POST by JED: Tell me Lies, Tell me Sweet Little Lies...

I'm not a liar, but I have told lies.

I grew up as a pastor's kid in Sydney's plush southern, seaside suburbs. If I had have known how posh my environment was at the time, I would definitely have morphed into a YUPPY (young unmarried professional) snob, possessing 3 friends, a corvette, a chronic addiction to therapy sessions and an intolerance of people like you... However, although snootiness could have potentially blossomed, it would have been a while in coming, and due to circumstances outside of my control, it never did.

My parents earnt, and I am remembering stories-of-old and could be completely incorrect (I'm hazarding a guess now...), $170 per month. Now whilst this sounds like a gastronomical amount to you, in a 70s Sydney waterfront  suburb, this amount was a pittance - I mean, most of our neighbours wouldn't have even crossed the boulevarde to pick up wads of cash amounting to more than my parents monthly stipend.

Now whilst I never  tried to burn down our house in order to help with the wintertime heating issues, actually, no wait - I did do that... My mother recalls a time when her reading glasses broke. She was devastated. She knew, at that time, that she would never be able to afford another pair of glasses. Her intellectually stimulating Women's Weekly days were to be no more...

In any case, I digress... And so it was... Thanks to our dear, sweet Lord, my parents heeded a calling to Australia's Capital, Canberra, to work with the World's largest missionary organisation, Youth With A Mission (YWAM). What a thrill! We packed up all of our belongings into our sky-blue Holden, Sedan Tank, said goodbye to the neighbours who had, up until this point, been my only friends in the entire World, and made-out on our 5 hour trek up into the heart of the Snowy Mountains. Brrr!!!

Now Canberra is known as the "Bush Capital" because it's in the "Bush". I know, I should have been a teacher - I have knack for explainerising important facts to the unedumacated. I think I've elucidated this "Bush Capital" concept in other blogs, but due to my boredom today, you're in for quite the treat! I'll explain it again for your reading pleasure. (and so those from overseas can understand and visualise my home that I don't live in anymore and probably never will live in)

The "Outback", in Australia, is the dessert. The "Bush" is everything between the cities and the Outback that isn't farm. (though this point would be up for a debate in some regions) Canberra has very few high rise buildings and is sparsely populated. The emphasis on green would put "Green Peace" to shame. (Though ironically, because of the emphasis on green and space and privacy and so-forth, every Canberra resident is forced to own a car or 2, pushing pollution levels to the brink)

Canberra City really is in the "Bush", with the next closest "City" being Sydney, which is a speedy 3 hour drive away. (Now, but when I was a kid it was a 5 hour drive - another reason I should have been a teacher, I'm so good with subtle reinforcement of boring facts that have already been adequately explicarised)

My life at YWAM were some of the happiest and hardest years of my life. I absorbed every friendship, ran riot over the massive 15 acre campus, and enjoyed many aspects of the community based living. (Every one of my birthday parties involved 100 people singing happy birthday to me. The funny thing is, I remember how special this momentous occasion always made me feel. In reality, they were probably dying to get out and see the latest episode of Night Rider, as I always was when I was singing for them.)

The hard bits were having other people feel that they could "discipline" you (which, apparently, I needed a lot of...), not living in the "real World", and losing some of the normalness of family life. (We bathed in communal bathrooms, which meant my parents were in a sense cut-off from my hygiene habits at a very early age, but just by way of example... Awkward moment... Moving on...)

Another hard bit was that on one side of our building was a drive-in theatre, and so my brother and I saw many an adult image through our curtainless windows when trying to get to sleep at night. On the other side of our building was an amusement park, and as our bedtime was 8:30pm and they closed closer to midnight (on weekends), we were often kept awake byyyyyyyyeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa, the gentle squeals of roller coaster riders...

During my time at YWAM I went from schooling at a Christian School, to being educated at YWAM in the International Christian School that my Dad started, to being trained at home by my darling mother. Now whilst I do completely agree with homeschooling now, I didn't at the time.

As a primary school teacher I have seen the harmful effects of throwing 20-30 same-age kids into a single room, for 7 hours, with one adult supervisor. I love chatting with people who think this is socialisation. They should be around when it is realised that primary school aged kids want to commit suicide because other children persistently tell them they are fat, ugly, smell, are too poor, too tall, that their nose is too big, arms are too small, that their Dad works for the wrong political party, they live in the wrong house, in the wrong street, in the wrong city, in the wrong country, etc.

And so I was home-schooled. The actual act of home-schooling was terrific for me. I loathed my brother entirely, but don't understand why now. He wanted to work, didn't bug me, was fun to be with, etc. That's just brothers I guess, you're meant to hate each other's guts when you become a tad bit bored. (...and of course boredom, my father would often remind me, is a choice that I had made. Well, why couldn't he take that choice away from me and make my life fun again? You know, like he'd make me tidy my room, or wash the clothes, or brush my teeth of an evening...)

My Mum did her darndest to make home-schooling a hoot, but there were deficiencies there too. Why classical music in the background? Why not some of the cool, groovin, 80s distinctive pop music that I now love to dance around the house to, semi-naked, when getting ready in the wee hours of the morn??? She had AAAALL the answers. "Studies show that this music makes you sma..." I'm sorry, I don't remember the end to that sentence, boredom I spose...

The thing that really got-my-goat about home-schooling was the fact that I didn't know what grade I was in. There were no socialisation problems, as I lived in a community and had a ready supply of playmates. This all changed of course, when my parents left YWAM and moved into the suburbs of Canberra and we joined a home Church, as opposed to the Church of Christ Church we had attended in Tuggeranong. (a town in Canberra)

Now my life began to hurt. I began to work at McDonald's, my first ever job. I LOVED it. However, I studied less-and-less. I saw no point in studying. I didn't know what grade I was in and didn't know what I'd be doing in the future, and saw no connection between where I was at the time and where I wanted to be (...because I didn't know where I wanted to be. I just existed... To serve my drive-thru public... Big Macs... Yummo...)

And so the day eventually came when I left McDonald's. I had worked there for three and a half years, which is an eternity when you are 17. I, unilaterally, had decided to study at College. (The final years of high school in my city, the Bush Capital, Canberra) I went with my father, who was very displeased as I feel he felt that I felt he didn't feel. But he did, or I did, or we did. Not sure which...

We registered my person into college together, and although my Dad was polite, I could tell he was mad as all-get-out! I tried to make the odd joke, but it kept getting stuck in my throat and so I was humiliated as I choked on every second sentence.

My first day of classes arrived and I was very excited. I was studying Mathematics, English, Sociology, Psychology, History, Legal Studies and Chess. "How salubrious", I thought to myself. I went into my first class, which was English. The girl next to me smiled knowingly. I had never received that sort of "smile" before, and began to blush. I shifted the weight in my seat from side-to-side-to-side-to-side. I was out of my element.

She asked me "Are you new?" I cleared my throat "Yes... I am... Are you?" She looked at me and giggled - a rather sexual, seductive, 16 year old flirtatious, lip biting kind of laugh, that made me rethink my seating posture for the 46th time in the same minute.

"Where are you from?" she asked. "Here" I answered. Another titillatingly intense chortle emanated from her feline facial fixtures. "This girl just isn't going to leave me alone" I said to myself. "Does she even care that the teacher is trying to teach us and is using words like 'hopelessness' and 'helplessness', whilst peering over her Granny-like glasses.  I mean, surely I should be getting all of this down, this stuff is clearly going to be in our exam. 

The bell rang whilst Gran was mid-sentence, and without even waiting for her to finish, the class whisked themselves through the overly bright and rather patronisingly purple doorway. I listened to the teacher who went from communicating through a whisper to competing with screams for any remaining attention that might have been wafting around the room.

I introduced myself to the teacher, who had taken off her Gran-voice and granted my wish for an introduction - whilst at all times taking steps towards me and hence, pushing me through the very same hideous purple passageway.

I entered the maths room and sat through 50 minutes of who-knows-what. I started in the smartest class at the beginning of the week, and ended up in maths for dummies by Friday. Clearly, homeschooling had not helped me to reach my potential in this department.

Another bell, another class. This time it was sociology with Marcia. Now this woman I loved. She was older (I think they call that "mature" these days), warm, and used words like "ethnocentric". I loved her. However, she took an instant dislike to my Christian heritage, which was, I had thought, my best asset in moving forward.

I was asked by Marcia to give a presentation, in order to make up some missing assessment pieces which had been completed by my peers prior to my enrolment in the class. I was permitted to present on any topic I desired, but it needed to hold some sociological significance to my classmates.

I  wish I knew then what I know now. I waltzed into class with my Advanced Training Institute of America, Basic Life Principles, multiple-choice questionnaire photocopies in-hand. The little tiny hairs on the back of my neck still lift at the thought of this hour-long trial-by-fury.

There were Catholics who had rejected God when they had gotten pregnant after "just one time". There were atheists who had rejected God when parents had divorced. There were former Pentecostal preacher's kids who had rejected God when their Mum had announced that she was a lesbian. There were left-wing students who were... Well... LEFT WING!!! It was a bloodbath...

I had questions in my beloved questionnaire asking things like "Are you a good steward of your God-given resources?" and "Do you tithe faithfully?" You can just imagine the kind of hilarity that ensued. I didn't know if they were laughing with me or at me... I sure as heck know now.

My teacher, Marcia-fine, asked me in her droll voice if I had tithed on all my earnings, especially as she saw me in a red-hot sports car. (Which, might I add, I had saved for, and being a Mitsubishi Cordia Turbo, was probably a pressie from God himself, not requiring tithes or any other offering, as to do so would cheapen God's experience in giving to me. For, after all, it's better to give than to receive???)

Question time was over and we went back to watching a Brave New World - I definitely did NOT feel like the Alpha on this occasion, I definitely felt like the useless Epsilon...

And onwards I tottered. Chess. Check-mate, nuff said. Boring game which I LOATHE enTIRELY...

And then I arrived in Psychology class. My teacher, who was wearing a mini-skirt, but who wasn't herself "mini" and who was possibly too old to wear "minis", even when "minis" were first introduced as fashionable apparel in the 60s? This lady of instruction was voluptuous, saucy and reeked of desperation. Unfortunately, I like her too...

In my first psychology class I nearly died. In my first class we were discussing something to do with heightened states of awareness. A marijuana plant was brought in and a student explained the physical effects marijuana has on the body when consumed. The teacher played a sexually explicit R-rated movie and talked about how all of the boys' eyes were dilated. Just another cause and effect phenomena in relation to these chassis we parade around in. My eyes were definitely dilated that day - had never experienced so many extreme circumstances, and all in a day at Phillip College.

I progressed to my last class of the day - legal studies. I sat down, kind of a little, very much exhausted. The chick who had sat next to me in my very first class swooned into the room and parked her carcass on the seat next to mine. "You're sitting in my seat" she said. "Oh, am I? I'm so sorry... Where should I sit?" She winked at me. I started to want to swallow but knew that if I did it would sound overbearingly loud and that my Adam's Apple would almost smack the poor lass down.

"So" she said seductively, batting her 16 year-old eye lids at me, "you're from here, but you're new in the school?"  I realised quick-as-a-jiffy where this was going. I had been in uncomfortable situations like this before. Homeschooling in America, during the early 90s, was starting to pick up speed. In Australia, I didn't know too many people who homeschooled, and I definitely didn't want to hang-out with most of the ones I did know.

I had once gone into the Commonwealth and Education Scheme Centre (CES?) and had applied to receive "Austudy", a social security payment for students. I had waited patiently in line as the large woman, in her 50s, had talked on and on to her friend in another government department about how stupid the Federal Government was and how useless they were in helping people.

After 10 minutes she got off the phone and offered to help me. I explained that I was applying to receive "Austudy". She asked me what I meant by "Institution: Homeschool?" She advised me that she wasn't as dumb as she looked (and now that I think about it, she did look pretty dumb) and that I should either get a job or go to school.

I lied. I told her I was enrolled in a correspondence school, called The Advanced Training Institute of America. It wasn't a complete lie, because I was enrolled with this organisation, but it wasn't a correspondence school, it was a homeschooling support organisation, headed by Bill Gothard. (I'd be lying if I said this man was my fav... He had me in tears at the age of 16, because I had said that I didn't want to get married and so hadn't ticked the "agreement for courtship" box when applying to live at their campus in Indianna)

"Oh" she said. "Well why didn't you just say that?" I began to relax, a broad smile spreading across my face "We don't support correspondence students, you should enrol in a real school", she declared... BALDERDASH!

"I'm living here, but I'm from America. I come from Indianapolis (where I had just been for training). I used to go to the Advanced Training Institute of America." I lied to get myself out of the embarrassing situation of being categorised as a complete social retard, a homeschooler. Many of my friends rejected me, or I felt rejected, when they left the International Christian School at the end of 6th grade, to attend the local Christian School. Really, I'd had enough of the freak-show. I felt held back, I felt shame. I felt abnormal.

The horrid truth is, that lies, even those from a seat of good intention, tend to spread through our lives like cancer and affect everything we are. "Wow" she said... "I'm Canadian!" I started to wink uncontrollably at her. "Thaaaat's increeeedible" I said. "Grrr..." I reprimanded myself "I can't even do an American accent!" I left school that day feeling like I'd been half molested, run-over by a bus, interrogated by the FBI (Canadian Version), and stripped of every bit of dignity that clang to my person.

The following Sunday I went to a new Church with my good friend Mary. This friend had been a faithful friend for many, MANY years, completely trustworthy and as wise as an owl. Mary is also a Canadian. But, who should I meet at the front door of this Church, than my very good new friend from school. My "other" Canadian friend. "Well howdy" I hollered. Mary looked at me "is the boy ill?" I imagined her to be thinking. That night I was introduced to EVERY person in the congregation as the boy from Indianapolis.

It was a humiliating few months for me. I had told one little lie to get me out of a potentially devastating social situation and now I was well-and-truly being bitten on the proverbial behind...  I loved the Church that I had begun to attend and made some great friendships. However, it was all to be short lived. One day I broke down and confessed the story to my mother.

Now my Mum is a well humoured woman, but she didn't laugh, and nor did she smile. She talked to me about the power of our words and may have even slipped in the story about the boy who cried wolf. I hadn't cried wolf, I'd SCREAMED it at the top of my lungs, for very many months. It had been exhausting, but at this point, thank GOD, it was all over.

Today I am keenly aware of the power of the tongue, because as James says in the Word of God " The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell."

Today I am still embarrassed by some of the things I have done and said in my life. But now I am excited to be using my words to bring healing, comfort and love to those in my small community near Cedro Galan, in Nicaragua. "The hearts of the wise make their mouths prudent, and their lips promote instruction.  Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones." Proverbs 16

My local Church, near Cedro Galan in Nicaragua, is currently battling with many a-varying issue. The Church is not producing "fruit" and the body is bound up in tradition and law.

We have, on this last Sunday, issued a strong warning to the people in our congregation to love the people around them, as Christ instructed us to do. Forgive, as that was the greatest message Christ brought to this Earth. And let's not "throw stones", because who amongst us are without sins?

And so we march on... Believing, praying, hoping, loving, sharing, and using our tongues to encourage those around us into the arms of an everlasting God made from 100% love. That's the truth - and the truth will set you free...