Mosquito Netting

 

Fifteen years ago I went to a thirtieth birthday party held in an old church hall. An abundance of green mosquito netting hung below the ceiling in arabesques piled high with balloons. A jukebox blared eighties music, heavy on The Police and U2; and at three o’clock in the morning, a group of us stood on the lawn and howled at the moon.

At the centre of the howling group was the birthday boy, a gentle bewildered and very unhappy man; safe inside, away from the lunatics, stood his confused and defensive wife. As the party drew to a close, the mosquito netting was pulled down and the balloons all popped; then the netting was bundled into a large green plastic garbage bag.

A couple of years later, the couple split; and soon after that, I moved in with the man who is sad and lonely no more. We have lived in half a dozen different houses together, and the mosquito netting has moved with us as we wait for a good use for it.

At last this week I stood and unpicked the staples which so long ago had held the netting in elegant swathes, and remembered the party, and the time of life when we were all so young and muddled and lonely. Then I drove some stakes into our planter boxes and draped netting over them, so the cabbage moths can no longer lay their eggs on our baby brassicas.

It feels a good use for the netting, falling in soft arabesques over veggies now. Instead of helium balloons, butterflies and cabbage moths float above it; and in place of eighties music, the voices of children drift through the air. We may not howl at the moon these days, but our kids always shout when they see it.

Just a glance at the netting is enough to remind me that this life of children and constant visitors is a daily party, as we welcome guests, play games, tell jokes, and share food and wine and stories. And even as I watch and remember, a little girl runs past in dress ups: red velvet, sparkly sandals, and red floppy hat; and her hair flies behind her like streamers.

Under a Rock

 

Recently I was told I live under a rock. Here's a bit of doggerel in response.

***

Yes, it’s true. I live under a rock.
Shrink down to my size and join me for a while.
You might find old friends, long stories,
family secrets come to light,
A baby blowing bubbles, a crooked smile.
Neighbours reconciled, gifts given and received.
Quietly reading, a little child.
A kid on a bike, a kid up a tree.
The satisfaction of a pile of washing,
scented by the afternoon.
A toddler in a puddle, sloshing.

Under a leaf, small eggs hang.
The grapevine is now speckled red.
Mornings are crisp, autumn’s in the air.
‘The moon, the moon!’ my daughters said.
We came home late as it hung low
And dazzled us with its golden glow.

These are the things of everyday living:
kitchens and gardens and women and kids.
A life which is rich and generous and giving
– I wouldn’t trade any of it for quids!

A Room of One’s Own

All I need is a room of my own...

Or a desk at the library. To my left a student sleeps, head resting on folded arms. To my right is the hot pink Mills & Boon bookstand, with its racy covers and titles. My iPod's in and techno blasts, drowning out gossiping teenagers. As the librarian rolls past with the book trolley, the sprung floor bends and complains and my chair tilts: a hundred years ago, our library was a dance hall.

Or a table at a bar, James Blake on vinyl bringing me to tears. As I sit in the shadows, the barmaid tells a story and people start to laugh; the owner makes calls in the next booth; a delivery man rolls in a trolley full of crates; and women stride past, their boots crashing assertively on the old wooden floor.

Or an anonymous food court where a pot of peppermint tea buys a seat for hours. The surrounds are so ugly I have no option but to concentrate on the task at hand. Lower back aching, chair digging into my legs, I write three thousand words in a sitting.

Or halfway up the stairs, the sounds of a houseful of children ebbing and flowing below me. I sit in the illuminated square below the skylight and a gentle breeze curls its way upwards, softly brushing past me as I type.

Or the kitchen table, kid asleep in another room, a sticky smear of jam at my elbow, crumbs at my feet, a pile of dishes in the sink and me steadfastly ignoring them all as I grab an hour to write.

It may not be what Virginia Woolf had in mind; it may not be much; but it is, for now, enough.

Our Primary Identity

 

The following reflection was presented to the South Yarra Community Baptist Church on 11 March 2012. To read the biblical passage, Exodus 20:1-17, click here. I am writing out of the Christian paradigm; a Jewish writer – and many Christians – would have a different take on the passage.

***

I don’t know about you, but a big part of my identity is that I am someone who can’t stand being told what to do. If I’m told to do something, then because I’ve learned a modicum of politeness I’ll grit my teeth and nod; and because for years now I’ve been training myself to slow down, listen and learn, I might even do it; but underneath my blood will be boiling and I’ll be longing to do the opposite.

That’s exactly how I feel when I hear the commandments blasted from the rooftops. As a teenager I lived in the United States, and not a week went by that one public figure or another didn’t call for the reintroduction of the commandments into schools, into courthouses, even into law. I gather that such calls are even more strident now. But whenever I hear such calls, my blood runs cold and I immediately want to rush out and bed somebody else’s husband in a trivialising manner; go steal a car; and take up a job on Sundays – I figure, ministry is always an option.

It’s particularly contrary of me as I don’t actually object to the content of the commandments. It seems clear to me that if we could all follow them, especially the first, which recalls us to our primary identity as those who belong to God, and the last, which adjures us to control our desires, then the world would be a better place. No violence, no envy, no murder, no bloodlust, no workaholism, no false idols, no broken hearts and a world worshipping a loving God.

The thing is, though, that the commandments aren’t a general law to be laid down upon every society. They were a set of guidelines for God’s chosen people, established through a loving covenant. Suggesting that the commandments are a blanket set of laws with universal application overlooks the relationship in which they were first established, particularly as our societies these days are so patently pluralistic.

It also ignores the sheer idiocy of trying to mandate them. While it’s easy enough to set down laws that no one shall kill or rape or steal, even if such laws can be difficult to enforce, how exactly do we mandate faith in God? And how do we mandate control of desires? You will notice that the last commandment is not about actions but about what we desire: ‘Do not want anything that belongs to someone else.’ I find myself wondering how on earth anyone expects the state to control and punish us for wanting the wrong things?

Clearly, the state cannot, although many totalitarian governments have certainly tried. But the sheer impossibility of the task raises the question of why desire is even mentioned; and so it is worth some investigation.

I suggest that the commandment is there because if we desired nothing of anyone else’s, then most of the other commandments would be pretty much sorted. Without desire there is no dissatisfaction with one’s lot, no rivalry, and therefore no impulse to engage in trivialising relationships, theft, lies or murder.

Sadly, these desires cannot be completely controlled. We are human. Like it or not, we compare ourselves to others and desire what our role models sport. Whether it’s a pretty piece of flesh or public acclaim or more material wealth – the bigger house, car or gadget – we find ourselves longing for it too.

Personally, one of the things I most often find myself wanting is professional success. There are times when my husband appears very busy very important, and I envy that. Meanwhile I have friends and acquaintances who have written good books, and I envy them, too.

But envy is a nasty beast. Instead of being delighted for these people and happy that they are doing such work, I can begin to dislike them. I can feel small and mean. I can imagine wanting to see them take a public fall, bringing them down to my small scale – and this, perhaps, is exactly what the final commandment is all about. ‘Do not desire what others have’ – because it brings out the worst in you. The most demoralising part of it is that, even as I’m experiencing envy, I can see just how awful I am being: selfish, narcissistic, life-sucking.

And yet the reason I haven’t written any books is a matter of faith. While I may have been called to write, I have also been called to do lots of other things. I was called to have children, called to stay home with them, called to read with refugees, called to learn theology, called to be a part of the school community, called to care for half a dozen other children over the years, and called to many other small tasks and relationships. In other words, I haven’t felt compelled to write a big book or be a big writer; instead, I have been called to love in whatever manifestation is required on a particular day at that particular hour.

Like all Christians, then, my fundamental calling is no more and no less than to follow Jesus and walk the path of love. Everything else is peripheral.

I know this, of course. Promising to follow the Way was a major part of my baptism – but I also forget, time and again. And it is when I forget that I find myself wishing that I had written a book, or had a job title, or somehow or other looked very busy very important too.

Yet if I can just embrace that fundamental calling to love, and if I can get it into my head that I am not called to follow anyone else’s path, then I can stop glancing over my shoulder and comparing my endeavours with everyone else’s. From time to time, in awe-inspiring flashes, I do get it; and when I do, my heart is buoyed up by an irrepressible joy and all my desires evaporate into thin air. In that moment, I know deep in my bones that I have everything I need, more than enough; and there is nothing that I want. At those times, of course, I envy no one and desire nothing; and I feel completely free.

Jesus said, ‘I came not to abolish the law, but to fulfil it’. He did this by becoming the New Human, modelling a way of life that was marked by love, justice, mercy, peace and self-sacrifice. As part of our baptism, we are called to imitate him, just as he imitated his Father in heaven – and if we adopt him and not the Joneses as our role model, then over time we will begin to display his qualities. Gradually, our desires will be limited no longer by our mundane human imaginations, which are so captivated by material wealth, popularity or success. Instead, our desires will be shaped by the coming reign of God.

When this happens, our other desires will be revealed in all their pettiness. When love is the priority, suddenly someone else’s stuff, whether their husband or their house, their plasma television or their perfect children, their intellect or their career path or their attractiveness, all become somewhat laughable as objects of desire. We will begin to realise that any satisfaction they promise is illusion, for love is the only way. Any attempt to obtain that which belongs to someone else will only damage that love, and we are no longer willing to limit it because we will know it is the only thing that will catapult us into joy.

And that brings us back to the Christians souls who would like to see the commandments enacted as law. Clearly, I am not one of them. In the freedom which Jesus gives us, the commandments cannot be imposed. They are not the beginning point; they are what result when people have learned to love and their desires have merged with God’s.

Jesus said, ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’ and ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’

Thanks to Jesus, these are the only two commandments we need. Even better, in them we find our primary identity: followers on a Way marked by peace and mercy, justice and love.