are and I know who you will be.”

I was wondering, praying about whether to share that ^ in the blog, when I read the, “use your words”. I don’t know. I guess I will. It is personal. It’s kind of funny.

How coherent this is I don’t know?
It is enough to hold a memory that might otherwise disappear later. Enough to show what God is doing.

The master weaver.
The story maker.

“you think a lot dont you?”
– Iain (YITS)

We all feel the riddle of the earth without anyone to point it out. The mystery of life is the plainest part of it… Every stone or flower is a hieroglyphic of which we have lost the key, with every step of our lives we entere into the middle of some story which we are certain to misunderstand.
-G.K Chesterton

Hypersensitivity. I will pick up on the smallest things. You walk into a room and a group of friends/acquiantances don’t bother to recognise your presence. I don’t care how selfish it seems. But a smile, eye contact, a hello even? Oh, they are not to blame. But how important it, simple recognition is. It set the tone for the day, or I let it.

I wonder sometimes if people understand how important is the use of names. I’ve thought about it before it came to mind today when Kym used: Rebecca, instead of the standard: Bec.

To risk getting overly metaphorical, it’s sometimes like I live the life of Bec, where I’d rather live the life of the more whole. Rebecca. (I can’t explain very well what’s going on in my head)

Names. Acknowledgement… If we all took a little more care.

I have more than most would even dare to ask for and yet I still crave, friendship, encouragemnt when my mind conjures up the hoax of lakc.
Are we never satisfied?

Feel sometimes as if I’m fighting for too many people.
Where’s someone to fight for me?

been in my head all day. suits the mood as does the rain.

The Lines Of My Earth
Sixpence None the Richer

The lines of my earth, so brittle, unfertile, and ready to die.
I need a drink, but the well has run dry.
And we in the habit of saying the same things all over again,
For the money we shall make.

This is the last song that I write
‘Til you tell me otherwise.
And it’s because I just don’t feel it.
This is the last song that I write
‘Til you tell me otherwise.
And it’s because I just don’t feel it anymore.

It should be our time. This fertile youth’s black soil is ready for rain.
The harvest is nigh, but the well has gone dry.
And they in the habit of saying the same things all over again,
about the money we shall make.

This is the last song that I write
‘Til you tell me otherwise.
And it’s because I just don’t feel it.
This is the last song that I write
‘Til you tell me otherwise.
And it’s because I just don’t feel it anymore.

Tuesday Morning.

Jess should have been here to pick Sam and I up at 9:30.
She’s lost her keys.

The aim of this morning: swimming, head back to Tabor for lunch and then lovely NT class.

Em took the leftovers from last night… not overly happy about that. Chicken & Broccoli is my favourite 🙁

I’ll probably join Katie and go to the SRC (to replace Dave who’s away today). We have to work out budget/restrictions for the Tabor end of year party. Event Management in Lifeskills. I can see myself taking too much on – looking at my response first meeting. Silly Bec.
The SRC is ‘chaired’ (maybe not the right word) by a guy called Rohan – I think this could possibly be the Rohan in Burkie’s band… I may ask, I probably wont.

Jess C said GGBiggs is at Tabor on Tuesdays. That will be kind of weird, I believe she intends to point him out.

Seems that Laura worked out that Chrisso (also gush person) is in the 2nd year of the same ACU course.

People links everwhere.

It’s quite embarassing in some ways, almost every person that comes to lecture Tabor I have some kind of connection with. Deb, Age… Steven etc…

___ is rather frustrating me. Thought I was used to her and could just laugh at her. Been grating on my nerves lately – lets use the embarassing word again, because that’s what it is. Ah, you think I’d ‘get it’ by now.

But I’m rambling and this isn’t very interesting. Hopefully Jess will show up soon.
Swimming in Melbourne in Winter.
Aren’t we intelligent beings.