Today was a good day. Not especially eventful, but full of little moments. I went to church (later than expected, I'll admit) and realised that I don't really like being shouted at. Quelle surprise! The speaker would have been more accurately described as the 'screecher'. I don't know if my dislike of this style is partly cultural, or if it stems from my dislike of being forcibly told what to do (isn’t that a universal dislike?) Either way, it wasn't particularly enjoyable. I don't think God speaks to me that way and so I don't see why His messengers should do! However, in between the ringing of my ears and with a lot of effort, I was able to pick out the good points he did actually make.
The best part about church this week was the evidence of answered prayers. Some dear friends of ours, D & R, were asked some time ago by their friend S to give her Bible studies. She has a Hindu background and had given them all her Hindu paraphernalia to destroy, because she wanted to get to know God and become a Christian. S has two teenage sons and has been having a tough time with the oldest one, who is eighteen. He reacted very badly to his parents' divorce, has a very bad temper which manifests itself via rather aggressive behaviour and was perhaps uncomfortable with his Mum's interest in Bible study, as he still attends the Hindu temple. D and R had mentioned her situation to us back when they started studying with her and we had started praying for S. She had expressed a desire to attend church with them, but whenever she had planned to do so, her eldest son had reacted very badly. More recently my sister and I had decided that we would pray together every night at the same time, making a special mention for S and her family. This Sabbath, we were so pleased to see that S and her younger son were able to come to church. She expressed her thanks when my sister told her we had been praying for her and was so surprised that everyone in church knew who she was and had been keeping her in their prayers, despite never having met her. It was an encouragement to see God working in her life and that He does indeed listen to and answer the prayers of His children.
S and her son then came to our parents' house for lunch, along with D and R, and several other friends from church, including some people we have only recently got to know and some we had met for the first time. My Mum loves to entertain and it was really nice to have so many people around, since she hasn't done that for a while.
One of our friends, a lovely English guy in his 70s called M, brought a Filipino family with him: a young couple, their friend and three children (girls aged seven and three and a little baby boy). I had made a bet with my family that morning that M would very likely do two things: mispronounce my name and mention something about me being unmarried. I mentioned both of these things with fondness; M is a very sweet, godly man, but he always manages to get my name wrong and since my sister got married, he seems to be keen that I settle down with someone nice. :o)
I wasn't wrong as such. M started off with the right pronunciation but had deviated by the end of the afternoon. He didn't mention me getting married, but did his usual of asking "How is the gorgeous Em?" and giving me a big cuddle. He has an endearing concern of me like a protective uncle and it makes me feel a little embarrassed, but it is quite sweet. I suppose it is flattering when people are complimentary, but it soon gets incredibly embarrassing. M's friend was talking to me and my sister about being able to speak Tagalog; my Mum had told him that he should ensure he continues to speak the language to his daughters, so that they grow up being bilingual, which my sister and I didn't. I think perhaps this is a regret of hers and she seems to mention it to any Filipino family we meet here that have young children! While discussing the difficulty of maintaining a foreign language when one parent doesn't speak it, he randomly commented that English and Filipino is a good mix and that my looks are somewhat Spanish (apparently this is a good thing). He then made several other similar comments about my looks that made me feel embarrassed and awkward. Not in the way you might feel when someone is trying to make a move on you, but more in the way when someone’s praise becomes more effusive than you would like and you find it hard to remain gracious. I think I made some sort of verbal deflection and swiftly found something in the kitchen to busy myself with.
But later, I was sat with talking with him and his eldest daughter came and sat with us. I asked her name and how old she was and she shyly held up the correct number of fingers. Then her dad said to her, “I want you to grow up to be as pretty as your Auntie Em, ok?” Hello, what? For a minute I didn’t quite know what to say. I wanted to say, rather forcibly, “Wouldn’t you much rather she grew up to be intelligent/successful/talented /secure/confident?!” and “Why are you instilling a belief in your seven-year-old daughter that she needs to be beautiful to make you proud of her?” Maybe I took it much too seriously and should have just been flattered by his weird compliments, but it really annoyed me. I’m all for giving children standards to aim for, but when it’s something so arbitrary and subjective, and furthermore something one has no real control over, it seems completely irresponsible. Moreover, it’s not exactly an achievement, to be considered beautiful, is it? If someone finds you physically attractive, it’s not a personal accomplishment. If someone likes my face, that’s nice, but I can’t take any credit for it. I mean, I keep it clean and relatively presentable, but otherwise it’s down to my genetic inheritance! Not knowing how to express any of this without being rude and causing offence, I simply said nothing and then avoided further conversation. Maybe I should have been bolder with my opinions, but maybe in some cases silence is golden.
So, from annoyance to affection. When talking to one of our other friends later, I suddenly realised that I felt a strong sense of fondness towards her. We recently spent time with these friends in their home country of Latvia. We have only known this couple and their family since the early part of this year, but have got to know that they are lovely people – kind, generous, open-minded, intelligent, gracious and so on. Spending time with them in their own country and being privileged enough to meet lots of their extended family was such a blessing and made our friendship grow closer. It made me wonder at one point you realise that you love another person, in a way that doesn’t involve romance. At what point after becoming friends with someone do you realise that you love them? In romantic relationships, both parties are usually aware that the relationship is likely to move towards that stage – falling in love and declaring that love is usually a make-or-break point in the relationship. You would usually notice the moment when you realise you feel that way, because it is usually accompanied by a desire to express it verbally. But when you are friends with a person, it doesn’t seem to be such a necessary act. In fact, it may not even be a feeling that you are conscious of until you are confronted with the question. We don’t choose our family, but – even if we don’t necessarily like them – we usually still love them. We do choose our friends, but do we always love them? How often do we even assess this? Furthermore, how often do we actually express this to them verbally?
Later in the afternoon, I got speaking to my new little friend, the one who had been instructed to grow up in my likeness. This bright little girl started teaching me to speak Tagalog. She had very good teaching skills – verbalising vowel sounds and getting me to repeat them after her. Once she had done this once, she then got me to say they on my own so that I could memorise them. We had a tiny Tagalog Bible and she got me to read parts and she corrected me when I read something incorrectly. Then she looked at me all bright-eyed and said, “Now you teach me how to speak English”. I wanted to tell her that my degree-level education in English literature had taught me nothing, and that had her parents stayed in the Philippines, she would have no doubt received an immeasurably better education in the English language than she ever would here. But instead I quizzed her on the different names of colours, which she expertly answered, including offering the word “fuchsia” rather than plain old “pink”. This from a seven-year-old. But of course, we all hope she grows up to be pretty. That’s the most important thing, huh?
After we bonded, she managed to find some pens and found a napkin to write on. Her parents were getting ready to go home. She asked how to spell my name, so I dutifully obliged, while she wrote out each letter on the napkin. Her penmanship was very neat and I told her so. I then busied myself with goodbyes to the adults but was interrupted a minute later when she presented me with the napkin. Alongside my name, the napkin had now been decorated with a small drawing of a flower. Underneath my name, she had inscribed the words “I love you”.
When do we realise that we love our friends? When do we tell them as such? For children, with their upfront, unashamed, unaffected, innocent sincerity, the answer is a.) Quite soon after meeting them, and b.) Straight away. I gave her a big hug and thanked her for her gift, thinking that if she grew up to be as inwardly beautiful as she seemed to already be, she would definitely be going places. :o)
