The surprising adventures,
secrets and prayers of an
eleven-year-old.
As told by
--
BRUCE
D PREWER
DEDICATION
To
all those cool kids who love
the joy-full ways
of Christ
and wish that
other kids
would join in the
fun.
INTRODUCTION
Where did I find
this secret diary of an eleven year old child?
That is a secret.
My lips are zipped. But I will give you some hints.
Maybe this story
was found in a old school bag when I was cleaning up
old junk?
It could have
been left on my doorstep one early morning when the dew was sparkling and the
magpies chortling?
Or then again, it
may have been given to me by my grandchildren whose unfolding lives delight me?
It could even be
that I found it while praying in a church at Broome or Humpty Doo, Mildura or Bundaberg?
Of course, it is
possible it came to me when I was revisiting the place where (long, long ago) I
went to school as a child?
Wherever this
diary came from, one thing is for sure: If there is any true light and joy in
these stories, the source is definitely not me but Somebody Else. Okay?
Bruce D Prewer
Copyright-- Pentecost 1999
CHAPTER 1
FAMILY AND
FRIENDS
“Now
there’s one mighty plug hole! The largest sewer in the universe!” exclaimed my
big sister Lidjet at a family barbecue. I had just
finished my second chop and took my fifth sausage. “When any food gets near it,
it cannot resist the awesome tug of Chip’s amazing dietary orifice.”
Lidj likes showing off words like dietary orifice and carrying on about my eating capacity. She is practically grown up: 15 years
and 4 months. Although we are always arguing, deep down I like Lidj.
I
would never admit it to her, of course, but I think Lidj
is very pretty and super cool. She is good at most things and is clever at
making up cute little poems, like limericks and stuff. She can compose one in a
few seconds. In our family we call such poems a lidjettery.
I
had better introduce myself. I’m Chip Berry, 11 years old and in my last year
at Tower Hill Primary School. That means I’m one of the big kids. I am making
the most of it because next year I’ll be one of the small kids at Secondary
College. I enjoy my school work, especially maths. I am great at maths. With
sport I’m just average.
There
is one extra-important fact that I
must tell you: I know the Lord Jesus. He
is my best mate for sure.
When
I say ‘know’ it’s not like I know
Mum, Dad, my big sister Lidjet and my little sister Lia, or my favourite cousin Josie.
I
know the Lord Jesus much less than I know my family yet also much, much, more. It’s a deeper kind of knowing. Knowing him goes into
the secret corners of my mind and heart. In fact ( you
might find this hard to believe and think me round the twist) there are times
when I seem to hear Jesus or even briefly see him.
I
can’t hug the Lord Jesus like I hug Mum. I can’t wrestle with him on the floor
like I wrestle with Dad. But in a deeper way his love hugs me and at times his
Realness wrestles with the real me as no ordinary person could.
Mind
you, he is very slippery. It’s impossible to pin him down. I can’t make him to
do what I want, not by force, or begging, or by cunning.
I
can often con Lia into doing what I want, sometimes I can be extra helpful to Lidj and con her. But not the Lord Jesus.
He sees right through me and is always one step (sometimes a thousand steps!)
ahead of me. He is free; very, very free!
By
the way, when I’m talking with him, I don’t call him Lord. I reckon that word
‘Lord’ sounds awfully bossy, like an English bishop or something? He is not
like that. He is my best Friend. I call him Wirake,
which is an old country name that I like. He does not mind.
He
treats me as if I were the only person in the whole world. I wonder is that how
other Christians feel? Is every person special to him?
My
close school-friend is Hamish; whose mum came from Scotland and his dad from
Germany. I call him ‘Ham’. Some of the other kids started calling me Egg (like,
because ham and egg go together) and even Ham calls me that now. We muck around
together at school and often visit each other’s homes during the week.
On
Sundays I go to church with my family. Hamish does not go to church much, but
when he does, it’s not the same as mine. Ham is not very religious. My cousin
Josie goes to her dad’s church; which is also different from mine. Why are
there are so many different churches? There is only one God, I reckon.
I
spoke with Lidj about the silliness of having so many
different churches. For once she agreed with me and later came to my room with
a lidjettery about it:
A big mossie who loved to bite,
taught
me something that is right:
The blood in every
church I visit,
tastes
equally exquisite.
There
you go. She cannot help using fancy words like exquisite. I nodded my head wisely, but after she had gone I had to
look it up in my dictionary.
Maybe
you need to know something else about me: I’m a bit shy. Some kids really like
performing up front on a stage, or meeting new people. Not me. I take a while
to settle in to new situations.
If
I have to speak or perform by myself on the stage (it’s not so bad in a group,
like a choir) I get some very fluttery butterflies in my stomach. When I’m
feeling shy and awkward, it is good to know that Wirake
is at my side.
Wirake gives me courage.
CHAPTER 2
SEVENTY TIMES
SEVEN
I
saw Wirake today. After school,
down the valley track, when I was out riding my bike. It’s queer how he
often turns up when I have not been giving him the slightest thought.
You
see, I was in a bad mood. That’s why I was out riding. I came home from school
as angry as an ant. That bully, the Abominable Alby,
caused it. It was his fault.
He
always seems to pick on me. Like today. He is a year
older than I am, and is tall and strong. He is good with his fists too; they
say his father trains boxers.
While
I was talking with friends in the school corridor, Alby
swaggered along , snatched my bag and threw it on to
the top of a locker. “There, Chicken Egg” he sneered. “When you grow up a bit
you’ll be able to lift it down.”
I
yelled at him: “You get that down for me or else!”
“Or
else what, Chicken Egg?” he sneered. He pushed me up against the wall and
jabbed me in the ribs, before stalking off laughing. The stinker! How I loathe
that guy! He always makes a fool of me in front of my mates.
After
some unsuccessful attempts at getting the bag down, I had to go back and ask my
teacher to help me. I could not rat on Abominable Alby,
so I told her I had been swinging my bag and it slipped out of my fingers.
With
a broom, she retrieved my bag. But she crossly told me to look after my things
in the future. I hate Abominable Alby! I hate him, I
hate him, I hate him!
I
was still in a bad mood when I arrived home. I took it out on others. I quickly
made myself unpopular with my sisters and Mum. So after gobbling three
biscuits, an apple and a banana, I jumped on my bike and pedalled off down the
valley track.
When
I came to the old, flat gravel pit (we call it the bull ring) I threw the bike
around a lot, doing wheelies and skidding, making lots of dust. It was my way
of trying to let the anger out of my system. It did not work very well. I was
still boiling in the guts.
That’s
when Wirake arrived on an old rusty mountain bike.
“Hi, Chip!” he called. I ignored him; pedalled fast and did a jumbogantic skid. Dust and gravel flew everywhere.
“Not
much good for your tyres, Chip!” Wirake said. “You
must be made of money.” I just scowled, then did
another wheelie.
“Why
don’t you go away?” I shouted. I’m not in the mood for sermons!”
“Nor
am I”, Wirake said. “So let’s cut the bull dust and
talk about what is burning up your guts”.
He
came across to me to put his hand on my shoulder, gentle like. We sat down on a
rock and were silent for a few minutes. “You going to tell me?” he asked. I
told him. It spilled out, all the colourful details of Abominable Alby and his bullying.
More
silence. Then Wirake spoke: “I guess Alby is not very good at maths?” “No!” I retorted, “useless in fact, but what’s that got to do with
anything?” “Just a thought” Wirake replied. “Forget that for the moment, and let’s deal
with your bad mood”.
“Chip,”
he asked. “When are you going to get around to forgiving this Abominable Alby?”
That
floored me. I was expecting some outburst of anger against Alby,
or at least some tut-tutting. But this! Me forgive that stinker? How could he
expect me to?
“No way!” I exploded. “I don’t see why I should ever forgive
him. The guys a creep, a berk, a galah, yes and a stinkhead! I’m not going to give him the pleasure of my
forgiveness!”
“And
who does that hurt? Do you think he’s wandering around his home, utterly
miserable because of your unforgiveness? Who is the
guy who is suffering here, who is it that is burning up inside? Who is missing
out on the pleasure of forgiveness?” Wirake insisted.
I
did not reply. It was too obvious. I was the one who was suffering most, not
the horrible Abominable Alby.
Wirake again put his hand on my shoulder. “Look Chip, unforgiveness is like a jailer; it chains you to the past
and stops you enjoying the present. It is a misery. It’s like er carrying an ant’s nest in your pack, or...er... trying to walk fast with gravel in your Reeboks. Unforgiveness makes your own life a little hell, not the
other guy’s. So I put it to you: when are you going to forgive the Abominable Alby?”
“But”
I complained, “He’s always doing things to me! How many times do you expect me
to forgive the creep!”
Wirake replied with words I’ve heard somewhere before:
“Seventy time seven, Chip. Forgive him seventy times seven.”
“Dunno,”
I grunted. ”Forgiveness isn’t easy; 70 x 7 ,
that’s 490 times! How does one do that!
I can’t see myself walking up to him and saying I forgive you! That would earn me a knuckle sandwich!”
Wirake grinned. “I’m not asking you to do that. I want you
to sincerely, forgive him in your heart. Maybe the best way is to just start
praying for him, not saying complicated prayers; just asking God to make Alby happy.
I raised
one eyebrow and pulled a face, muttering: “Happy? Did I hear you say happy?”
“Yes
happy, Chip! Free yourself from
bitterness. You don’t have to say anything to Alby.
Just truly want the best for him. Pray for Alby’s
happiness. Then your attitude to Alby will slowly
change. You won’t be notice it, but he will gradually become aware of a new
strength in you..”
I
blurted out: “But it isn’t easy. Fair go, Wirake! It
isn’t easy to forgive a scumbag like him!”
A
far away look came into Wirake’s eyes. He fingered
old scar marks on his hands. Then he said very softly: “I know, Chip; I know.
Forgiveness is not at all easy.”
CHAPTER 3
A GOD’S EYE VIEW ?
I
was over at my cousin Josie’s place on Saturday. We
plucked up courage and climbed the Big Tree.
Josie
was born in the same hospital as I was, on the same day, but just half an hour
earlier (Her mum is my Aunt Kate and her dad is Uncle Chris. He is an Anglican
minister.) She is much taller and skinnier than I am. Mum says girls usually
grow tall before boys. She reckons I’ll catch up to Josie in a few years and
even pass her.
Josie
and I argue a lot, but it’s a friendly kind of arguing. Do you know what I
mean? It’s like a game. She says I should obey her because she is older than I
am. I scoff at her, saying I can give her the half hour start she had at birth
and still catch her any day. We get into mischief together; not bad stuff, just
pranks. She is more like a mate than a girl.
I
have nicknamed her Cuz 1 and she calls me Cuz 2.
Anyway,
as I was saying, we climbed the Big Tree. The Big Tree grows in a park just
over the road from Josie’s house. We have climbed trees there ever since we
were tiny kids. We started with easier ones. Then as we grew older we tackled
the taller trees. But the Big Tree, which is a monster, had us bluffed.
Last
Saturday we reckoned the time had come. Swallowing our fears, we took a small
ladder from Uncle Chris’ garage, used it to reach the lowest limbs, and tackled
the monster.
We
went nervously at first, double-testing foot holds and hand grips. Soon we grew
in confidence and slowly worked our way to the top. Josie is a terrific
climber. I won’t tell you the secret of who reached the top first. But it was
great up there!
The
view was stunning. We looked down over the park and saw joggers like dwarfs
running along the paths. Looking further away we could see into the backyards
of houses where guys were gardening, or cutting lawns, and women (including
Aunt Kate) were hanging out their laundry.
On
one lawn two teenagers were cuddling and kissing. “Yuk!” I said, “look at that sloppy stuff! It’s enough to make you sick,
isn’t it?” Cuz 1 nodded, but grinned slyly, as if she
did not fully agree with me.
The
cars going up and down the streets looked small too. We felt like giants or
kings or angels or something. Down below people were busy or relaxing, walking
or driving, chatting or arguing, laughing or brooding, kissing or fighting.
Down there were the midgets, but we were the gods, far above all their work and
worries. I felt very superior.
I
said to Cuz 1: “Makes you feel like God, huh? Looking
down on those midgets and their funny ways.?”
She turned suddenly and made the top of the Big Tree
sway.
“Go easy!” I cried. “You are making
me a bit sea sick.”
Josie,
who did not appear to mind the swaying movement at all, grinned and said: “Tree
sick, don’t you mean?”
“Either
way, take it easy, or my breakfast will end up on those midgets below,” I
pleaded.
“I
thought you felt like God?” she chuckled. Do you reckon God gets tree sick?”
I
made no reply.
“Anyway,
Cuz 2, that stuff about feeling like God. What did
you mean?”
“Well,”
I said, “God is superior; you know. In heaven, above it all, not touched by all
that goes on down there. What Lidj would call uninvolved.”
“Do
you know what?” replied Josie. “You’re odd, Cuz 2.”
“What
do you mean by that?” I demanded.
“Think
about it,” she said. “Is a superior,
uninvolved God really the kind of God you believe in? Is that what Jesus
was like?”
“Maybe”,
I said.
“Yuk!”
she exclaimed.
Climbing
down the Big Tree was harder than climbing up. Even Josie looked relieved when
we reached the firm ground.
A
young man in a wheelchair came by on the path. As I glanced at him, he grinned
and said “Hi!” For a moment he looked just like Wirake.
We
returned the ladder to the garage and went inside for a drink and some biscuits
from Aunt Kate. Josie has a big appetite like I do.
Later,
while I was riding home on my bike, there was an old lady on the footpath, looking
around on the ground as if she had lost something. My first thought was to stop
and help her. A second thought sneered and told me to: “Let the old duck look
after herself.” I rode on, then stopped and went back to her.
“My
eyes are not the best,” she said. “I have lost a ring. It just slipped off my
finger when I put this shopping bag down on the pavement. It is a ruby, given
to me by my late husband. It must be on the ground here, somewhere.”
“Let
me help you,” I answered. “My eyes are young.”
I
scanned the footpath and soon found the ring, lying up against the curb. As she
thanked me, for a moment I thought I saw Wirake in
her old eyes.
When
I arrived home, Lia was standing in our drive and
crying because Jack (a kid who lives three houses down our street) had been
cheating in a game. I put my arms around her and gave her a hug. As I brushed
the tears from her cheeks do you know what? For a moment her sad face looked
just like Wirake.
“Don’t
worry, kiddo,” I assured her. “I’ll go and sort Jack out.”
I
found Jack hiding in the hedge of our neighbour’s place. He had been watching
and listening to us. I grabbed him and threatened to thump him. He looked very
frightened. I enjoyed that. But then, suddenly, his terrified little face
turned into Wirake’s. My mouth fell open. What was
going on here?
Instead
of thumping him, I squatted down on the footpath with him and tried to explain
how much his cheating had hurt Lia. He nodded but did
not say much. I let him go. He scurried quickly away.
What
was it Josie had said to me when we were at the top of the Big Tree, after I
said I felt superior, like God?
She
said something like: “You’re weird, Cuz 2. Do you
really reckon God is superior, sitting
up high in heaven and looking down on us but uninvolved ?”
I
think my Best Mate has been answering that question for me.
CHAPTER 4
HOW DOES
PRAYER WORK?
My
Sunday School teacher is big on prayer. So is my Uncle
Chris. They talk as if we should pray a lot every day, because if we do, then
remarkable things can happen.
I
am not so sure. I usually say my prayers before I go to bed at night. Also
during the day, if I’m feeling especially happy, I might think a thank you
prayer. Or when I see my friend Ham in trouble, I find myself silently thinking
a prayer for him.
That
feels natural to me. But I can’t say that my prayers seem to make much
difference. No miracles and that sort of stuff. Next time Wirake
turns up, I want to ask him how to do it right.
About
three years ago, when I was a little kid, the Sunday School teacher said: “ If you really believe in Jesus, you can could ask anything in his name and get it.” I was very
impressed; it seemed better than Alladin and his
lamp!
Later that week I was hitting a tennis ball against the wall of our
garage. A mishit flew over the fence. I searched and searched without
luck. Finally I gave up, came back inside our yard and looked for another ball
to use. The only one I could find was one that our dog, Sneaker, had bitten a
hole in. Useless mutt!
Then
I remembered what our Sunday School teacher had said
about prayer. Did I believe? Well, yes. I knew God could do anything. So I
prayed: “Dear God. I’ve lost my tennis ball. I believe you can do anything.
Please help me find the ball In the name
of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Again
I searched in the long grass. At once I spotted the ball lying under a big
thistle. Wow! It worked! Excited by this new power, I went back inside our yard
and began belting the ball extra hard. What did it matter if the ball did fly
over the fence? Now I could always find it.
Sure
enough, a big forehand drive bounced off at an angle and soared over the fence.
I was ready for it this time. Quietly I stood with my head bowed, said: “Dear
God, I hope you’re listening again. Please help me to find my tennis ball. In the name of Jesus Christ
our Lord. Amen.”
I
cockily strode out to collect the ball. It was nowhere to be found. I looked
everywhere, but no ball. I never did find it.
What
went wrong? Was the first time a real success or just good luck? Was my second
effort a failure or just bad luck? Or was God now telling me that faith was not
acting carelessly and then expecting him to come to the rescue? How did it
work?
I
have tried the special words a few more times since then. Once I prayed, and
was successful in evading the Abominable Alby.
Another time I prayed for my Mum’s headache to stop and it seemed to work. I
prayed for Dad to take me to the footy finals; it failed. I asked God for a new
bike for my birthday but instead I received some additions for my meccano set.
One day I prayed extra hard that old Mr. Smith from next door, would get better
from his cancer; but he died the next night.
I
reckon proper praying is a hard thing to learn. I tried asking my big sister Lidj. But when I told her about the ball, and the footy
finals, she just shook her head and said : “Don’t be a
silly little dumbo! Use your brains!” Then a gleam
came into her eye and out came a lidjettery:
There is a weird kid in
our street
as
dorkish as any you’d meet,
when
he loses his things
he
prays they will grow wings
and
fly back home to his feet.
Well,
after that, I did not feel like
raising the subject with Dad or Mum, and certainly not with my Sunday School teacher.
Recently
at church, the Gospel reading included the words: “Whatever you ask in my name I
will do it”. What does that stuff really mean? I wish Wirake
would pay me a visit and give me an explanation. I reckon he owes me one!”
One
afternoon, mucking around with Ham at his place, I told him what Jesus had
said, and asked him what he thought Jesus meant.
Ham
laughed and said: “I have not thought much about it, Egg. I don’t do much
praying. I leave that religious stuff to guys like you. But, if you do want my opinion , perhaps it’s like with parents. Eh?”
“I
don’t get it” I answered. “ How is it like parents?”
“Well,
it’s obvious, isn’t it? Eh?” he said, scratching the side of his head, “When you ask
parents for things, they say yes, or no, or not now. Right?”
I
nodded.
“So,
mate, why can’t God be like that when you ask him for things?”
“Heh! You’re not as stupid as you
look, Ham!” I said as I knuckled him on the arm muscle. He grabbed me and we
wrestled on the lawn until we were both exhausted.
As we lay there looking up at the clouds I said: “Thanks, you are a
mate. Yes, or no, or not now. Yea, right! That’s cool. You know, hamhead, sometimes you say things smarter than my Sunday School teacher.”
“You’re
welcome, egghead,” he said.
I
paused for a minute, then went on: “But I still don’t
understand that stuff about asking in the
name of Jesus. It’s very complicated.
Why doesn’t God make things plain? I’m not a very good Christian, you know,
but perhaps I’d be better at prayers if God made things more
simple.”
“Like
sending you a fax, I suppose?” Ham said with a chuckle. “I dunno, Eggs You see,
we’re just kids trying to understand God. Come to think of it, maybe priests
and ministers, are really only little kids trying to
understand God!”
Now
I chuckled.
We
were quiet for a bit. Then Ham asked. “Egg, are you going to stop that praying
stuff you do?”
“No
way,” I answered. I trust God even though I don’t understand him. Maybe that’s
more important.”
CHAPTER 5
WHEN I FIRST
MET WIRAKE
Usually
I do not actually see Wirake; Often I
don’t even hear him Nevertheless, I know he is with me
just the same. Let me tell you about the time I first met him. I was nine years
old, just a little kid.
It
was a wintry Saturday. Mum and dad wanted us all to go and visit Aunt Ethelwyn. I definitely did not! I don’t like fussy Ethelwyn who is Dad’s aunt really, not mine! And she does
not like me. There was no way I wanted to spend Saturday afternoon with her
beady eyes looking down her nose at me.
So I played up; threw a tantrum and refused to
get ready. It was quite battle, but for once I won.
“You
are not going to let the little creep get away with it?” Lidjet
implored Mum and Dad. But maybe I was.
After
telling me not to open the door to anyone, or answer the phone, or go down the
street by myself; and after making me go through our family fire drill, they
prepared to leave. But not before giving me Aunt Ethelwyn’s
phone number and telling me they would be back in about two hours.
Dad
called back over his shoulder: “As for you, young man, we will think up a
suitable punishment for your tantrum. It won’t be pleasant, I assure you.”
Lidj poked her tongue out at me.
At
first I felt smart and self important. But after about an hour, aloneness started
to bug me. The house felt spooky. I heard every sound as if it was magnified.
Time
dragged. Mum and Dad did not arrive home in two hours. I kept looking out the
front window. The phone rang a couple of times. I did not answer it, of course.
My
watch moved slowly beyond 5.00 p.m. It was getting dark. I was starting to
panic.
Picking
up the phone I rang Aunt Ethelwyn. She was surprised
to hear me, and after rebuking me for not visiting her (I bet she was really
glad!) she told me that my family had left her place at about 4.15. Now I was
really worried.
I
thought I heard a noise that seemed to be coming from the front room. Was it a
burglar? I was too scared to go and look. My watch showed 5.30 and now it was
practically dark.
I
wanted to go to the toilet but was frightened to explore that part of the house.( I was only a little kid then, remember!). I became more
and more lonely; jumping at every creaking noise. What had happened to Dad and
Mum? What could I do?
I
curled up in Dad’s recliner chair. A chorus from Sunday School
came into my head. Softly I started to hum, then sing the simple words:
Come in to my heart,
come in to my heart,
Come in to my heart ,Lord Jesus,
Come in today, come in
to stay,
Come in to my heart,
Lord Jesus.
I
repeated the song few times. Then as I sang, something remarkable happened. A great Warmth gently
flooded through me and filled me. It was awesome! I mean, really, really
awesome! Yet it was friendly!
It? I should say He, filled every corner of my body and
mind. Without any doubt I knew him. Not a glimpse of him, not a sound of him,
but he was more real than the chair, the room, the house, the winter’s
darkness. All my fear was drained away.
When
Mum and Dad arrived home at 6.30, they found me curled up in the chair, asleep.
Mum
was upset, saying that they should never have left me alone. While driving in
the rain on their way back from Aunt Ethelwyn’s, a
small truck had skidded and crashed into the back of our car. Luckily, no one
was badly hurt. But the two vehicles were locked together.
They
tried ringing me but of course I did not answer the phone. By the time the
police and a tow truck arrived, their statements taken and their car detached
from the bumper bar of the truck, it was dark.
Mum
hugged me and Dad apologised. Lia hugged me. Even Lidj looked sorry. I lapped up the attention. Mum and Dad
agreed that I would not receive the punishment for my earlier tantrums. “You
have, Chip my boy, already been punished enough and, I hope, learned your
lesson,” said Dad.
“Were
you frightened, Chip ?” asked Lia.
“Nope ! Of course not..... well....
yes....I was a bit, Lia”, I admitted. “You would not
believe how lonely you can get when you are home by yourself. The roof creaks
and the wind whines, windows rattle, the thunder roars and ghosts patter down
the passage.” I was warming up to the topic. Might as well
impress with my bravery.
“Oo...ooh!” said Lia. “ You’re making me feel scared now!”
“Cut
it out little brother” cried Lidj. “You’ve had your
sympathy. Don’t give Lia nightmares. Nothing special
happened and you know it!
“Maybe
you are right. Maybe you are wrong.”
I
then sighed, and put on my smug look which says:
“I-know-something-you-don’t-know”.
So
there you have it. My first meeting with Wirake.
No, that’s not correct. I should say it was the first meeting with Wirake where I recognised
his presence. Now I realise he has been keeping his eye on me ever since I was
born.
Thinking
back , one thing strikes me as peculiar: I did not
tell anyone about the Warmth. Kids are peculiar creatures, eh? We don’t know
how to talk about some of the most important things that happen to us. We just
keep it to ourselves.
Mum
and Dad did not have a clue about what happened to me that day. I did not tell
Ham, not even Cuz 1. I suppose the important thing
was that I knew. I’ll never forget it.
CHAPTER 6
JOSIE MEETS
ALBY
During
the school holidays Josie came to stay at our house for a week.
Being the only kid in her family, she likes being with our mob.
Lia thinks Josie is great because she plays games
with her and does not get cross like I do. Josie looks up to Lidj as if she were a perfect big sister; Lidj even lets her try on that make-up stuff.
I
like Cuz 1 just the way she is. On Tuesday we played
tennis. She beat me two sets to one. I promised to give her a walloping next
time. She grinned and answered: “In your dreams, Cuz
2. In your dreams.”
Today
we rode together down the valley track to the bull ring. For a girl she is
okay. I showed her how to do wheelies and she soon got the hang of it. We made
a lot of bull dust.
While
we were messing around, to my horror I saw Abominable Alby
and three of his thugs coming down the track. I said to Josie: “Hey, lets get out of here! This guy is big trouble.”
“Why should we?” Josie retorted. “I’m not
going anywhere. We have as much right as they have to be here.” She raced her
bike around the bull ring and did a whopping wheelie.”
“Well,
well well,” said Alby as he
pulled up beside me. “What have we here? The Chicken Egg with a girlfriend.
However did a little runt like you manage to con a chick?”
I
swallowed hard, and tried to sound tough: “Why don’t you go and get lost.
Anyway, she may be a girl and she is my friend, but she is not my girlfriend.
And it’s none of your business!”
As
a reply, Alby gave me a shove and sent me and my bike
crashing to the ground. The creep! He had humiliated me again, this time in
front of my favourite cousin. “Like eating dust do we, Chicken Egg?” he mocked.
Josie
pedalled across as fast as she could come. She leapt off her bike strode up to Alby and, with hands on her hips, confronted him. “Lay off
fathead! You touch my cousin again and you’ll regret it, buster!”
Josie
is skinny but tall. Her face was level with his.
Alby just stood there, mouth open ,
not knowing what to do about this unfamiliar situation.
Then
Cuz 1 stepped closer, lifted her hand and with one
finger pushed the Abominable One hard on the nose. He took a quick step
backwards as she went on: “Why don’t you go and play with some dung beetles, or
perhaps lie down on some thistles, or maybe have a nice drink of poison?”
The
bully just stood there, with his thugs looking on, dumbfounded. Alby had never been treated like this before.
“Anyway,”
Josie said, “What’s up with you? What’s biting you that you have to be such a
creep! You know, Buster, I reckon it’s a shame that you make such an ass of
yourself. You could do a lot better.”
Josie
was not finished with her surprise tactics. She reached out and ran fingers
through Alby’s hair. “A pity, you’ve actually got
nice wavy hair, Buster. Nice blue eyes, too. You know, you could make something
of yourself, if you wanted to.”
This
was too much for Alby. There, in front of his thugs,
he blushed a vivid red. It started in his neck and
rushed right up into his hair.
His
gang nudged each other, smirking.
“Come
on, Cuz 2,” Josie said. “Let’s get going. I would
like some less smelly company.” She rode off up the valley track, with me following,
still amazed at what I had witnessed.
When
we arrived at our backyard, and were putting our bikes in the shed, I said: “Cuz 1. Did you know the risk you were taking? That scumbag
is really bad news. And besides, I felt a fool being defended by a girl, you
know.”
“Sorry,
Cuz 2, I did not think of that. But why should you
feel a fool? Girls are as strong as boys, in a different way though. Besides,”
she said with a giggle, “I was bit naughty, I guess. I was hoping that a bully
would not hit a girl. If you had tried what I did, you might now be wearing two
black eyes.”
That
evening, while I was in the bathroom, cleaning my teeth, I went over the
details of the day. From somewhere (from within me or outside me, I’m not sure)
a familiar voice said: “An interesting day, eh? “
“Oh,
it’s you again, is it Wirake? Yep. An
interesting day. I still feel a bit of a fool though, being protected by
a girl.”
“Well,
it’s time you knew better,” he said. “Girls have as much right to protect boys
from harm as boys have to protect girls. You are different but equal, okay? I
hope you are not going to spend your life imagining that males are somehow
superior to females!
That
is not the way it is. Together, I say together,
you are made in the likeness of God. Why
don’t you take the Bible seriously, Chip.”
On
the following Sunday, in the second Bible reading, that bloke Paul said: “In Christ Jesus there is there is no
difference between Jew and Greek, slave and free-man, male and female. We are
all like one person in Christ Jesus.”
I
pricked up my ears and grinned.
Lia dug me in the ribs and
whispered: “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,”
I whispered. “Just sort of happy, that’s all.”
CHAPTER 7
SORTING THINGS
OUT
It had been a bad day.
I
lost my tuck shop money on the way to school. Later, my name went into the
Principal’s black book for throwing stones in the school yard. At lunch time,
the Abominable Alby pushed me around in front of his
gang. After school, I was kicking my football in our backyard but the stupid
thing went flat. Then, just as Dad arrived home I got into trouble for teasing Lia (It wasn’t my fault; she started it!)
Following
dinner, I had a loud argument with Lidj as to whether
the eldest kid in a family was usually spoilt. I called her Daddy’s pet puppet.
She called me dumbo-brother. Mum asked us to cool it.
We took no notice, arguing louder and louder. Mum gave a big sigh.
I
don’t know why I argue with Lidj. She usually wins by
wearing me down. This time she finished me off with a typical lidjettery which
shut me up and put a smirk on mum’s face.
Second kids get an easy
run,
lots
less discipline, much more fun.
Pity the first who must go through it,
they
teach their parents how to do it.
I
was glad the day was coming to an end. At about 8.30 p.m., when I was yawning
and pulling on my pj’s, suddenly Wirake
was with me, sitting on my bed and grinning.
“What’s
up, Doc?” he said with an American accent. “You look as if you have lost ten
dollars and found five cents! Lighten up, things can’t be that bad.”
I
ignored his nonsense and got straight to the point. “It’s about time you showed
up! Where have you been hiding? I’ve heaps to ask you about some very important
matters. What’s more, I could do with a bit of sympathy some days, especially
today. But you have left me alone, as if I had measles or something. It’s been
weeks! Why didn’t you come and help me through all the times when I needed
you?”
Wirake stopped smiling. Firmly he said “
Maybe I did come to you, Chip. but you did not
recognise me. Maybe I spoke and you did not notice it was me, gave you a prod
yet you ignored me. Perhaps I asked for your help but you turned your back on
me, I begged for some friendship yet you shut me out of your cosy circle of
friends.”
“It
sure did not feel like you were with
me,” I retorted. “When did I refuse to help you,
or shut you out of my circle of
friends? When did you speak but I did
not realise it was you? The only person who seems to have been close to me
lately has been my mate Ham, and he’s not even a keen Christian. Oh, and Cuz 1 of course. She stands up for me. But where oh where
have you been?”
“Hold
on! Too many questions all at once, Chip. I have a few things I like to bring
to your notice. For starters, do you remember last Saturday morning when Lia was wanting some help with her
reading, but you pushed her aside and said you were too busy?”
I
thought about it. “No. I can’t remember that. Aren’t you getting me mixed with
someone else?
“Not
at all”, he replied. “And Lia is not the only one you
rejected. Remember that new Asian boy named Tan, who started at your school
last week, and how he sat near you and your friends at lunch time, but you did
not even give him so much as a smile? I was there. It was me you excluded.”
“Chip,”
he went on, “don’t you realise that you should look for me in everyone,
including strangers and even your enemies? I have been with you Chip, meeting
you through lots of people, but you have not been with me.”
“Do
you really mean that stuff?” I asked “How can you expect me to keep an eye out
for everyone? There are too many people! Too many needs! I’m only one kid!”
Wirake looked sternly at me: “I’m not asking you to take
care of everyone, Chip. I just ask you to be ready to meet me in the few people
you do meet. And that includes your own sisters! That’s not too hard is it?”
“S’pose not,” I admitted reluctantly. “I hope someone also
keeps a lookout for you in me!”
He
smiled. “Some will. Some won’t. Your cousin Josie will. Also Tan, that lonely
new Asian kid, he will if you allow him. As it happens, Tan is a Christian like
you are. He loves me a lot.”
I
began to feel ashamed. “Sorry Wirake. I do get a extremely selfish, don’t I?”
“Some
love of one’s self goes with being a healthy human being, Chip. A little
selfishness is good. You must look after yourself. But it’s when self interest
gets out of hand that the trouble begins. Love your neighbour as you love yourself. Open your eyes.
Others needs loving too.” Wirake
urged.
“You’ve
made you point,” I admitted.
“Never
forget, Chip, that I love others, even the Abominable Alby,
just as much as I love you. But loving them does not lessen the amount of love
I have for you. I love you and will forever. If you care about others, you will
recognise me in them. Through them I will both give you love and ask for your
love. Do you understand this?”
“Yea,
I think so, sort of,” I said. A weird thought struck me: “Will you even speak
to me from the Abominable Alby” I asked
mischievously?
“Maybe
I will” he answered. “ If I do, will you be ready to
hear me?”
That
was the end of it. He was gone in the blinking of an eye. Later, while lying
awake in bed, I realised that I had forgotten to ask him about what praying in his name meant. Then, like a
brief flash of light, the thought came into my head: Maybe we had been talking about prayers in his name, in an odd kind of
way.
CHAPTER 8
TELL IT AS IT
IS
He
is a nice guy, this new kid Tan.
Recently,
Ham and I have made sure we included him in our bunch of friends at school. Tan
is quiet, his English is not perfect, but he’s okay. He has a great smile and a
good sense of humour. I reckon you must need a good sense of humour to be an
Asian migrant.
Not
all the boys in our mob welcomed Tan.
Terry
said: “Listen guys, I am not going to be friends with slant-eyed slags who had
come to take jobs away from my Dad.”
Mike
joined in, swearing. “It’s not on fellas! My dad’s unemployed too. You must
bloody well decide whether you wanted want us as mates, or this yellow wog!”
The
rest of us felt awkward. But we were not going to let them bully us into
rejecting Tan. Although we did not do anything as proper as taking a vote, the
rest of us stood by Tan. So our mob lost two members and gained one; a very
special one.
Tan
and his family had a terrible time before they escaped to Australia. Because he
was not a Communist but a Christian, his father was put out of his job as a
pharmacist and was even spat on in the streets. After that, the whole family was
picked on. His older brother was taken away and beaten to death. Also a close
friend disappeared.
The
family escaped on a old boat and were found by the
Australian Navy off the coast near Darwin. They were lucky. At that stage, all
their food was gone and nearly all of their water, and the boat was leaking badly. “The Lord”, Tan said, “was look after
us.”
That’s
one of the unexpected things about Tan: He speaks of his faith the same way as
we talk about footy or tennis. He does not keep God out of the conversation.
I
do not often talk about my faith in places like school. I don’t like the
thought of being laughed or called goody-goody. I suppose you could say I keep
my religion private.
Uncle
Chris (you know, Josie’s dad) with aunt Kate and Josie came to our place for
dinner last evening.
Aunt
Kate asked me: “How’s school going, Chip?
“Not
bad,” I answered. “We have a new kid called Tan. He’s a refugee from Asia. He’s
a Christian and went through big trouble before escaping to Australia.”
“Tell
us more,” said my aunt.
I
told them what an cool guy he was, what his family had
suffered, and how some of the kids were against him because he was from Asia.
Josie
said : “Yuk! Megayuk! Those creeps!”
Uncle
Chris raised his voice and bellowed: “Yep! That’s really foul! If there is one
thing that makes me intolerant, it’s the intolerance of other people! I feel
like zapping them!”
He
stopped, apologised for his outburst, and then said: “I know I should not feel
that way but I do! They suck me into copying their intolerant ways. Then I am
ashamed of myself. Ugh!”
“Welcome
to the human race, Dad!” said Josie.
Because
we knew exactly what he meant about being sucked in, we laughed at Uncle
Chris’s frustration.
I
added: “Ya’ know, one of the strange things about Tan
is that he talks openly about being a Christian; right there in the school
yard.”
“What’s so strange about that?”, asked uncle Chris. “It seems perfectly normal from where
I am sitting.”
“O
come off it, Dad” interjected Josie. “I know you are ancient (she wrinkled her
eyes at him) but not so old that you have forgotten what it is like to be a kid
at school. It’s not normal to go blabbing about your religion in the
schoolyard. It’s a private kind of thing, isn’t it? Between you and the Lord.?”
“No way! Not at all, possum!” exclaimed Uncle Chris. “We are
meant to talk about our faith. We call it witnessing
to the Lord. I wish there were more people like Tan! Jesus told us to let
our light shine in front of others so that they may see the good things we do
and start praising God?”
Aunt
Kate, with a cheeky glint in her eye, chimed in: “But didn’t Jesus also say we
were not to throw our pearls in front of pigs, where the pigs will trample on
them? Chris, surely just as pigs will eat junk but trample on pearls, kids can
trample on the pearl-faith of kids like Chip or Josie.”
Lidj produced a lidjettery in
agreement with aunt Kate:
Pigs and kids are much
the same
in
a pig pen or in a game,
give
them pearls and they will trample
on
them for a junk-food sample.
Snorting, stomping up and down
they
would make an angel frown..
Before
uncle Chris could respond, Mum called us to the dinner
table and this conversation ended.
The
next day, as I was walking home from Hamish’s house, Wirake
appeared at my side. He was wearing a business suit and carrying a brief case.
“Hi Wirake! Where did you spring
from?,” I greeted him.
He grinned his infectious grin: “Hiya
Chip! I thought you might like someone to talk to. How’s
school and my friend Tan? Not getting into too much trouble with the
unbelieving kids, I hope.”
“No.
He’s fine with most of us. They seem to listen to religious talk from him. I‘m not sure why. Maybe it’s because Tam speaks so naturally
about you, Wirake, that it does not sound religious.
It makes me wonder whether I’ve been keeping too quiet about my faith.”
Wirake was silent for a dozen steps, then said: “Maybe you
have, maybe you haven’t. Tell me Chip, are you ashamed of me?”
“No way!” I protested. “At least, I don’t think so. Well,
perhaps just a little bit. No, that’s not true either! I’m not ashamed of you.
It’s more that I’m timid, unsure of myself. I wish I could speak about you as
easily as Tan does. He does not make a big deal of it. His faith just comes
out, cheerful and simple.”
“Hang
in there, Chip.,” he replied. “Learn all you can from
Tan. He is good for guys like you. The main thing is, be true to me. Don’t try
to artificially drag my name into a conversation. But, get this Chip, never leave me out when something needs to be said.
There is no such thing as private Christianity. And remember
, I’ll always be there for you.”
With
that, Wirake then stopped walking, faced me, lightly
touched my lips with his fingers and vanished.
CHAPTER 9
LOVE YOUR
ENEMIES?
Lia is really a cute little kid. I know I tease her and
squabble with her, yet I’m proud of her and love her very much. At school she
is in grade 2.
On
Wednesday, at lunch time, I noticed her sitting alone on a bench crying. I ran
to her to see what was wrong. Between sobs she told me that a grade 4 boy named Harry
Simpkins had taken her lunch. It seems he is a bully who often takes the lunch
off little kids.
I
was angry. No one bullies my little sister and gets away with it. I went
looking for Harry Simpkins and found him, in the far corner of the school
ground, finishing off a banana, the last of Lia’s
lunch.
“You little ape!” I hissed. “Grabbing the lunch of little
kids is a rotten thing to do; why don’t you pick on someone your own size!. I hope you enjoyed my little sister’s food because you’re
not going to enjoy your next meal. With that, I punched him three times in the
belly, hard as I could. Quickly, before he could get enough breath to start
yelling, I slipped away to the opposite side of the school ground.
In
class, about half an hour after lunch time, a message came for me to go to the
office of the Principal. Now it was my turn to feel sick in the belly. Some kid
had dobbed me in! Now I was in big trouble. My feet felt like heavy stone as I
dragged myself to the office, knocked, and went in.
“Ah.
Chip Berry,” she said. “I want a word with you, young man. I’ve heard something
about you which surprised me.”
My
stomach churned even more. What will she do to me? What will Dad and Mum say
when they find out ?
“Chip,
I hear that you are hiding something. Now that is not very clever, is it? It
seems, according to your minister with whom I had dinner last evening, that you
have an beautiful singing voice. Why have you hidden
your talent? Why haven’t you been a member of our school choir? Well I want you
to audition for a solo part in our next concert. What do you say?”
I
was stunned! I was so relieved not to be in big trouble that I immediately
agreed to join the choir. The Principal smiled and said: “Good lad. We can’t
have you hiding your light under a bushel, can we?”
What
did hiding light under a bushel mean? I did not have a clue. I managed a watery
smile and said “ No, Mrs Macalister, I suppose not.”
My feet felt much lighter as I fled back to my classroom.
There
would be some explaining to do at home. You see, at the beginning of the school
year, Dad and Mum suggested I should not join the school choir. I was already
in the church choir , with a practice every Thursday
evening. On Tuesday night I went to scouts, while on Friday evenings there was
the church junior youth fellowship. My parents reckoned that I was busy enough
without being in the school choir.
Mum
and Dad were surprised. However, when I explained it was only six weeks until
the concert, and after that nothing until nearly
Christmas, they reluctantly agreed. As Mum said, “We had no idea you were so
keen, Chip. We did not want to deprive you, but only to protect you from
overwork.” Dad nodded.
So,
I had got away with punching Harry Simpkins in his fat belly. It had cost me
some choir rehearsals, and I would have to sing a solo, but that was not too
bad, I suppose.
That
evening, after I finished my homework, I opened my Bible and my eye fell on the
words: If your enemy strikes you, turn
the other cheek. The next moment Wirake emerged
up out of the Bible like genie from a bottle. I gulped.
“Not so smart, Chip. Not so clever at all. Bashing Harry
Simpkins did not solve a thing. Except that he won’t touch Lia’s
lunch again while you are at that school. But what about other little kids, and
what will he do next year when you attend the Secondary College?”
“What
do you mean?” I answered. “ I taught him a lesson,
didn’t I!”
“Yes,
the wrong lesson. All you have done is to encourage his bullying ways. You told
him to pick on some one his own size, right? Well you are much bigger than he,
yet you thumped him. You taught him, sure, by your actions. Violence breeds
violence. You, Chip, are a poorer person because of what you did today”
I
felt ashamed, yet puzzled at the same time. “But Wirake,
I had to stand up for Lia. You can’t let Harry
Simpkins get away with it. To do nothing would be just as wrong as thumping
him! I know you taught your disciples to
forgive enemies and turn the other
cheek, but that’s hard enough if it’s my
lunch being stolen, but when it’s my little sister’s? I just had to do
something!”
“ I agree, Chip, you should have done something; something
more helpful than you did. You could have shown more courage than it took to
thump Harry. You could have gone to see Lia’s
teacher; letting him know what Harry had been doing to her and other little
kids. That teacher could take it up with Harry’s teacher and work out the best
way of dealing with the problem. They have much more wisdom than you, Chip.”
“But
that would be dobbing to a teacher,” I objected. “You can’t do that. The other
kids would call me a rat.”
“Tough.
There are times when doing the right thing is unpopular, Chip,” Wirake urged. “I know it takes guts. Nevertheless, if you
really care about others, you have to risk your own feelings in order to get
wrongs put right.”
“I’ve
never promised that doing the right thing will be easy, Chip, but that I will
always be with you. Okay?”
With a grin, he seemed to shrink, and disappeared
back into the pages of my Bible. Whew!
How often has he been in there but I did not see
him?
CHAPTER 10
A TIME TO
DANCE
Our
family is big on dancing. We don’t dance that often, but when we do we are full
on. We get together with our big mob of relatives and friends and go for it!
Grandad Fred and Grandma Rita love it. You should see Grandad when he gets
going! He seems to find more energy than the rest of us put together.
When
I say dancing, I don’t mean ballroom
dancing, or the mushy stuff that is done in nightclubs, not even that fancy,
classical dancing like Swan Lake. It’s more a folk dance. You know how
Australian Greeks, or Australian Irish, like to perform their cultural dances? Well, my old country has its cultural
dances too.
I
have been dancing ever since I could walk. It’s great fun. Our dancing usually
tells a story. These stories go back in history, a long way.
We
dress up of course. Dressing up helps us get into the
mood. I reckon I’m really handsome when dressed for dancing.
Only
twice have I danced at church. At Pentecost last year, when there were lots of
families with kids present. Our minister, Pastor Paul, preached about young people having visions and old folk
having dreams. In the next song we danced a conga, up and down the aisles.
It was great!
A
few people did not join in. Half a dozen teenagers and about ten adults stayed
in the pews. Pastor Paul said it did not matter if people would rather stay
seated and meditate. Some people feel awkward about dancing in church.. That’s okay. We don’t have to all be the same.
For
me it was cool. When I move my body, I feel more involved. Jesus said we should
love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. Well, I like loving God
with my strength. In a dance, I can
put all my strength into praising God.
I
joined in another dance at Easter. I like Easter. There is so much happiness at
church as we exchange the ancient greeting: “Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!”
This
year we visited Uncle Chris’ church. I sat with Josie. Uncle Chris preached
excitedly about the doors which cannot keep Jesus out. Then we sang my
favourite hymn:
I danced on a Friday when the sky turned
black;
it’s
hard to dance with the devil on your back.
They buried my body and
they thought I’d gone;
but
I am the dance and I still go on.
They cut me down and I
leapt up high.
I am the life that’ll
never, never die;
I’ll live in you if
you’ll live in me:
I am the Lord of the
Dance, said he.
In the middle of this song a dance started.
It was not planned by Uncle Chris. It just happened. Away we went, up and down
the aisles, overflowing with happiness. Josie and I had lots of fun.
Then
my uncle called out: “We have no right to keep this shut inside our church!” He
led the dance out the doors and around the building a couple of times.
At
this stage the woman who was dancing in front of me turned around and grinned.
It was Wirake again, sharing in his own resurrection
dance as a woman. I was surprised! By now, I should not be surprised at
anything he does. But I was. A woman this time! Bingo! Can he/she dance! Every
part of her/his body was caught up in the rhythm. This was life! Real life!
I
moved closer to her and whispered: “I did not know you belonged to this
church.”
She
half turned her head and answered: “ Why not? This
church is my favourite. It has a special place in my affection. Dance my dance,
Chip. Dance, wherever you may be!”
By
the time the dance was ended and we were back inside the building, Josie said
to me. “What were you saying to Mrs Arrowsmith, Cuz 2 ? You looked as if you knew
her.”
“Who is.... Oh yea, Mrs Arrowsmith. Yea. You could say I
know her a bit. We have met... er.... elsewhere. Did
you... er....er... think
she looked a bit odd today?”
“Nope,”
replied Josie. “Just the same nice old Mrs Arrowmsith, as far as I could see. But I did not
realise she could move like that. Wow! Not bad for an old wrinkly.”
Afterwards,
I wondered what Wirake meant when he said that church
was his favourite? Does that mean uncle Chris’ church is nicer than the others? Or better at
praying, serving or something?
About
a month after Easter, our family and friends were together for a barbecue. We
danced some of our cultural stuff. In the middle of a dance I realised that the
bloke in front of me was remarkably like Wirake. “Is
that you again?” I asked out of the corner of my mouth.
“You’ve
got it, Chip old son.”
“You
really do turn up at odd times. Why with our mob, today? You are not one of us?
This dance is not your story?”
“Ah!”
he answered. “I am one of your mob; this is my dance.
I always have been; always will be one of you. Your mob is my favourite.”
There
was that word again: favourite.
Struggling for breath from the exercise of the dance, I gasped: “Hang on a
minute, Wirake. At Easter you told me that uncle Chris’ church was your favourite. Now you reckon my
ethnic group is your favourite? “
He
nodded.
What
about all the other sections of Christianity, like Tan’s church or or the one Ham’s mum goes to? And how about the other
ethnic groups: the Greeks, Scots, Maoris, Turks, Vietnamese, Tongans,
Croatians, Irish and...... lots, lots more? How can
you have favourites?”
“Why not? I am a Tongan; always have been; always will be. I
am Greek; always have been; always will be. Everyone is my favourite. Each
ethnic group, each denomination of the church, each individual; they all have a
unique place in my love and purpose.”
I
was panting by now but managed to whisper: “ You can’t
call them all favourites. That makes nonsense of the word favourite”
He danced without any sign of breathlessness.
It’s annoying how he can do things like that! He said: “It’s a matter of the
size of one’s love, Chip. If love is big enough, there is no problem with
having so many favourites.”
“Then
you must love with a width and depth I cannot even imagine?” I gasped.
I
glanced into his eyes as we danced on. They were dark and deep; bottomless
wells of love. There was no doubt about it; I was his favourite too.
CHAPTER 11
WHY ME ?
“Please
Miss,” said the Abominable Alby to our teacher,
“There’s a bad smell in this room and I’d like to get rid of it!”
Miss
Travers looked across the room at him, startled: “Bad smell, Alby?” She sniffed. “I can’t smell anything? What is it, do
you think?”
Alby pulled a face as if the stink was foul: “Ugh! It’s
called Chip and it is always getting all its maths right.”
Most
of the kids broke into laughter. I blushed. Why me? Why does that bully always
pick on me and try to make me look silly?
All
this happened after the results of a special maths test for all senior pupils
at Tower Hill Primary. According to our principal, when speaking at assembly, “Chip Berry did
exceptionally well.”
One
of the things I am learning about life is that when you do well at things
(other than sport) other kids will not like you for it. There is a girl at
school called Sandra who is great on the keyboard. But some of the kids are
always muttering nasty things about her. And I am good at maths, that’s why the
other kids enjoyed Alby calling me a bad smell.
Miss
Travers was not so impressed: “Alby Wellings! That was a crude and cruel thing to say. The rest
of you were stupid to laugh at his poor taste in humour. I am inclined to give
the whole class a detention.”
This
really put panic into my stomach. If they were all given a detention, then I
would really be hated by everyone. They would not blame Alby
but me! Fortunately she did not fulfil this threat.
“ However, that would be unfair. As for you, Alby Wellings, I will make the
punishment to fit the crime. You will come with me at lunch time while I
supervise you in finding and picking up every smelly thing which is in the
school grounds.” A smart move Miss! Now the kids laughed at Alby.
But why me? Why does Alby pick on
me? I don’t understand.
To
be honest, there are also good things I don’t understand..
You see, I don’t understand why I hear
and see Wirake.
Why me?
Is
it because I am some sort of religious freak? Or perhaps I have more faith than
others? Or a more correct belief? Or am I better at
prayers? Or far more intelligent? Or
because I have read the Bible more than most kids of my age? Why me?
Anyway, getting back to the Abominable Alby.
I was going to talk to Lidj about Alby’s
bullying. But when I got home and headed for the fridge, bread, peanut butter
and biscuit barrel, she aimed a lidjettery in my direction:
Boys are full of hungry
woes,
their
stomachs stretch down to their toes.
The kitchen is their
favourite place
their
mouth a trash bin on their face.
After that, I lost my enthusiasm for talking
to Lidj about my troubles.
Late
Friday afternoon, I was sitting on a log in the bush beside the valley track,
doodling with a stick in the sand. A jogger came up the track, running as if
there were no hills at all. It just had to be him again. “Hi Wirake!” I called out.
He
paused, turned and came across to me through the scrub to sit beside me on the
log.
“G’day, young Chip!” he said, slapping me on the back. “How
are things with you, eh?”
I
continued doodling in the sand, taking my time before I answered. “I want to
ask you about two odd things. First, why is it that I sometimes hear you and
see you but other kids don’t seem to? Secondly, why does the Abominable Alby always pick on me? Am I a weirdo, or a superior being
or something? Why me?”
He
laughed. “Not at all, Chip! Believe me, you are not
weird and certainly not superior.”
“Look,”
he continued, “let me tell you about a friend of mine who lived in Italy long
ago. He was a rich and selfish playboy named Francis. Then one day he saw me as
a diseased beggar. He embraced me and I changed his life. Francis became a poor
monk and a lover of all creatures.. Francis was soon
very, very famous in Italy.”
“Sounds
a nice guy,” I commented.
“Yes,
he was. But there was another monk who was extra clever ,
good at studies, worked hard, prayed a lot, and who tried hard to be an
important person for God. But he was not loved and famous like Francis. This
man was both puzzled and jealous. He tackled Francis and said: “Why you,
Francis? Why you?”
“A
fair question I reckon,” I said.
“Then
listen to the reply which Francis made. He thought about the question for a
while, sighed and then answered: “I suppose because God could not find anyone
more disgusting than I am.”
“Oh,
come off it,” I retorted. “He was trying to be funny, right? Or maybe just
putting himself down to appear humble; right?”
“Wrong!
Francis was fair dinkum”. Wirake put his hand on my
shoulder and said: “You see, Francis clearly
understood that he was not in any way better, holier, or wiser. God chose him
because God decided to choose him; no other reason. The reason was in God, not
in Francis. The glory that shone through the life of ordinary Francis was God’s
glory.”
“That’s
a big, slippery thought for me to try and wrap my mind around,” I said. “Are
you trying to tell me that the reason I sometimes hear you and see you is nothing to do with me; it’s just the way God wants it?
God just chooses to work in different ways with different people?”
He
nodded.
“Then,
the question why me
is the wrong question, eh? God is, God loves, God chooses. I am what I am only
because somewhere in the maxi-enormous-gigantic mind of God it seems best this
way. I’m neither a freak nor a better Christian than others?”
“You’ve
got it, Chip,” Wirake said.
I
put my second question: “What about Alby picking on
me. Why me?”
He
put his arm around my shoulders. “Ah now, that is a bit complicated. You see,
in spite of his swagger, Alby does not like himself
very much. He is jealous of you; because you are good at maths and things, and
you have nice friends. He is not very clever and only a few tough kids want to
be his friends.”
“He
also knows you go to church . His parents never even
had him baptised. One day he went to church by himself. He felt an idiot
because he did not know when to stand or sit, and so on. When the congregation
were asked to ‘pass the peace,’ he held up two fingers like a peace-marcher.
Some girls giggled at him. He felt embarrassed. So he hates church people.”
Without
another word, Wirake stood up and went off up the
valley track. I sat for a while, thinking. Do you know what? I almost felt sorry
for Alby?
CHAPTER 12
WHO IS JESUS?
How
can Jesus be both God and yet a human guy? Tell me that! How can he? It’s a
question which often tangles in my head.
I
have prayed to Jesus ever since I was a little kid. But I can’t understand it
all. Until recently I never thought much about it. Now I think about it a lot.
Once
at school, during religious instruction, I asked the teacher about Jesus
praying: “If Jesus was God, when he prayed did that mean he was just talking to
himself?”
Some
of the kids giggled at my question. The RI teacher evidently thought I was just
trying to be clever.. He looked down his nose at me
for a moment, then retorted: “ Chip, if you want to be
a comedian, practice at home in front of the mirror, not in my class. Your audience
of one might be impressed with your wit. I’m not.” The kids giggled again, and
the teacher looked pleased with himself.
I
blushed and shut up. As I told you earlier, I’m a bit shy. It is not easy for
me to speak up in the classroom, especially with a visiting teacher like the RI
bloke.
Later,
I tried praying to Jesus, asking him to give me an explanation. It did not
work. He was very quiet. Only the noise of own muddled thoughts rattled around
in my head.
Last
Saturday afternoon, Dad took me fishing. Fishing with Dad is special. We don’t
always catch a fish. Just to be there by the water alone with him, is a good
feeling. We brag together about the big fish we expect to catch, moan about the
whopper that got away. We have time to chat about sport, school and even what
Dad did when he was a kid.
This
day, after a long time with no bites, I raised with Dad the puzzle of how Jesus
could be God yet a regular guy. He did not laugh at me when I asked whether
Jesus was praying to himself.
“Chip,”
he replied, “I have often tried to sort that one out, without much success. It
might cheer you up to know that for two thousand years some of the cleverest
brains in the church have argued about it without coming up with a perfect
answer. Whenever some scholar thought he had the right answer, the others said
he had made a mistake and was a heretic.”
“What’s
that,” I asked as I cast my line in a fresh direction. “What’s a heratac?”
“Not
a heretac”, Chip, “ a
heretic. A heretic is a person who
has wandered too far away from what the first Apostles believed and the New
Testament teaches. In the olden days they used to ban heretics from Holy
Communion. Sometimes, they even put them in prison or burnt them at the stake.
But I reckon when men did awful things like that, they themselves were so far
away from the love of God that they had become bigger heretics than the people
they were punishing.”
“Yea, gotcha! I’m glad I live these days, not then! Dad, how
do you, yourself, sort out the puzzle? How can Jesus be both God and a bloke?
You must have some ideas.”
Dad
wound in his line, replaced the bait, and cast again before answering me. “ Look Chip, I’m neither a minister nor a scholar. Whenever
I try to think deep thoughts about Christ, I almost certainly slip into being a
heretic myself. However, I’ll pass on to you something I found helpful when I
was a young man. Hey! A bite!”
For
a few minutes there was excitement as Dad hauled in a fish. Anticlimax.
It was a toady. “Hard luck, Dad,” I laughed.
“You
can’t win them all” said Dad. “I reckon that’s a bit like trying to fish for
words with which to understand Jesus. You throw in a big
bait and come up with a toady,” he chuckled. “Anyway, as I was saying before
this toady interrupted me: You know how occasionally you may do something
especially good or kind? You even surprise yourself? Then when a person thanks
you, then you feel a bit embarrassed because you think: It was not me that did the good deed but God in me..
Right Chip ?”
I
nodded: “Uh huh.”
“Well,
what if you were always completely, every minute of the day and night, utterly
like that; so full of God that you could say all the time it was not me but God in me. You would still be Chip, yet you
would be enormously more than Chip. Jesus was better even than that. From his
birth he was brim-full of God. There was not the tiniest cranny in his heart
and mind and soul that was not filled with God. He was still a guy but also,
like we sing at Christmas, “True God of
true God.”
.
Watching
the lap of the waves and the slight bobbing of my rod, I had a long think about
what Dad said. Jesus was like a cup full and overflowing with God. “ I’ll have to think that one through, Dad. Thanks. Maybe it
gives my brain a new way of trying to understand Jesus.” Then I chuckled: “I
hope this explanation of yours does not turn out to be just a toady!”
Dad
laughed. “Hey! Would I sell you a toady? Maybe my idea is only a tiddler, Chip,
but it might make a tiny meal to get you going. Okay?”
..
That
night, as I was dozing off to sleep, I think I heard Wirake
softly say: “Keep fishing, Chip. Your hook won’t hold all you catch, but keep
fishing.”
CHAPTER 13
AM I A
HYPOCRITE?
It
really hurts when people say nasty things about us, don’t you reckon? If they
call me names, I try to either laugh at them or pretend I did not hear.
However, inside me it hurts real badly, like a stomach ache.
The
worst of all is when
people whom I like say hurtful things. You know? It’s bad enough
if the Abominable Alby has a go at me, but it’s much
worse if Lidj does it. It upsets me if my teacher
criticises, but even more if Mum and Dad criticise me. It seems to me that the
more you love people the more they can hurt you. Maybe that is the big risk you
take when you love others, don’t you think?
A
couple of days ago my best friend Ham and I had a row. We were playing hand
tennis. He had beaten me in the first game but in the second I beat him and
made the score one all. At the final point in the third game one of his shots
just touched the outside edge of the line. I called it out. That gave me the
game.
Ham
was furious: ”You’re a cheat, Chip! You know it was
in! You’re just a bad looser; a rotten, dirty, cheat!”
“Hold
on! Are you accusing me of lying!” I protested.
I
offered to play the point again. Ham shouted that he had already won the point
and was not going to play it again.
He
grabbed the ball and stalked away. Suddenly he stopped, turned and yelled:
“Cheat! You go to church and reckon you are a Christian? You’re not a Christian, you’re what Jesus called a hypocrite! Do’ya hear me, Chip! You’re a
hypocrite!”
That
really hurt. I felt I was a hypocrite for sure. How could I be anything else?
Claiming to love God and then cheating on my best friend? That was a really
gross thing to do. I felt awful.
I
walked slowly home from school by myself that day. Ham had ignored me and went
to the corner shop with Damian Smithers. I did not
feel hungry when I got home, which made Mum raise her eyebrows.
Then,
at dinner time, I pushed my food around the plate and did not eat much. This
caused Dad to ask whether I had filled up with lollies or chips after school.
Lidj looked at me wisely. She can be smart and kind, as
well as being sharp and mean sometimes. After the meal she surprised me by
giving me a hug. As she did so she offered me a kind lidjettery:
My little brother needs
a cuddle,
he’s
feeling hurt, thoughts in a muddle.
He looks sad, like a
lost red setter,
I’d like to make him
feel much better
In
my room I sat at my desk and tried to do my homework. I fiddled and squirmed
but could not concentrate. The door opened and Mum said; “Can I come in?” I
replied with a sigh: “I suppose so”.
She
sat down behind me on the bed and asked: “What’s wrong Chip? Your Mum knows when
something is up. Lidj saw it too.”
She
sat and waited. My Mum can be very patient at times, as if she understands how
hard it can be to find the right words. I drummed my fingers on a pencil case.
Mum still waited.
Suddenly
I blurted out: “Mum, am I a hypocrite ?”
Very
gently she replied: “That all depends, Chip”.
“Depends
on what, Mum?”
“ It depends whether you are or not. You see, only you can
really know. It’s a matter of whether you are fair dinkum deep in your heart.
Do you know what the word hypocrite
really means?”
“Well , yea,” I answered. “I think so. A hypocrite is a
person who reckons he loves God and goes to church and all that, but does bad
things. A hypocrite is a cheat, a bad Christian!”
Mum
came over and put her hand on my shoulder, just like Wirake
does. “Chip, you are wrong about the word hypocrite.
We all do bad things sometimes. Your Dad and I,
ministers and priests, even the saints. But that does not makes
us all hypocrites.”
“Well
what does?” I asked
“Look,
Chip. The word hypocrite means an actor; a person who plays a part on the
stage. In his heart the actor is not really that person in the play. If you, my
dear son, are only playing at being a Christian, without your heart being in
it, then you are a hypocrite. But if your heart is in it, though you may still
do some bad things of which you are ashamed, then you are not a hypocrite.
A
big black cloud seemed to float away off my head. “I think I’m fair dinkum,
Mum. Sometimes I’m stupid, unkind, selfish, but maybe I’m not a hypocrite. You
know, I do really love God, Mum.”
“Good.
Now would you like to talk about anything else that has been bugging you?” she
asked.
“Not
really” I mumbled. “I think I can sort things out from here”.
Mum
gave my shoulder an extra squeeze, bent down and planted a kiss: “That’s my
boy” she said, and quietly left my room.
Later,
when I was cleaning my teeth in the bathroom, Wirake
appeared beside my face in the mirror. I looked around, but he was not there. I
looked back at the mirror and he was there. “How do you do that?” I exclaimed.
“My
secret” he said with a grin
“Well, Chip, did I sort out the meaning of hypocrite for you?”
“No,
you did not!” I retorted. “You did nothing. Just stayed away and left me stew.
My Mum was my saviour this evening. Not you.”
Wirake put his hand on my shoulder. “You are wrong Chip. I
did help you.” He gave my shoulder an extra squeeze, just like Mum.
“Tomorrow
you must go and apologise to Hamish,” he continued. “Make things right with
him. Then the healing of forgiveness can take place. And always remember this:
you are not a Christian through being good but by trusting my saving love for
you. Okay?”
Next
day I plucked up courage and apologised to Ham. He looked relieved and said he
was sorry for calling me a hypocrite. We are good friends again.
I
then told God I was sorry for being such a dork. It worked. I feel extra okay,
as if I’ve been standing in a warm shower with the love of God washing over me.
CHAPTER 14
DRIVING
BETWEEN THE
WHITE POSTS
Last
Saturday I went with Josie and uncle Chris to the
footy. For a girl, Cuz1 really knows a lot about football. For a priest, uncle Chris has a lot of loud advice for the umpire. It was
fun. I then stayed overnight with them
After
dinner, uncle Chris went to his study to go over his
sermon and stuff. Aunt Kate, Josie and I played monopoly. At the end of a very
long contest, Cuz 1 cleaned us up.
I
did not like being beaten (who does?) but I forced a smile and congratulated
Josie. “Good win, Cuz 1, you wiped us off the board.
But watch out next time! I’ll get you, but!”
Josie
gave me a dig in the ribs: “ Oh yea? You’ve no chance.
Why don’t you face it, Cuz 2, you are out of your
league!”
Next
morning I went with them to church. On the left hand side of their church, up
near the front, the Apostles Creed is written on the wall in old fashioned
letters. On the right hand side (in smaller letters to fit all the words in)
the Ten Commandments are inscribed. When the sermon became a bit long, I read
the Commandments again and tried to work them out. I wonder why they are so important?
Then
I noticed him; Wirake that is. He was in the choir,
robed and all, sitting near the Commandments. He caught my eye, turned and
looked at the 10 C’s, and then smiled. This distracted me from everything else.
How on earth could he be there and other members of the choir not notice? Why
didn’t my uncle Chris point him out and give him a special welcome? Why wasn’t Wirake giving the sermon? He would be a great preacher. Was
I the only person who recognised him that morning?
Uncle
Chris raised his voice and became extra excited towards the end of his sermon.
This turned my attention back to him. Later, when I glanced back at the choir, Wirake was gone; his seat was empty. Most odd!
“How
did it go?” asked Mum after Uncle Chris had dropped me off at home that
afternoon..
“Great.
Footie was exciting, aunt Kate’s food was yummy, and
church interesting. A bit different; okay but.” I could not mention that I had
seen Wirake; parents would not understand.
Before
I could say any more, Mum interrupted: “Chip, I wish you would not say but at the end of a phrase. It’s bad
grammar. What do they teach you at school these days!”
She bustled on with the task of preparing the evening meal.
I
thought to myself: “I don‘t say or write but
when I am at school. This is not school, but!. This is home
sweet home and surely a guy’s entitled to relax his speech at home, but?”
I did not explain this to Mum. It’s not worth arguing grammar with parents,
but. You save your arguments for
really important matters like pocket money and watching telly.
During
dinner , Dad asked about church. I mentioned the Creed
and the Ten Commandments being written on the walls.
“Uh
huh, I’ve noticed that when I’ve been to Chris’ church,” said Dad. “When my
attention wanders, it gives me something else to think about.”
“Really Col! Your attention isn’t supposed to wander,”
reproved Mum. Then she giggled: “I must admit mine does sometimes, but. O confound you Chip! I’m now tacking on but like you do!”
Lia chucked; imitating Mum’s voice she said: “Naughty,
naughty mother, but!”
I
smirked.
A
little later, after I had demolished the food on my plate, I said to Dad: “Why
are the Ten Commandments so important? They are very old; I mean really old.
Why do we still make a fuss about them?”
Lidj interrupted: “Don’t be a dork, junior! They are
important because God gave them; that’s why! Any slughead
should know that!”
Dad
ignored her. “They matter, Chip, because they are a part of God’s guidance on
the road to happiness. God did not give them just to boss us around, or to make
life more difficult. In fact they make life easier for everyone who tries to
live by them.”
“ Yuk! How can more rules ever make life happier or easier” I protested. “The more rules they make at school the harder
it is to keep out of trouble! We have less freedom. Why can’t God tell us just
to do the decent thing and leave it at that!”
“Ah
my boy, but what is the decent thing?
How do we find out? Who decides? God, who is cleverer than all the brains of
the smartest people put together and multiplied by a billion x
billion, knows what leads to misery and what leads to happiness. The Ten
Commandments are a gift of love, for our happiness.”
Mum
added: “They are like those white guide posts on the side of our roads, Chip.
If you stay within them you can have a safe and happy journey to where you are
going. If you reckon you want more freedom and try driving outside them, you
will soon hurt yourself and others.”
“If
the ground was level you might not hurt yourself” I argued.
Dad
pursed his lips, then answered: “You could still become bogged in mud or sand,
get a puncture, break an axle, and get lost. Besides, the ground outside white posts
is not very level, is it? More often it is rough and dangerous. The guy who
sticks on the road between the white posts will get to his destination a lot
quicker and without too much grief.”
“The
white guide posts are extra important in the dark,” commented Lia. “Lots of people have to drive in the dark, don’t
they?”
“Good
one! little sister”, said Lidj.
Lia was right. Life has many dark times. If we do need some
white posts in the daylight, we certainly need then at night. As I looked at Lia, for a moment I think I saw Wirake’s
grin shining through her smile.
CHAPTER 15
SAINTS ALIVE
Mum
sent me to the
corner shop near the school to buy a loaf of bread. On the way back home I
spotted a purse lying on the footpath near a post box. Was I in luck! Inside
the purse there were two $50 notes and some coins. Wow! I was rich! I tucked it
inside my shirt and hurried home.
Alone
in my bedroom, I emptied out the purse to count the cash: $107.60! Think of all
the things I could buy! For a while I lost myself in day dreams about new
possessions.
Then
some guilt started to trickle into my head. The money was not mine. “Finders
keepers!” said one bossy voice in my mind. “You must not steal” insisted
another quiet voice. For a time the two
voices argued . My stomach started to twist: “Right!
“I said. “Its not mine. I must find the owner”.
With
that I examined the other articles in the purse: lipstick, a shopping list, a
stumpy pencil, a packet of Quickeeze, a jacket
button, a receipt from K Mart, and a Pension card. It belonged to a Mrs Johnson
who lives three streets across from us in Keatley
Road.
I
went to Mum, explained to her how I had found the purse, and showed her the
pension card..
Mum
looked into my eyes: “ So Chip, you took it to your
bedroom because you were tempted to keep the money, huh?”
I
nodded guiltily.
“I
can understand that,” Mum said. “Yet you did not let the temptation win, did
you Chip. I’m glad and I’m proud of you!”
She
kissed my forehead. “Now you had better go and find Mrs Johnson and give back
her purse. I’m sure she has been very worried about it.”
I
felt a bit awkward and shy about it. Mum read my thoughts: “Get Lidj to go with you , Chip. She
won’t mind.”
Lidj did mind. However, after a protest she put down her
book, yawned, got up and went with me to Keatley
Road.
It
was an old house. We rang the door bell. An elderly lady opened the door but
kept the security door locked. “Yes? “ she said.
Then
she spotted the purse in my hand. “You’ve found it! Oh! What a relief!” Quickly
she unlocked the security door and I handed her the purse. I was tongue tied.
“ Chip found your name inside it, Mrs Johnson,” Lidj explained. “I think you will find everything is still
there.
Mrs
Johnson unzipped the purse and said, almost unbelieving: “Yes, it is all there.
You have no idea how relieved I am. I live on my pension and that money was the
last I have until next pension day.. And I have to pay
my electricity bill. Where did you find it.”
I
explained: “Not far from the shop. Near the post box, just
lying on the edge of the footpath.”
“ You are a very good boy” she commented. “
There are some people who would have taken the money and thrown my purse
away, do you know that? I’m so grateful. Here, let me give you $5 for your
honesty.”
Now
I was both embarrassed and (remembering how tempted I had been) ashamed. “No.
No thank you. It is yours, Mrs Johnson. I only did what any decent person would
do.”
To
my surprise she put her arms around me. “You, young man, are a little saint!”
With that she kissed me. It made me feel good that I had made Mrs Johnson so
happy, but I did not like either the kiss or that saint stuff!
We
said goodbye. Outside the gate, Lidj leaned forward
and leered into my face: “Hello little saint Chip!” she taunted, “would you
like another kiss-a-wissy. I made a dive for her. She
was too quick. In a second she was sprinting out of my reach. From time to time
she stopped and called back at me: “Come along ,
saint!”
Things
got worse. The Abominable Alby rode by on his bike
just as Lidj called me a saint. He looked back over
his shoulder with a horrible smirk on his face. (By the way, I’ve been asking
God to bless Alby, but I can’t say there has been
much improvement in his attitude.)
I
kept chasing Lidj of course, for my honour’s sake.
But I had no hope of catching her.
When
I arrived home, I told Mum how thrilled Mrs Johnson was. Naturally, I left out
the saint and kiss bit.
That
was not good enough for Lidj. “Did you know, Mum,
that you have a little saint in the family?”
Though little brother is
a saint,
you
wouldn’t know it.
Old ladies may think he
is quaint,
if
he don’t blow it.
I wonder why at home he
ain’t
able
to show it?
Mum
raised her eyebrows. Lidj told her everything. Lidj does have a big mouth at times!
Mum
poured a cake mix into a tin. and placed it in the
oven. She wiped her hands, then turned to Lidj and me: “It’s not such a weird idea, you know. Maybe
there are saints in this family.’
Lidj snorted: “You could have fooled me !
If there are, they must be hiding! As for little brother being one, it’s a sick
joke!”
“The
early Christians did not think so,” Mum replied. “ For
them, every person who belonged to God through Christ Jesus was a saint.
“Do
you mean,” asked Lidj, “that all the early Christians
were very, very good; with extra faith and love and all that?”
“O
no!” exclaimed Mum. “Far from it. They were much like
us, with plenty of faults and sins. They were just ordinary people who were
caught up the extraordinary love of the Lord Jesus. The word saint did not mean that they were extra
good but that they belonged to the extra-goodness of God. It is God’s holiness
that makes us holy, not ours.”
“Well,
maybe I am a saint”, I piped in. I put on my holiest look, folded my hands and
strutted around the kitchen.
“In my nightmares, little brother!” Lidj
said, and then added: “Maybe I should mention to Hamish that Chip is a little
saint, so he can tell all the kids at school?”
“You
do and I’ll.... I’ll... I’ll do something horribly nasty to you!” I yelled.
That
evening, while I was having a shower, the curtain was parted and Wirake poked his head through.
I
protested: “Haven’t you any respect for a guy’s privacy!”
“Not
really,” he said with a chuckle. That’s not my style. I even know your thoughts
before you are aware of them, Chip. And your temptations.”
“Don’t
go on about that,” I said. “I feel bad about wanting to keep that purse. I’m
sorry Wirake.”
“Don’t
be,” he retorted. “You have no reason to apologise for being tempted. Chip, there is nothing wrong with temptation. It does not
make you bad. It does not make your soul dirty. Only when you give in to
temptation are you dirty. Only then should you be ashamed and apologise to God.
Get that?”
I
nodded. “But I was close to giving in,” I said.
“So
was I, at times” Wirake assured me. “ Yet, like you today, I did not give in. So sleep well,
saint Chip, my peace is with you.” With that his head withdrew from the curtain
and he was gone.
I slept
well.
CHAPTER 16
A TIME FOR
CRYING
Our home is an unhappy place at the moment.
We are all feeling miserable. Dad and Mum try to be cheerful but it is hard.
Grandma
Rita has suddenly died. Dad says her heart has been worn out and weak for a
long while. While she and Grandad were holidaying in Darwin, her heart suddenly
stopped.
Grandma
was a very kind, happy woman. She made each of us grandchildren feel as if we
were extra special to her.
We
are all going to miss her very much. Especially poor old Grandad Fred. We met
him at the airport when he arrived home from Darwin. He and Dad just hugged
each other for a long time. That made .Mum, Lidj and Lia cry. Lidj says that crying is
good. It’s God’s way of helping us wash out some of the pain. I wanted to cry
also but could not do it; it sort of got stuck in my throat.
If
someone whom you loved very much has died, you will understand me. It hurts
badly, like your soul is torn deep inside your chest. But you can’t always weep
when you want to. Nor can you get at the pain with medicine or pills.
I
sobbed a bit when Mum first told me. It hurt but I felt quieter afterwards. Now
I seem to go up and down. One moment I remember something funny about Grandma
and I smile; the next moment I think of her as dead and I am down in the dumps.
I’m
lucky to have a family to share it. A hug helps more than words. We have done
plenty of hugging. Uncle Chris, Aunt Kate and Josie came over and we did a lot
more hugging.
Grandma
Rita was not Josie’s grandma. But Cuz 1 seemed to
understand how I was feeling. She just sat with me for a long while saying
nothing. I appreciated that.
As
for Wirake, he seems to have been far away. I have
not even glimpsed him or heard a whisper from him. I can’t understand why. I
could really do with his help at the moment.
The
Bible helped me. Sometimes when I read the Bible, it just seems a lot of words.
But this morning, I was leafing through the Psalms (they have a lot of tears in
them) when my eye fell on Psalm 42. As I read that Psalm, a peculiar thing
happened at the last verse: it stood out as if it were written in thick capital
letters:
Why am I so sad? Why so troubled? I will
put my hope in God.
Once again I will praise him, my
saviour and my God.
Those words were meant for me. I let go of my
sadness and trusted God. A kind of peace spread inside me, deep down in the
painful spot where nothing else had reached. I cried gently for a long time, then I felt calm. Later, I looked at the verse again. It no
longer stood out in thick black letters. Had I imagined it? No! The lovely calm
within me was a sure sign that something special had happened.
I
wonder is that why they sometimes call the Bible the Word of God?
The
funeral for Grandma is this afternoon. Our neighbour, Mrs Thomson, who says “a
funeral is no place for kids,” suggested we stay at her place this afternoon.
However, Mum and Dad said we can all go to the church and cemetery if we want
to, or stay with Mrs Thomson, if we prefer that. Although I am scared, I will
go with Mum, Dad and Lidj. However Lia, has
chosen to attend school. Mrs Thomson will collect her after school.
I
wonder why Mrs Thomson said : “A funeral is no place for kids” ? I am a bit frightened; a lot more
since Mrs Thomson said that. Are funerals a horrible experience? I must be
brave. Now it’s time for me to have a shower and get dressed. I’ll talk to you
later.
************** **************
Funerals
are okay! It was not at all scary like I thought it might be. There were sad
moments of course. Yet there was also a kind of solemn happiness which we all
shared together. Lidj and I sat one on each side of
Grandad and he held our hands as if we were strong and he was weak.
Grandma’s
priest, Father Tony, said we were together to celebrate Grandma Rita’s life and
to trust her into God’s eternal love. I liked that; we had lots to celebrate.
We sang hymns, read from the Bible, said some great prayers,
and then Father Tony spoke about Grandma’s lovely life. It made us feel
sad-happy-proud-grateful-tearful.
After
the church service we went to the cemetery. That was more sad.
We stood around the grave while the priest said some prayers and read some
Bible verses. Then they lowered the coffin. Father Tony read about “earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to
dust”. It was over quickly.
Then
any of us who wanted to, threw a handful of soil on Grandma’s coffin. I liked
that part. Her body is at rest in mother earth.
I
knew that my real Grandma was not in the grave; just her old, worn out body. I
don’t understand heaven, but that ‘s where she is.
It’s a happy place. Like the priest read from the Bible: “There is no more death, grief or crying or pain” in heaven.
Josie
came up and gave me a hug. She said: “I
didn’t. know your Gran very much, Cuz
2, but I’m sure she was special.” I cried a bit.
I
began to feel much better. It was as if sharing these ceremonies together with
our family, and with friends who also loved Grandma, was like medicine, helping
to heal the wound deep within our souls. I’ll never be frightened of funerals
again.
After
the cemetery, we had a kind of party back at our place. The house was crowded
with uncles, aunties, cousins and many friends. They chatted about Grandma,
remembered the kind things she said or did, and chuckled about humorous events.
It was very noisy in a sad-happy way.
But
Wirake still has not visited me. I don’t understand
why he seems to hide himself sometimes. Or is it that my sorrow is like a cloud
which blots out the sun?
CHAPTER 17
HEAVENS ABOVE
It
must take a long time to get over the death of a person whom you love. I still
feel sad without Grandma Rita, even though I don’t find it easy to talk about.
I
have been writing a special prayer to God about Grandma. Would you like to see
it?
Dear God, I’m glad Grandma is there with
you.
I miss her, God; I will miss her very
much.
Please look after her and cheer her
up when she misses us.
Thanks for giving me such a
beautiful Grandma.
Thanks for her big smile,
the way she
read books to me when I was little,
her extra
warm cuddles,
the photos
she liked taking of me,,
the band
aids she put on my cuts and bruises,
all the
special meals she cooked for us,
the times
we went together to the zoo
or swam at
the beach,
and the
good feeling of sitting close beside her..
Dear God, help Grandad not to feel too
lonely.
Send Jesus to visit him often Amen.
The sadness does not hurt as much as it did at
first. No longer is there that tearing feeling in my chest. In fact, some times
I can go almost a whole day without thinking of her.
The
queer thing is that when I do forget about her, I end up feeling a bit guilty,
as if I’m letting her down. I told Cuz 1 about this.
Josie said: That’s cool, Cuz 2. You need not feel
guilty. Besides, your grandma would not want you to stay miserable. She is not
unhappy, why should you. be?”
When
I am alone, I think about being dead but alive with God in heaven? What ‘s it like?. I tried talking to Cuz
1 about heaven. She listened carefully, fiddled with her hair like girls do,
but she could not explain it any better than I can.
Lidj, being a smarty-pants, reckons she understands heaven.
She thinks heaven is like an entirely different universe (not young like this
one) that has been with God forever. I pretended to understand her (a fella
can’t let on to his sister that he’s a thickhead) but I was unable to picture
what she was talking about.
Where
has Wirake been over the last couple of weeks? He
seems to have deserted me.
********** *********** **********
Hi!
It’s two weeks since I last wrote in this diary.
Heaven still puzzles me. It’s hard to imagine something which is not like
anything in this world.
Tan
has been helpful. He knows about sadness. Before he came to Australia, his
brother and one of his friends died. Tan reckons you don’t ever completely get
over it. A scar replaces the wound, he says.
When
I asked Tan about heaven, he said that he thought about it a lot after his
brother died: “Heaven is good, you know, Egg?. There
we are free like the risen Lord Jesus, yes?”
Tan
went on: “There we have bodies , different bodies,
yes? Not made from of
flesh, blood and bone but from everlasting stuff. No wars, no prisons, no pain,
no cruelty, no suffering, no dying. Wonderful! Yes?”
“But
where is it,” I asked.
“Don’t
ask me!” Tan exclaimed. “It no matter, where. You can’t discover where, Egg. God knows and that’s okay. I ask you read Bible, Egg.
Read Bible, First Corinthians 15, verses ‘bout 35 to 44, I think. Good words. Better than my words, yes?”
So
here I am at my desk, trying to understand the words of St. Paul. I reckon Paul
is hard to read. So I have tried to write down what he says in my own words.
Okay?
Some kid, trying to be smart will
ask, “How? How can the dead be raised to life. How can
they be living if their body lies buried in a cemetery?”
To which I reply: “Don’t be a
dork! If you plant a seed in the garden,
it does not rise up again as a seed. After it is buried, something very different
comes up. What you plant is just some common seed: a bean or corn or maybe a
pumpkin seed. God causes new life to spring from that seed..
He gives it a new body, wonderful, special, and beautiful. Very
different from the old seed.
.
Look, aren’t the bodies of all
living things different? People have one kind, wombats another, galahs and
yabbies have different bodies. So also the bodies of beans, corn, and pumpkins
are different. Even the sun and moon have different bodies. And there are
different kinds of stars, like pulsars and quasars, red dwarfs and white
giants, each beautiful in its own way.
That’s very like it will be when we
are raised up from death to new life. The old body that is buried in the earth
belongs there. When we are raised, our new bodies will belong to heaven. Our
earthly body is a weak thing, and useless when dead. When we are raised like
Jesus, we will be beautiful and strong. It is a flesh body that is buried in
the ground. It is a spiritual body that God raises up.
That is how it is. Just as there is
a physical body, there is also a spiritual body! Right?”
Right!
Thanks Paul! You do make sense, sometimes!
Come
to think of it, when Wirake visits me, I glimpse his spiritual body, just like the first
disciples did at Easter. You know, like Mary beside the empty tomb did? Or in
that locked room where disciples were hiding? And at the beach on lake Galilee when Jesus served them breakfast? They saw his
new, spiritual body.
Right
now, Grandma Rita has a spirit body too. So will Grandad Fred, one day, and my
Mum and Dad, Lidj and Lia
and even I! God will do it.
Thank
you God! You are the greatest!
CHAPTER 18
SEEING AND
BELIEVING
“It’s
about time you showed up!” I exclaimed, as Wirake
joined me in the garden where I was inspecting some radishes which I had
planted. “I needed you after Grandma died. Where have you been?”
“Here
and there,” he answered me.
I
retorted: “You may have been there
but I doubt that you have been here!”
“Both,”
he said, “ here and there is my thing. I have been with
a hungry child in Cairo and an archbishop in Rome; with a lonely student in
Tokyo and a worried mother in Rio de Janiro; with a
Palestinian student in Bethlehem and a doctor in Calcutta; with a taxi driver
in New York and with my friend Chip in Australia.”
Then
he started to sing: “I’ve been
everywhere, man. I’ve been everywhere.”
I
chorused:: “And
I’ve been to Bali too.”
Wirake chuckled: “Now you are getting the message. I live
in the everywhere, Chip. I never walk
out on you. ! You are usually unaware of my Presence, but I am with you always,
to the end of the world. Everywhere.”
“My
head can’t get round all that stuff about the everywhere,” I said. “Anyway, why didn’t you come when I most
needed you. I was very upset, you know.”
“Chip,
most Christians don’t ever see me. There are millions who have never seen me
yet they believe. Josie has never seen me. Yet she believes.”
I
said peevishly: “Yea, but you could have let me feel that you were with me when I was so sad. When I feel you near me, even though I can’t
see you, it encourages me. Feelings are important, you know.”
Wirake put his hand on my shoulder: “Chip. Don’t depend on
your feelings. Feelings can trick you. Feelings can alter, depending on whether
you ate salad or pigged out on pizza, whether you had a good night’s sleep or
stayed up till midnight, whether your footy team won
or was thrashed. Feelings can betray you. When people are grieving, most don’t feel me near them. Their sad feelings
get in the way. So I repeat, don’t put all your faith in feelings.”
“What
do I trust then?” I asked, as I pulled some weeds from among my radishes.
He
joined me in the task of weeding.“ Live by faith.
Trust my promises in the Bible, Chip. Trust your baptism. Trust the gift of
faith which the Holy Spirit has placed in you.”
“Also
trust the help and advice of your fellow Christians, like Tan and Josie. Trust
the wisdom of all those who for two thousand years have believed in me. And
think about those
times when I seemed far away, yet later you realised that I had in fact been
very close to you.”
I
pulled out a sour thistle before replying: “It is not as easy as you make it
sound, Wirake. When I don’t see you, hear you, or
feel your Presence, it is hard to be confident. In fact, the more I am down in
the dumps the harder it becomes. You don’t understand. How can you, you are the
Son of God. You don’t know what it is like to feel completely alone.”
A
pained look came into his eyes. After tugging out a stubborn root, he softly
said: “ You are wrong, Chip. More wrong than you will
ever understand. I do know what it is like to feel utterly alone.”
“Okay,
tell me,” I responded.
“Well,
my own family thought I had gone crazy. My mother, sisters and brothers came to
take the madman home. That really
hurt, you know? A madman?.”
I
began to be ashamed of my complaining.
He
continued: “My rabbi at Nazareth, and most of the preachers and priests all
over the country, started to call me wicked; they warned people to keep away from
me. They plotted my death. Finally there was hardly a safe place to rest. The
foxes had lairs and birds nests, but I had no safe pillow for my head.”
“ Mate, it must have been bad, like a criminal on the run,”
I said.
“You’ve
got it, Chip. I did feel like a criminal on the run..
I was counted with the evil people, despised and rejected, a man of sorrows and
very familiar with grief. It felt awful!”
This
was not the cheerful Wirake whom I usually see.
He
drew a deep breath: “Things got worse.. Whenever I
talked about the suffering that must come to me, even my own disciples did not
understand. In the end, one betrayed me, one denied me, and the rest ran away.”
I
had stopped weeding as he spoke. My mind felt swamped with the loneliness he
had to bear. After a long silence, broken only by a plane flying overhead, he
asked me a question.
“Chip, when in the whole of history would you say that God
was the closest, super-closest, to people?”
That
was a tough one. I wrinkled my brow and thought hard. My answer came in the
words of a hymn, which I softly recited:
There is a green hill far away.
Wirake put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a
squeeze: “ Spot
on, little brother,” he said. “Yet that was the hour in which I felt cut off from God. The time when I felt most
misunderstood and alone. I cried out:
My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me”.
That
got to me. Tears came into my eyes. We knelt there together, for a long time,
saying nothing. It was like being under a spell. Two magpies, which were
sitting in the gum tree at the far corner of our back yard, began to warble.. I looked up at Wirake. He
looked into my eyes, and then faded away into the mystery of the everywhere.
CHAPTER 19
TEASING AND
OTHER STUFF
“ If you don’t stop teasing your little sister, you can go
to your room, buster!” said Mum on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately,
she was speaking to me.
Without
looking up from the book she was reading, Lidj
recited: “Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass Go.
Do not collect $200. Or in your case, do not pass the kitchen, do not collect a
sandwich!”
Knowing
that when Mum gives a warning she means it, I stopped teasing Lia but took the risk of poking my tongue out at Lidj.
She
saw me and lidjetted:
Chip be nimble,
Chip be
quick.
Get out of here
or
I’ll be sick.
You
know, I don’t understand why I do it? Tease, I mean. Kind teasing is okay but
it can easily slide into hurtful teasing. I don’t like myself when I tease
hurtfully, but I find myself doing it. Why is that, do you reckon?
When
I gave my heart to Jesus, I thought I would completely stop doing bad things.
But it does not seem to work that simply.
Fortunately,
on that particular wet Saturday afternoon, Tan and Ham called to see me. The
three of us all hived off to my room, where we fooled around and talked.
Ham
startled me, when suddenly he said: “Do you church guys always like yourselves
or are there times when you don’t?”
Tan
turned to him: “Sometime I not like me. But I not let guilt bully me. It not right to stay ashamed, it not the Christian thing.”
“What
do you mean,” I said. “ You are a really good bloke,
Tan. What could you do that would make you dislike yourself?
Ham
nodded.
Tan
pulled a face and shook his head. “Things. Many wrong
things I do, or good things I no do. My sins make me feel bad. Like when I feel
jealous of you guys because you speak right. Like when I save
my money until I get selfish. Or like when I tease
little sister Le’in; not nice teasing but bad
teasing. She cries.”
I
interrupted. “You? You, Tan,
tease your sister? I never thought of you doing that!”
He
nodded. “Bad, yes? I make my little sister cry. You
see, I am not good Christian. I think you are shocked by my badness. Yes?”
Ham
cut in: “ No, Tan. We are not shocked but surprised.
You see Tan, I know that I don’t go to church and that
I do bad things. I’ve also seen Egg tease Lia in bad
ways. I just did not think you were like us. So I am surprised but not shocked.
In fact I am bit relieved. If a great guy like you can do bad things, then we
don’t feel so hopeless. Right Egg?”
“Right”
I agreed.
Tan
looked embarrassed: “Please, I not great guy. Just sinner who
Jesus save. Not more, not less. Okay?”
The
deep sincerity with which he said this made Ham and me
shut up. We nodded. Ham fiddled with a puzzle he had in his hands. I picked at
a small wart which I had on my second finger. Tan lay on his back and looked at
the ceiling. I broke the silence. “Tan, a few minutes ago you said something
about it not being right to stay guilty. That it is not the Christian thing. What did you mean?”
Tan
sat up and hunched his knees under his chin. “It hard to
speak. But I try. Okay?”
I
nodded
“The Lord Jesus, he my Saviour. But it big work saving me;
it take long time. I slow learn. But I must trust forgiveness each day; then
get busy loving him and others. But if I get guilty heart,
heavy and tired, feeling sorry for me, then I no use. Okay? But that is
stupid. You see, Jesus make me God’s child. God’s child, not slave. So I better
welcome his forgiveness, get off knees and stand high. Right?
That good; it praise him. It the
Christian thing. You know? Stand high.”
“Right,”
I said, “the Christian thing. Right!”
“I
think I get you,” Ham added.
More
silence. Not an empty silence but a full, overflowing silence. I was sure that Wirake was present with us in an extra wonderful way.
After
a while, Tan said. “You know, if we not trust the Lord’s forgiveness, we get
bad, and then more bad. Like, if I hate myself, I more do wrong things. Yes?
Like feeling bad makes me want to hurt others? With no
forgiveness, we less and less kind people.”
How
about that? Tan is a deep one, isn’t he? He understands things that I don’t
even begin to get sorted out.
A
funny thing happened the following day at Church. A bit from one of Paul’s
letters was being read. It was as if God had a special word for me.
Paul
let on how hard it was to be a Christian; something like: Hey! What’s going on inside me? It’s a stuff up!.
The good things I really want to do, I fail to do. But the bad stuff I hate doing , that’s what I find myself doing. What a miserable
creep I am! Who can rescue me from this dead body? Christ Jesus will! He’s the
answer, thank God!
That’s like me, you know? Paul, a famous
Christian, had a problem like mine. I don’t suppose he teased sisters, but he
did things which made him ashamed. But best of all, he was sure the Lord Jesus
was his Saviour. He trusted Jesus. Right?.
O Wirake,
wherever you are, please continue to save me from
myself. I am weak but you are strong. Make me a kind brother, a thoughtful
friend and a brave Christian. You can do it. Thank God.!
Amen!
CHAPTER 20
FOR GOODNESS
SAKE!
During our evening meal, Lia
was complaining about a girl in her class at school. It appears that this kid,
Samantha, is not only good at her work but has awfully good behaviour. She
never gets into trouble, does not get her clothes dirty, and helps the teacher
in every way possible.
“She
sounds a disgusting little creep!” I said.
“Well
I think it’s nice,” said Dad, cutting into a potato, “to hear about a child of
such good character. Tell me, Marie (that’s Mum’s name) where did we go wrong
with our three problem kids?”
Lia pouted: “ That’s not funny
Daddy! We’re not problem kids! You did not go wrong with us. You are great
parents. We are just normal kids. Not like Samantha, teacher’s pet! She’s not
normal. She’s awfully, awfully good and she is terribly, terribly horrid! I
hate good people!”
“Well,
well,” responded Mum, “ great parents, huh? It’s good
to know that we have not gone wrong in bringing up you three. Col (Col is Dad’s
name) let’s take a bow!”
“Don’t
get carried away,” snorted Lidj. “I can think of
quite a few things where you could do a lot better. Starting
with pocket money.”
Parents think they
understand,
the
ins and outs of moneyland.
But I remind you it’s no
joke
to
be a teenager who’s broke.
Dad
pulled a face: “That’s life, Marie! One minute we seem to be perfect parents
riding high among the clouds and the next moment we come back to earth with a
thump. Ouch!”
Mum
managed an exaggerated sigh, then turned again to Lia: “So you don’t like good people, is that it, Miss Lia?” Lia nodded and tried to
balance some peas on her fork.
Mum
turned to me: “Okay, you, Chip!. What do you think
about good people? I’m sure you have an opinion, you usually do?”
“I’ve
been thinking hard,” I said, putting a wise look on my face with the corner of
my eyes crinkled up a bit ( I had been practising this
look in the bathroom mirror). “I agree with Lia. Very
good kids annoy me. When I was in Grade 3 there was a kid named Graeme who was
always showing off his goodness. Now, at scouts one of the guys has tons of
badges, never gets into mischief, and always sucks up to the scoutmaster. I
reckon good kids are real nerds. They get up my nose!”
“A
very unpleasant place for them to be, I would say,” commented Dad. Remind me
never to get up that nasal orifice. By the way Chip, give it a blow now, it needs
it.”
I
blew vigorously into my hanky. Lidj said: “Yuk! Turn
away from me when you do that.”
I
ignored her and honked more loudly.
Not
put off by my performance, Mum came up with a question: “What about Jesus? He
was a very good person, wasn’t he? Don’t you like him?”
That
floored me for a moment but Lia responded
immediately: “That’s different, Mum. Jesus was different.”
“How different?” Mum asked.
Now
Lia was lost for words. I found my tongue: “Well, he
was different wasn’t he? Like he was good without showing it
off. He did not make bad people feel worse about their own faults. No
matter how sinful they were, he had time for them. He was friendly. They could
talk to him and be honest with him. His goodness did not put others down. It
was... sort of.... like.... I reckon Jesus did not even think of himself as
good. He just was.”
“That’s
quite a speech, young man!” Dad commented. “ What
about the good kids you have known? Why do you think they are different from
Jesus?”
“Easy”
said Lia, “Like little Jack Horner. Good kids are too
good, sort of proud of it. Like Jack Horner sticking in his thumb, pulling out
a plum, and saying What a good boy am I!”
You know, for a sister, Lia
is really smart at times. I gave her a big nod and grin: “
Yea, little sis, you’re right. The kids who reckon they are good make me
wonder whether they look in a mirror and brush their goodness a hundred times
each day, like Lidj brushes her hair. It’s a selfish
kind of goodness.”
Lidj kicked me under the table. I tried to kick back.
“Children!” said Dad in his warning voice.
“And
Jesus?” queried Mum.
“Jesus
is more like a friend,” I said as I rubbed my ankle with my right hand ( my left was holding a fork with a piece of sausage pinned
on it.) “His goodness was unselfish. He did not think about himself.”
“Uh
huh; well what about you kiddo? Do you want to be a good person
, Chip?” Mum asked.
Before
I could reply, Lidj gurgled sarcastically and Lia said giggling; “He can’t be good, Mum. He’s a boy and he’s my brother! Yuk!”
“Quiet!
you gigglepots!” said Mum.
“I was being serious and I want Chip to give me a serious answer. In fact, you
two ought to think about the same question. Chip can think about it and answer
me later when you girls are not around to be sarcastic.”
Later,
while I was washing the dishes and Mum was drying them, I said to Mum: “That
stuff you asked me; about being good. It’s not easy to explain it, Mum. But I
do want to be a good person, on one condition: It has to be the kind of
goodness Jesus had. The not-thinking-about-myself
brand of goodness. Yep, I really want that. And I want the Lord Jesus to
help me with it. But not the other sugary, sickly kind of goodness; that’s
gross!”
Then
I came out with a bright thought; one that I had never had before in my whole
life: “With Jesus his goodness was love and his love was goodness.”
CHAPTER 21
WHEN IT IS
HARD TO UNDERSTAND
I
was down the valley track, sitting under a gum tree, thinking about Grandma
Rita. I still miss her although nearly all of the sharp pain has gone.
“How’s
it going, Chip” said a voice. I looked around. for Wirake, before realising that his voice was inside my head,
not outside. Evidently it was not one of his appearance days. Often it’s like
this; a conversation going on in my own head. I don’t even have to speak aloud.
I
answered him in my thoughts: “I was just sitting here and thinking about
Grandma. How good she was and wondering how she is getting on.”
“ I am the resurrection and the life,” said Wirake.
His
comment did not make
much sense to me . Maybe it was because my own feelings were
cluttering up my thoughts. I said: “Grandma was very good, in the right kind of way; the loving way,
you know. A good person like that must be in heaven, right?”
“Wrong”,
he said.
That
hit me like a punch in the ribs from the Abominable Alby.
“What do you mean? She was really good; fair dinkum good. If Grandma is not in
heaven none of us will ever make it!”
“Wrong
again”, his voice said. “ I did not say she was not in
heaven. She is extraordinarily joyful right now. But it is not because she was
such a good person.”
“Now
you are confusing me!” I said.
“Ask
your uncle Chris”, he advised. “He and Aunt Kate are coming to dinner Friday
evening.”
“Mum
has not said anything about that”, I replied, aloud now.
He
surprised me by answering: “She does not know yet. She will tomorrow.”
“Hey, hey, heh!!” I cried aloud,
“That’s weird. You’re going too fast! Hold on a minute!”
I
had been so caught up in my conversation with Wirake
that I had not noticed the Abominable Alby bounce
down the track on his mountain bike.
He
startled me with his sneering voice: “Fast? Going too fast? Do you reckon
that’s fast? What are you, some kind of sissy! No, I forgot, you are a chicken
egg! Even when you break out of your shell, Egg, you’ll still be a chicken!
Anyway, why did you ask me to hold on a minute? What the hell for?”
How
was I going to get myself out of this without getting a knuckle sandwich? I
muttered: “Actually I did not even see you, Alby. I
was just sitting here talking... er... talking to
...myself.”
He
laughed. “Well now, so you are a nutter. You talk to
yourself. You know, Egg, I was thinking of giving you a good thump on the nose
but you are not worth it. There’s no fun in thumping a nutter.
My old man says that the clever ones are always a bit crazy. He’s right.”
He
rode off without even looking back at me. I gritted my teeth and tried to pray
for him: “God bless Alby and give him happiness.” I
said. Such praying was like trying to eat saw dust.
I
tried to return to the conversation which I had been having with Wirake. It didn’t work. It had now become like trying to
talk to myself.
Later,
back home , munching a third sandwich, I said to Mum,
“Any visitors coming to dinner this week or next?”
“No.
Not as far as I know,” she said.
Lidj jumped on the theme of visitors and lidjetted:
Visitors are extra good,
Mum prepares delicious
food.
If visitors came here
every day
Chip’d
get so fat he could not play.
I
grabbed an apple from the bowl and hurried to my room.
He
was sitting at my desk, reading a school assignment on Preserving Our Native Fauna. Wirake said: “Not bad Chip. I like the section on
the bilby and that last, rather sad, page about the thylacine.”
“Yea. It is sad, isn’t it” I replied. “I would love to think
that some still existed somewhere in the mountains of Tasmania. Hey! You must
know, Wirake! Do they still exist?”
“No
comment,” he said, and turned a few pages of my assignment.
I
took up our interrupted conversation from earlier. “You told me to ask Uncle
Chris about heaven and good people like Grandma. How do you know that Uncle
Chris and Aunt Kate are coming to dinner on Friday? Mum does not know, I asked
her.”
Wirake chuckled; “It must seem strange to you. But I do
know. Remember how I told you that I live in the everywhere?”
I
nodded.
“Well
Chip, there is more to it than that: I also inhabit the everywhen. Get it? The everywhen.
So I know who is coming to dinner on Friday
evening. Right?’
My
mind spun. I put a hand to my forehead. He was speaking things I could not
possibly understand. “You’re weird! The everywhen ? You mean you travel through time? Like
the time travellers on telly films? Or maybe like the Sliders?”
He
grinned: “Much more wonderful than time travel, young friend, but if that will
help you understand me, think of it in that way. Sliders, you said? Think of me
a super slider. The main thing is to know that when you were, I was with you; when
you will be, I will be with you; where
you have been, I have been there; where
you will be, I will be there. I will never leave you nor forsake you. Everywhere, everywhen.”
I
nodded as if I understood, and tried to revert to a previous conversation: “Now
about goodness and heaven?”
He
waved me to stop talking; “Ask Uncle Chris next Friday,” he said. He stood up,
reached out and affectionately ruffled my hair. “See you,” he said and walked
off through the bedroom wall.
CHAPTER 22
AMAZING GRACE
The next day, when I arrived home from
school, and was busily crunching a nashi pear, Mum
said to me: “Guess whose coming to dinner Friday
evening.”
“That’s
easy. Uncle Chris, aunt Kate, and Cuz
1. Right?” I said nonchalantly. (Do you like that word
nonchalantly? I only found it last
week in a book. Cool, hey?”)
Mum
put her hands on her hips and stared at me. “Smart guy, my
son! How on earth did you know? It was only this morning that I saw Kate
in the supermarket and on the spur of the moment I invited them. You could not
have seen them since then! Hey, you have not been wagging school, have you?”
she added anxiously.
“Of
course not, Mum. I just had a lucky guess, I suppose.”.
Friday
night brought a happy Aunt Kate, Uncle Chris and Josie to our place. Lia was all over Aunt Kate, full of all her news from
school and showing off her latest painting, which was of an elephant juggling.
A big imagination, our Lia has. Cuz
1 and I played checkers.
Lidj bailed up Uncle Chris. She wanted to ask him about
evolution or something. They sat down in the lounge and talked seriously until
dinner was ready. The food was yummy. Mum had cooked one of my favourites:
lemon chicken. She followed it with apple strudel and cream.
It
was after dinner, while Dad was making coffee and opening some Tim Tams, that I got some time with Uncle Chris.
“How’s
school, Chip? he asked.
“Okay.
Pretty good. I was given an A+ for an assignment about
Australian fauna.” This was my chance: “Would you like to see it? It’s in my
room.”
“Yes,
sure, lead on ,
O mighty A+ student.” We walked to my room where Uncle Chris praised my work.
Now was the moment.
“Uncle
Chris, could I ask you something serious, about Grandma?” I said.
“Certainly,
Chip. What’s bothering you?”
“Well,
Grandma was an extra good person”. He nodded. “Well that means that she is
certainly in heaven with God. Right?”
He
shook his head. “It’s not quite like that, Chip. I believe Grandma is certainly
in heaven. But it is not because she was good. Chip, do you know the word grace?”
“Mmm, sort of. It’s a odd word, because it is used in very different ways. We
sometimes say a good dancer moves with grace;
and Dad reckons Ricky Ponting bats with lots of grace. Then the prayer we say before
eating a meal is often called the grace. They
don’t have much connection, do they?”
Uncle
Chris laughed. “No, they don’t seem very related, do
they? But I was wondering whether you understood the word grace in the special way we use it in church?”
“You
mean, like, “The grace of the Lord
Jesus Christ, the love of God and so on? I’m not sure what that grace means. I know Jesus was not a
cricketer, so perhaps he danced very gracefully,” I chuckled.
“Now
listen, Chip,” said Uncle Chris firmly. “Write this on your brain in big
letters. Grace is the unexpected,
undeserved, unmeasured, unceasing saving love of God. Okay? We say ‘the
grace of Christ” because in his life, and especially on the cross, he showed us
how far the saving love of God would go for us. Okay so far?” I nodded.
“Now, about Grandma. She is with God in heaven because of
God’s free grace. Nothing we could do could earn us a place with God. We could
never be good enough. Not even your Gran. But Gran
trusted the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ; accepted the Saviour into her heart.
By faith we accept the grace of God. Do you understand Chip?”
I
thought about it for a while. Uncle Chris sat on my bed and waited. “Yea. I think so. Like the prodigal son in the parable that
Jesus told?” I asked. “I reckon that guy did not deserve a place back home with
his dad. Yet because his dad loved him ( like with me;
I think Dad and Mum would take me back, no matter what I had done!) he welcomed
him back home and gave him a party. Is that like grace?”
“Yes,
Chip, that’s like grace. And you are a very lucky boy to have a mother and
father who would welcome you back home. Not every kid has such parents. The
love of your Mum and Dad can help you to understand God’s grace”.
“My
brain was racing ahead: “ Does that mean that being
good does not matter. God loves us anyhow, so we don’t have to bother about
being good?”
“Slow
down, sneaky nephew!” exclaimed Uncle Chris. “ Of
course goodness matters. When you love those who love you very much, you want
to please them. And you want to make them happy. Does the fact that your Dad
and Mum love you , mean that it does not matter
whether you are good or bad?”
“Nah! Of course not. When I’m bad
it makes them miserable. They are cool parents; I don’t want to hurt them. For
that matter, badness makes me miserable too. I don’t feel right until I’ve
sorted it out with Mum and Dad.”
My
mind jumped again. “Hey, Uncle Chris. Is that what
that song Amazing Grace” is about? So
it’s God’s unexpected, undeserved,...er...er....
un...something and unceasing love for us. Right?”
Uncle
Chris put his hand on my shoulder and grinned, just like Wirake
does.
I
liked it. Uncle Chris is the type of minister who encourages people.
“Where
have you two been?” asked Cuz 1.
“Having
a man to man talk,” said Uncle Chris.
“I
find that hard to imagine,” snorted Lidj.
“O you of little faith”, chuckled my Uncle. “You would be
surprised!”
The
Tim Tams were good. That night I dreamt I was flying.
CHAPTER 23
GETTING LOST
Would
you believe a person could get lost in their own home? Well, they can. I know
it’s true because I have been lost in my home.
You see, I sometimes walk in my sleep and
wake up in the dark, totally lost. It’s scary! I know I am in my home, but I do
not know which way to go.
I
trip over furniture and bump into things. After a while, my thumping and
bumping wakes Mum and Dad. One of them comes and switches on the light. I
discover that I have been bumping around in the lounge trying to find a door
behind the piano, or maybe in the laundry attempting to climb into the washing
machine. I go back to bed very relieved.
That’s
one way of getting lost. There is another. I did that too, recently.
It
started with the ‘flu. If Ham and Tan had not been absent from school with the ‘flu , I may not have been sucked in by Abominable Alby and his gang.
On
Tuesday I felt lonely all day. Walking home after school, I met Alby and his gang near the corner shop. They seemed to be
having a good time.
“G’day, chicken Egg, Alby sneered.
“ It’s about time you did us a favour. How about borrowing some chewing gum
from the shop for us, heh?”
“No way!” I said. “Do your own thieving!”
Alby poked me in the ribs: “Ya
know what your trouble is, chicken Egg? Y’ve
got no guts! You’re a sissy.”
The
others laughed at me. I felt rotten. I found myself saying: “I’m not a chicken.
I’ve got guts!”. Just because I don’t show off does
not mean I’m scared!”
“Is
that so,” said the Abominable One. “Well in that case, prove it by nicking
something for us.”
I
went into the shop. My blood pulsed in my head. I felt sick. I pretended to be
looking at some comics. When Mrs Mac was serving Judy Harris, (who lives in our street) I reached
across to the chew bars.
I
slipped some into my jacket pocket. Then I paid for a comic, my heart beating
so loud that it seemed certain Mrs Mac would hear it.
She
looked at me and said: “Are you all right, luv? You look a bit seedy. You’re
not getting the ‘flu are you?” Her
kindness made me feel even worse.
I
protested my good health and scuttled from the shop. Feeling very dirty, I
walked to Alby and handed over the spoils.
“There,
that wasn’t too bad, was it chicken Egg? Ya look a
bit sick; hey! Don’t wet ya dacks
about it. After ya done it a few times, y’ll get used to it, no worries,” Alby
told me as he and his gang walked away.
I
felt confused and lost.. Mrs Mac is a really nice
lady. Did she guess? Did Judy Harris see me steal the chew bars? Why had I been
so weak? What a rotten thing to do!
For
the rest of the week I felt yuk. I could not even
pray. I was rude to Mum, mean to Lia, and bad
tempered. at school. Then I picked a big fight with Lidj which ended with Lidj
pinning me to the floor until I reluctantly muttered the magic words: “I’m
sorry”.
“Humph!”
She said. “About time too, you little horror!”
Chip, Chip, pizza eater,
fought
his sister but could not beat her.
She wrestled him through
the kitchen door,
and
left him snivelling on the floor.
I
didn’t feel like going to church the next day. I wondered if I could con Mum
into believing that I was getting the ‘flu ?
Then
I thought: “I must talk with Cuz 1. She can keep a
secret.”
When
I asked Mum if I could ride over to Uncle Chris’ place, she said it would be
good to see the back of me.
Josie
was hitting a tennis ball against a wall when I arrived. She is good at sport.
She sat down beside me on the lawn and said: “Well? What’s eating you, Cuz 2? You look sick, sort of like a lost dog.”
“Is
it that obvious? “ I asked.
She
nodded, fiddled with her pony tail as I told her the lot. She is a good
listener.
After
I finished, she said quietly: “Not good huh? Are you just feeling sorry for
yourself or do you want to do something about it?”
That
shook me. “A bit of both, I suppose,” I gulped.
“If
you really, really want to stop feeling so lost,” she said (
I nodded) “I reckon you should go to Mrs Mack, own up and pay up.”
“She’ll
hate me, for sure, and she might even tell the police,” I protested. “
Anyway, it would cost me my whole week’s pocket money.”
For
a moment, Cuz 1 looked just like Wirake.
“That’s a risk you must take and a cost you must pay,” Josie said, as she
jabbed me on the upper arm with her knuckles. “I’ll come with you if you like.”
“Thanks,
but no,” I said. ‘It my mess and I must clean it up.”
Cuz 1 nodded, and said : “Go for
it then. Do it now.”
With
a churning tummy I rode to the shop. Mrs Mac solemnly heard me out and checked
the money.
“That
was a very stupid thing for a boy like you to do,” she said sadly. “However , it took courage to come here, own up and pay up.”
Then she smiled: “Thanks, luv. You’re not a
bad kid really. Just you watch the company you keep! Off you go and keep away
from Alby’s trouble makers! You could lose your decency in
that mob. Okay?”
The
day seemed extra shiny as I left the shop. I was no longer lost. On the way
home, I felt very much at home.
CHAPTER 24
BUSHWALKING
“Up! Up! Up!,!”
cried Dad as he pulled open the curtains on my bedroom.
“What’s
wrong!” I grumbled.
“Don’t
tell me you have forgotten about our family bushwalk today,” said Dad.
I
had forgotten. It was Saturday and our family and Uncle Chris’ were going to
hike to a favourite places in the hills.
We
are big on bushwalking and camping. Perhaps camping
is not the right word . You see, we don’t use tents.
We prefer to sleep in the open under the stars. Dad reckons no one has really
lived unless they have gone to sleep under the Milky Way.
Maybe
he is right. On cloud-free nights, far away from town lights, the skies are magic.
Mum tells us that we are made from star dust. We are the star children of God.
I quickly dressed and ate breakfast and
joined the others in the car.
Our
favourite place was only forty kilometres away so in half an hour we arrived.
Uncle Chris, Aunt Kate and Josie were already there. Soon we were striding out
along a track, Lia leading.
We
saw wildflowers, rosella parrots and grey kangaroos, and descended a rugged
gorge.. We rested at a small creek where the water
ripples and makes a tinkling music over stones. Lia,
Josie and I climbed an old gum tree which must have been there for centuries.
About
4 kilometres further on, we arrived at the most magic place: a grassy hillside
covered with nothing but tall grass trees. You know grass trees? Some people
call them black boys. Our family call
them yakkas. Dad says this is one of his special soul places “Nature is like one of God’s
books,” he tells us.
We
took of our packs and flopped down on the grass..
“Right” said Mum. “Let’s eat.” We needed no further invitation.
Half
way through munching on an egg and bacon sandwich ( one
of my favourites!) an odd question rose up in my brain:. “What do you reckon?”
I asked. “If Jesus had not shown us God’s love, would we still feel God close
to us out here in the bush? Or would nature be like a closed book?”
“That’s
an odd question,” answered Uncle Chris. “What are you getting at, Chip?”
“It’s
easy Dad !” Said Josie.
“Like, if I did not know the Lord Jesus, would I still feel God near me in
places like this?”.
Uncle
Chris said: “I reckon that without Jesus we might not learn true things about
God from nature. On sunny days we might think God was in a good mood. Right? But in bad weather, what then?”
Aunt
Kate added: “Maybe on stormy days we would reckon God was in a bad mood and
that we should make sacrifices or something to calm him down. We might get a
lot of things wrong, huh?”
Uncle
Chris nodded: “Without the Lord Jesus, the bush would be a very confusing
book.”
Lia piped up: “I sometimes feel God smiling at me in the
wild flowers. And look how he feeds the birds like parrots and honey eaters.
God must be good.”
“But
maybe that’s because Jesus taught us that God is our loving Father,” Lidj
said. “I reckon we see nature through the eyes of Jesus.”
Josie
put down her mug of tea. “Heh!
I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “Perhaps God gives us three books. One book is
nature, where we see a tiny bit of God. A second book is the Bible where we see
more of God. And the third book is the Lord Jesus who shows us the lot and
helps us understand both the Bible and nature. “
“That’s
a long speech for you, kiddo,” Uncle Chris said. “There is a lot more going on
under that curly hair of yours than you let on, eh?”
After
lunch, while the others were lying in the shade, I wandered off among the
forest of grass trees to sit by myself. A guy needs to be alone at times.
Glancing
to the east, I spotted an aborigine, gathering something from around the base
of a fire-blackened yakka. He noticed me and then beckoned with a tiny flexing
of one finger. I walked across to him.
As
I came near he grinned. There was no mistaking that grin: it was him again!.
“Hi!”
I greeted him.
“Hi,
Chip! Out for a hike are we? Not a bad spot, huh?”
I
smiled at him; “I did not expect to find you here, Wirake.
I like your new, black body. Very cool.”
He
was rolling a dark red substance (like play-dough} in his hands.
“What’s
that stuff?” I asked .
“Yakka sap. My people used to use it for helping fix points
to spears or handles to axes. The women used it for mending cracks in bark
water bowls or in seed coolamons.”
“Your people?” I asked. “Before missionaries came, were they
your people?”
“Sure!
My people. I was with them when they first came to
this land, long, long ago. They were mine then and
always have been.”
“They
did not know it, but I was close to them. I sent glimmers of light through
their dreamtime stories and I made them hungry for the Spirit. I prepared them
for the Gospel. They are my own, dear people. For them I died, for them I rose, for them I come again. I love them dearly.”
Tears
came to my eyes. I stood silent among the yakka trees. I reached up and laid my
hand on his left shoulder. He reached his right hand across and laid it on top
of mine. I don’t know how long we stood there. It was like in Holy Communion.
The
silence was broken by my father calling: “ Chip? Chip? We are ready to go.”
“See
you, Chip,” Wirake said.
“Yea. See you Wirake. I fact I see
you better than I ever have before,” I answered.
CHAPTER 25
FAITH AND
PRAYING
I
opened the curtains and looked out at the sunny morning. It was Sunday and I
was second up. Lia and I usually have breakfast
together while Dad, Mum and Lidj sleep in. Lidg is always the last up.
As
I looked out the window I said aloud: “I wish Wirake
would not come and go so quickly. There are heaps of things, like prayer, that
I want to ask him But he does not stay long enough.
I’m beginning to think he does not want to give me answers. Perhaps he wants me
to work things out for myself.”
“Who
are you talking too? “ came Lia’s
voice from the family room.
“ Mind you own business, midget”,” I answered. “If I want to
talk to myself it’s nothing to do with you.”
“Weirdo!”
called Lia. “ I’ve got a
crazy brother who talks to himself.”
I
ignored her and went for a shower . Standing under the
lovely warm water I thought again about praying; and how I’m not very good at
it. I do try though.. Before I go to bed I read a
prayer from a book that Grandma gave me before she died. It’s called “Prayers
for Aussie Kids”.
However
I don’t get any big answers. Perhaps I don’t do praying right.
Lia and I had breakfast. Mum and Dad wandered out later.
Last of all Lidj made it to the bathroom and kitchen.
As usual, we were running late for church and only got seated a couple of
seconds before the minister started.
Today,
it was a visiting preacher. He said that our prayers are weak because our faith
is weak. He raised his voice and loudly urged us to pray with more faith. “More
faith!” he said, banging his fist on the pulpit. ”More faith! More faith! More faith!”
Anyway,
how do I get more faith? Is it a matter of will power? Or does faith get bigger
after we have been especially religious?
Travelling
home in the car after church, Lidj said to my Mum and
Dad:. “You know, I reckon that preacher this morning
went over the top about faith. No once did he mention it was a gift from God.
All we can do is accept the gift. Right, Mum and Dad?”
“Partly
right,” said Mum, “Accept it and then use it. Faith is a gift. You can accept
it or reject it. But if you accept it, you must use it. Put it to work in the
way you love others.”
“Yea,
I suppose so, said Lidj. “Does that include rats like
little brothers?” She gave me a dig in the ribs, a favour which I returned.
“Ouch!”
she said, but it did not stop her talking: “So faith is a gift yet it has to be
exercised?”
Dad
joined in: “Right. Coaches tell netballers, swimmers, tennis players or other
athletes: If you don’t use it, you will
lose it. Faith is a gift, Lidj, you’re correct.
But muscles are also a gift. But if you don’t use them you will lose them.
What’s more, the more you exercise them the stronger the muscles will become.”
“So if I exercise my faith more, more of my
prayers will get answered?” I suggested.
“Not
quite,” said Dad. “ If you exercise your faith more, you will have stronger faith with which
to serve God.”
We
turned the corner into our street. I was beginning to think about lunch. But
Mum wasn’t.
Mum
said : “Look Chip, you seem to think faith is just a
matter of getting your prayers answered. Faith is much ,much
more than prayers. In fact, if your faith is strong, you will go on trusting
God’s even when your prayers do not seem to be answered. Faith is trusting God
to do the best thing for us and for others.”
“The
most faith-full prayer you can pray
is: Not my will but your will be done,
God. Now that’s
really praying in the name of Jesus. If you pray like that, your prayer
will always be answered.”
“Didn’t Jesus say something like that?” I
asked.
“He
sure did”, replied Mum.
“I
have faith”, said Lia. “I say that prayer. I say it
every Sunday. You know, in the Lord’s Prayer: Your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as in heaven. I must
have faith.”
Lidj grinned and gave Lia an
affectionate hug: “ So you do, little sister, so you
do.”
Then
it got freaky! In a moment Lidj seemed to become Wirake. I watched him put his arm around Lia and say: “Unless
you have faith like a little child, you shall not see the fullness of God’s
kingdom.”
Mum
and Dad, of course did not see it happen. But they heard it. The difference
was, they heard Lidj, I
heard and saw Wirake.
We
entered our drive. Dad added: “There is an ancient book which they found in
Egypt, called the Gospel of Thomas. In this book the author has Jesus saying
something like: “ The very old man will not hesitate to ask a
little child of seven about Life, and the old man will then live”.
“Does
it really say that?” said Mum. “I like it.”
“So
do I,” said Lia.
I
saw an opportunity not to be missed: “ An old man, huh? Does that mean even a very old bloke like you, Dad? Can you be
shown the way by a little child.?”
Mum
spoke before Dad could. She, spun around, rapped her knuckles on my knee and
exclaimed: “That’s enough of that old man
business, my boy! Your father’s not old. He’s just in his prime.”
“Yea,
yea , yea” I chortled.
“Truly
though,” added Mum, “Many adults have been shown the way to God’s kingdom by a
little child.”
In
my heart I knew she was right. Lia’s simple faith had
sometimes redirected me.
CHAPTER 26
WE GET TO KNOW
TAN’S FAMILY
My
friend Tan, from school, is one of the wisest kids I know.
I
was complaining one day about a bruise that the Abominable Alby
had given me, and the saw dust he had flicked in my eyes while we were doing
some woodwork in a craft lesson.
Tan
quietly said: “ Bruises? Dust in your eyes? It no
matter what happen you, Egg. What you then do with bad
stuff; this what really matter. The Lord Jesus can use
our pain. Change bitter water into wine, yes?”
There
was no doubt about it. Tan had taken the bad things that had hurt him and let
God use them to make goodness. I just complain about bruises and sawdust. Tan
lets God transform them; like turning water into wine.
I
was pleased that evening when my dad said: “Let’s ask Tan’s family over for a meal.What do you think?”
Mum
was a bit cautious; “I would like to Col but can they speak English? And what about the food? Ours might seem yuk to them.”
“No
worries,” said Dad. “Tan can translate. I will do a barbeque with kebabs and
shrimps if you fix rice and salads. They ‘ll
like that.”
“Okay,
let’s do it,” agreed Mum.
“Stand
back!” exclaimed Lidj “ for
my father the great chef. I think this calls for a lidjettery!”
In his big apron by the
fire
Poor Dad fell in and did
expire.
But what is really,
really sad,
all
the kebabs were burnt with Dad.
In
spite of Lidj’s gloomy rhyme, the BBQ was a fun time.
Tan’s mum spoke English quite well.. Tan’s dad knew
less English but was great at miming. He had us in fits. Tan’s little sister, Le’in, played with Lia -- they
know each other at school.
After
the meal our parents got into heavy talk; you know how adults go on. Dad said:
“I hope you have been well treated in Australia. You haven’t copped any ugly
racist things, have you?”
Tan’s
mum replied. “Don’t worry, we are okay. The nice Aussies are many more than the
bad ones. Besides, there were racists
back in my own country.”
They
spoke for a while about the terrible things that had been done to them before
they fled. With tears running down her cheeks, Tan’s mum
told of the death of her eldest
son and the bad way they had treated her husband. He shook his head slowly and
said: “Bad men. Bad, bad, bad men. Animal, many bad animal. Yes?”
He
took his wife’s hand and held it. She smiled through her tears and commented:
“The good Lord never promise we not have trouble. Bad things happen for many
believers. Trouble, yes; but Jesus say he will be with us to end of world. We
have come to the far end of world. He with us; much, much
with us.”
Her
sincere faith hushed us. No one spoke.. She looked at
us all, mistaking our silence for something that might have offended us. “What
have I said? Ah; end of world? Oh, I sorry. Australia end of world for us,
centre of world for you. Sorry.”
Both
Dad and Mum quickly assured her that we were not offended. Mum explained that
we had been
quiet because we were all very moved by the story she had told us.
“Moved?”
whispered Tan to me. “What moved mean?
Shifted? Like on furniture truck?”
Dad
heard the whisper, grinned and said: “ The word moved sometimes means our feelings” He
made circling movements over his belly. “ Our feelings
are stirred up and move around inside us when we hear all that you good people
have suffered. Also, our feelings are moved when we see how much you love and
trust the Lord Jesus. Okay?”
Tan’s
Dad understood. In what was perhaps the most adventurous statement he ever
tried in English he said. “We moov-ed. We too” He made circling movements over his
belly. “You believers like us; good. We much moov-ed. You welcome us,
bring us to house, eat with us, laugh with us. We moov-ed. Egg, er, Chip, he
good friend with Tan. Lia play with Le’in, happy. We happy. God good. God much, much good! Hallelujah!”
Now
Dad had tears in his eyes. “Hallelujah!” he said.
After
Tan’s family had returned home, Dad said to Mum: “It’s a funny thing, isn’t it
my love? I thought we were being generous by giving up a Saturday evening to
some newcomers.. But they gave us far more than we
gave them. I feel much richer through that family. It was as if we were
entertaining Christ himself.”
Mum
gave him a hug and said. “Maybe we were.”
At
that very moment I saw Wirake’s face reflected in the
shiny side of a stainless steel teapot. He turned, looked straight at me and
winked.
I
winked back and grinned. Dad noticed me and said: “What’s so funny? Admiring
your own reflection in the tea pot huh?”
“No,”
I replied. “But you wouldn’t believe me if I did tell you what I was looking
at. It’s out of this world”.
Wirake raised his eyebrows, winked again and faded away.
“You
are right!” Dad said with a laugh. “Maybe I wouldn’t believe you. With your
fertile imagination, God only knows what you might see in the shiny side of a
tea pot.”
“You’ve
never said a truer word,” I answered.
CHAPTER 27
DO YOU KNOW
WHAT I REALLY WANT?
For
months I wanted a new video game called Black
Hole Invaders, as advertised on telly. It looked great! My fingers itched
to get at it! A few kids at school had it. They reckoned it was the coolest
thing yet.
I
asked Mum and Dad could we have one, because all the other kids had one and we
are missing out.
“All the other kids?” asked Dad, with one
eyebrow lifted high.
“Well,
almost all. I reckon we should have one because....... it’s very educational You
know, all that scientific stuff about black holes out there in space. I should
keep up with knowledge, shouldn’t I Dad?”
Dad did not fall for
my educational bait. He said I could
certainly have the game, if....if...... I saved up my pocket money and bought
one myself.
It
took ages. But at last I became the proud owner of Black Hole Invaders. Wow! For two days they could hardly drag me
away from the computer. I was in love with it.
But
four days later, do you know what? I became bored with it. Bored! Things are like that, don’t you reckon?
My room is full of things which I
once thought I desperately wanted, yet which I rarely use now.
Black Hole Invaders was still okay. But
I no longer rushed home after school to play. It has not filled my whole life
with happiness. It is just another one of my many things.
Tonight,
immediately after I switched off the computer and stood up, Wirake
emerged from nowhere. “ Hi, Chip! Having fun?” he
asked.
“Sort of. Not fun
exactly. A bit of pleasure I suppose. But yes, I do like computer games. Do
you?”
“I
can take it or leave it,” he said.
“Yea. It can become boring!. But it
gives me a buzz when I set a new personal record.”
He
turned to the computer. “Maybe it’s time you set a new personal record in a
game you have not tried much.” He wrote something. “Now that’s more like it,”
he said as he grinned at me, and then disappeared into the screen! Those kind of tricks still make me gulp!
I
took a look at what he had written. “God
programmed us to love people and use things. We are unhappy when we try to love
things and use people.” He added a PS: “God’s
game, Chip. What’s your score?”
A
week later I did something I never thought I would do. I don’t know what got
into me. It just happened
I
was riding my bike down the valley track; beyond the bull ring. I skidded
around a bend and almost crashed into the Abominable Alby.
He was standing and looking sourly at his bike. I saw the cause; he had a flat
tyre.
He
glared at me; “Shut up, Chicken Egg! Don’t you laugh or I’ll belt you!”
I
wanted to laugh and ride on. After all, he couldn’t catch me now that he had a
puncture, could he? But something stopped me. “A flat, huh?”
I said.
Alby sneered : “What do you
think!”
Alby had neither a pump nor a puncture kit on his
bike. It was going to be a long, long,
hot, dusty walk home for the Abominable one! Now that would make me happy!
But
would it? In spite of my pleasure at seeing Alby in
trouble, something was niggling inside my head: “Love people..”
Before I knew what I was doing, I jumped off my bike and started to unbuckle my
puncture kit.
“We
had better fix that tube, hadn’t we? “ I said.
Alby looked at me in disbelief, licked his lips, kicked the
dust, looked at me again: “Whatya
up to, Egghead?” he asked.
I
opened the kit and handed him the tyre leavers: “Lets
get on with it”
We
worked together in silence. Fifteen minutes later the bike was fixed. Alby looked at me with puzzlement in his eye. Without
speaking, he got on his bike and peddled off up the track.
Now,
here is the oddest thing: I felt happy, deeply happy. It was as if I had given
away something special (my revenge on the Abominable Alby)
yet I had found happiness. I arrived home whistling like a canary.
“Someone
sounds in a good mood!” said Lidj as I entered the
kitchen.
“Why not? Life’s okay. Even sisters are okay, sometimes,” I
said.
Lidj screwed up her face and lidjetted:
Happy little Chip-brother
is in a splendid
mood,
Is it food or something other
that makes him feel
so good?
Maybe he’s just a
friendly pup,
maybe he is in
love?
Perhaps at last he’s
growing up?
If so,
I much approve.
I
grinned; “Good one, Lidj! You are not just a pretty
face.”
Lidj curtsied. “Oh, thank you, kind sir”, she said. After
pushing a carrot into my gaping mouth, she danced off to her room.
That
was a week ago. The amazing thing is that I still feel happy about helping Alby. Not that it has made much difference to him. He still
swaggers around the school ground as if he owns it.
Yet,
come to think of it, lately he has not actually waited at the corner to thump
me on my way home from school. Has he changed? Nah! A leopard does not change
its spots.
It’s
almost time for bed. After finishing my homework, I play ‘Black Hole Invaders. Not very exciting.
Life
is strange, isn’t it? I saved up for ages to buy this computer game, and now it
only it gives me a small pleasure. Yet I helped my enemy, the Abominable Alby, and that gave me a happiness which does not go away.
“God programmed us to love persons and use
things,” Wirake had written.
Love ? Had I loved the Abominable Alby
by helping him? Is that a part of the new game that Wirake
gives us to play?
What
do I really want?
CHAPTER 28
SMOOTHIES AND
DRAGONS
I
think I’m addicted to drinking banana smoothies!
Whenever
Ham and I go to our local shopping mall, I can’t resist buying one. Like last
Thursday. Ham drank his quickly, I drink mine very slowly. While I sipped he
went and looked in the toy and book shop.
I
was deeply absorbed in my smoothie, when Wirake came and plopped down opposite me. He was wearing a
revolting track suit of many bright colours, which could only have been bought
at some cheap bargain shop. He began drinking a smoothie
too.
“Hello
Joseph and dream coat!” I exclaimed. “No wonder your brothers got rid of you!”
He
stopped drinking. “Joseph huh! Glad you have read your
Old Testament, Chip.”
I
finished my drink, wiped froth from my mouth with the back of my hand and
answered: “The musical, actually. I was thinking of the musical: Joseph and his
Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.”
“Ah,
yes; musicals. They even had one about me. Do you know my favourite part of the
Joseph story ? It happens many years after his
brothers sold him as a slave. Joseph becomes Prime Minister of Egypt. He meets
up with his brothers and says: “You intended evil in what you did to me. But
God intended good.”
“How come?” I queried.
“Its like what happens every day, Chip. A heap of bad things
happen to good people. But God can takes the devil’s work and turn it to good.
He always wants to bring goodness out of badness.”
“Is
that so? Well, God’s got millions of bad situations to work on,” I said. “It
seems to me that the devil is winning hands down! You know, all those terrorist
bombs, bloody massacres, millions of starving people; and the bashing of old
people and little kids; you know? The telly is full of it! On top of all that
there is the Abominable Alby!”
“O
dear! You do sound gloomy.” He looked at me with great kindness in his eyes as
he had a few more sips of his smoothie.
“Can’t
avoid it,” I answered. “ We kids may not talk about it
much. But we have eyes and ears. The television does not hide much from us. We
try not to think about it, hoping it will go away. But it won’t. I don’t think
God wins very often.
“What
about Easter?” Wirake asked me.
“What
about it?” I answered.
“At
Easter each year, you and your family ( with about 800
million other Christians) celebrate God’s victory over evil and death. The victory was won. God has already won,
Chip.”
I
bit my lip, wondering whether I dare say what I was really thinking. It
suddenly exploded out of me “Rubbish! How can you sit there and say it! My eyes
and ears tell me evil is stronger!. I love you, Wirake, I love God. But how can you say that God has won?
Look at this world! It’s
a mess!”
He
was not angry with my outburst.. In fact, he nodded
his head in an understanding way.
“I
know it sometimes sounds all bad news,” he said. “It is hard to explain, but
the bottom line is good news.. With God you really are
on a winner.”
At
that point Ham headed back towards me. Wirake got up
and left.
“Who
was the weirdo you were talking to?” Ham asked
“Just
a bloke,” I said.
“Anyway”
said Ham, sorry I was so long. I got reading a peculiar story from a book in
the shop.”
“Any good?” I asked.
“Weird,
I’d say. It went something like this:
Once upon a time there was a young
Prince who went out to fight the wicked dragon which had been stomping around
the whole kingdom as if he owned it.
The Prince met the awful dragon in
the black forest. There was an incredible fight which lasted until the third
day. On the third morning he returned, wounded but full of happiness, saying
that he had defeated the dragon; the kingdom was going to be a much happier
place.
However, some of the dragon’s gang,
the dark knights, were still going around frightening folk, beating them up,
and stealing their food, and saying : “You’d better do
what we say; the dragon is still in charge”.
What’s more, every now and then the
people still heard the dragon roar in the black forest and they saw puffs of
fire and smoke. They would not believe that the dragon was defeated. Many of
them joined in doing wrong things, serving the dark knights.”
So the Prince led his close friends,
who were the light knights, back through the forest to the dragon’s lair. There
they saw the enormous monster, roaring and blowing out fire, but with his back broken , unable to walk or ever win another battle. The
prince told them not to fear the dragon any more. Their job now was to clean up
the mess that the dragon and the dark knights had mad;.
to mend the damage and heal the wounds
The white knights had a party. Their
Prince had won. The light knight went throughout the whole kingdom, telling the
good news of the Prince’s victory and caring for all those who had been hurt.
Once a week they held a party to celebrate the victory. They were winners for
sure! The final result was absolutely certain.”
“Peculiar
story, huh?” said Ham. “I’ve got the feeling it is supposed to tell me
something.”
“Yea,
I think you are right.” I said. Maybe it was meant for me.”
“Wotcha getting at? “ asked Ham.
“Just
personal sort of stuff. Nothing for you to worry about, “ I
replied.
“Suit
yourself,” Ham said. “Hey, there’s that clown you were
talking to. Look he doing tricks for the crowd over
there. Come on, lets join the fun.”
We
walked over and watched Wirake doing magic tricks. He
was good. Really good. He could make white doves
appear out of nowhere.
CHAPTER 29
GIFTS ARE
GIFTS
Maths. I love maths. Some kids
reckon I’m weird to like maths. But I
just do; it’s really interesting stuff.
Ham
likes geography. He is never more happy than when he
has a map in front of him. Tan is also good at maths, although he likes health
science best. Lidj is different again,
she’s great at learning languages. Lia tells me she
likes religious education best. I wonder what job each of us will have when we
grow up?
Although
Lidj likes learning German and Indonesian, she
struggles with maths. When I was telling Mum about my latest maths results, Lidj came up with this lidjeterry:
Good, better, best,
oh
what a pest,
when
Chip’s good is better
than
my very best!
On this occasion Mum tried her hand at a
rhyme:
Sad, bad
,and worse,
of
what a curse,
when
Lidj puts down herself
in
a lidjet verse.
“Point
made,” said Lidj. “I am grateful for my own gifts,
Mum. What’s more,. I’m actually proud of my little
brother. But don’t tell him; his head is big enough already.”
They
both grinned, hooked their little fingers and linked
them. I went off to my room.
Maths
is that it’s like a wonderworld where all the rules
stay the same. You know? Mathsworld is an invisible
world above and in and through everything. Wherever we are, the mathsworld is still with us. We can explore it as long as
we keep the rules. Break the rules and it becomes useless. I can do serious
stuff with this wonderworld or I can just play and
enjoy it.
Hey!
I have been raving on a bit, haven’t I?
I don’t want to brag but.(well,
maybe I do want to brag a tiny bit!) I recently won a prize for maths. It was
given by an insurance company to honour the four best primary school kids in
the whole of my State.
The
award was given to me at school. An important man, I think he was called the
Director of Education, came with the manager of the insurance company to hand
over the certificate and a cheque for $1,000.
Our
Principal made a speech ( a nice short one) the
insurance man made a speech ( too long!) and the Director gave a speech (
boringly long!).
I felt proud but a bit embarrassed. In his
speech, the Director said : “Chip is a very, very
gifted young man.” I blushed at such
praise. As the insurance bloke handed over the cheque, he said: “ It is a privilege to hand this cheque to a boy with such outstanding
gifts.” I blushed again. There was loud
applause. Once more I blushed.
Of
course, I had to try and make a speech. My mouth was dry and my knees were
knocking. I managed to mumble my thanks and say how pleased I was to have had
such good teachers at Tower Hill Primary.. More applause, more blushing.
I
was both glad and sorry when it was over. It was the closest to being famous
that I am ever likely to come. I was very pleased with myself.
That
night I was no sooner snuggled under my doona than my room filled with light.
It was him again, standing beside my bed.
“I
thought I had better come and see a very gifted boy,” he said softly. At that I
blushed with pleasure.
He
studied my blush and pursed his lips before saying: “ Chip,
why are you blushing?”
I
was puzzled: “Because you were praising me; of course.”
“Who
gave you any praise? I don’t recall that I praised you?”
“You
did. Like the insurance man and the Director; you said I am gifted.”
He
looked solemnly at me. “ You are a nitwit, Chip! I did
not praise you. They did not praise you. A gift is a gift. It is nothing to be proud of. Grateful, yes! Be grateful, but
never proud.”
I
had never thought about it like that.
He
continued: “ Look, Chip, if your Mum and Dad gave you
a new computer, and Ham said it was a great gift, would you believe Ham was
praising you?
I
shook my head.
“Gifts
are just that: gifts! We cannot earn them or buy them. So it is with your gift
for mathematics; God gave you a gift; you are gifted; it is not your doing but
God’s. Be grateful, use your gift, but don’t ever take credit for it.”
He
sat on my bed and put his hand on my shoulder; “Okay?”
“I
have been a dork, haven’t I?” I admitted.
“Yes, but no more a dork than lots of other
folk. They usually imagine that they should be praised for their gifts. Don’t
be too hard on yourself, Chip. I realise how you see a lot of silly pride on
television. They praise and even clap themselves; rarely give praise to God.”
“The
jockey did”, I said . “You know, after he won the
Melbourne Cup the other year;
Darren Beadman . He gave God the thanks
and praise. There’s also that South African cricketer, Jonty
Rhodes.”
“Two
in a million,” he said.” You can make it three in a million. Right?”
“I’ll
try, Wirake. I said. “Will you help me?”
He
nodded.
He
then did a unexpected thing. He lent over me and
kissed my forehead. “The peace of God be with you
Chip.” Then the light faded away and he
was gone.
CHAPTER 30
TRAPPED BY THE
ABOMINABLE ALBY
“Hey! Chicken Egg! I want ya!”
the Abominable Alby yelled at me.
I
was on my bike going down the valley track, he was puffing uphill. I did not
wait for an interview with my enemy. I took off like a rocket , pedals
whirling. He would have to stop and turn around, before he could chase me. I
had a good start.
Down
hill I plummeted, ploughing the dust on each bend. Behind me, I could hear Alby yelling. Gradually the yelling became louder and
louder. He was gaining on me. My heart was pounding, my breath was gasping.
The
next bend brought me to a branch track. Just as he was almost up to me I
swerved to my left down that track. It was too late for him to follow. He
speared on down the main track, braking and cursing. This time I had even more
start. I rode hard and felt less panic. I could not hear him. Whew!
What a relief..
There
was still no sound. I slowed down. Safe! The Abominable One had evidently given
up the chase.
About
two kilometres further on, the side track joined the main track. I was happily
relaxed as I joined it, whistling like a canary.
Not
for long. With a shout, Alby emerged from behind a
tree. I was ambushed. “Ya!
Chicken Egg! I want to say something to ya!”
Fear
drove my legs. I spurted off again with my enemy after me. The dust flew, his yells followed me, my mind frantically searched
for some trick that would let me elude him.
If only an adult would come along the track; a police officer or
something; even a stray dog to run in front of Alby’s
wheels to sent him flying.
No
such luck. He gained on me. Before long I felt a tug as his hand grasped the
back of my bicycle seat. “Got ya!” he yelled. We came to a stop.
He
was not even panting; he must be as strong as a bull.
“Now
that was a stupid thing to do, Chicken Egg. You did not really think ya could escape me, did ya? When
I said I wanted ya, I meant it. What I want I get.
Understand? Now I don’t know whether I will first have a word with ya or maybe knock ya around a bit
for starters. Huh? Ya deserve a thumping..”
I
steeled myself for a bashing, determined not to cry. I would not give him that
satisfaction.
“Look
at ya,” he mocked. “Skinny as a
ferret. Ya need toughening up, Chicken Egg.
Now that I look at ya, y’re hardly worth thumping.”
Then
to my utter surprise he grinned. Not a sneering grin; a real friendly sort of
grin. “Don’t dirty ya dacks,
kiddo. I’m not going to thump ya. I just wanted to
say something to ya. What I want to say is not easy.
I punch better than I talk.”
Now
wasn’t that the truth!
I
eyed him with amazement. Something weird was going on; I had never seen Alby like this. I swallowed and said: “How was I to know?
It’s no secret you hate my guts.”
“Yea. Well, I did. Ya’cn be a real
nerd ya know ? Good at ya school work and getting awards for maths. Maths! How ya can like it I don’t know! It’s crap!”
He
grinned and put his hand on my shoulder. I tried not to flinch. “Anyways, what
I wanted to say is that ya not a complete nerd! A
know-all at times, too goody-goody for my liking, a pain in the butt when you
go getting awards, but not the full nerd! What I mean is: thanks for helping me
that day; ya know? When I got that puncture? I was
sure y’d just ride by and let me walk home pushing me
bike. But ya didn’t.”
“I’ve
bin thinkun; any guy what does what you done is not all bad. Like, y’re
not just a pain in the butt, huh? But don’t expect me to be this friendly when
I’m with me gang; I got me reputatun to keep, right?”
Now
I was lost for words. How should I respond to this strange Alby
whom I have never seen before? I did not know this new Alby.
Awkwardly
I said. “ Yea, Alby. Okay.
Thanks for saying thanks. As you say, I’m not all nerd.”
Then
a thought hit me. It was my turn to grin. “Hey, I reckon you found it a lot
harder to say thanks to me than the day you fought that big High School kid,
right?”
He
just looked at me for a moment with a serious face. Then he laughed. “Yup. A lot harder. It was hell!
Look I gotta be goin. See ya Egg.” He mounted his bike and turned uphill.
That
was the first time he had called me Egg. You know, without the Chicken bit, you
know?
I
got on my bike and headed for home. As I did so, another cyclist caught up with
me. It Wirake again. “Going
far?” he asked.
“I’ve
already gone much further than I expected”, I replied. “ I
came down here hating Alby’s guts. I have travelled
such a long way that I am returning home half liking the guy.”
“That’s
what comes from too much praying, Chip. Keep at it and you will have no one
left to really hate. Just think what would happen to the world if everybody
caught the habit. It would turn things upside down.”
“Yes,
wouldn’t it, but,” I replied, “It would be a revolution..
I would like to see that!”
“You
are seeing it,” he said. “ It’s happening. Still a long way to go. Hang in there, Chip.”
We
rode on for a while without speaking. Then with a chuckle he said: “Wow, did
you flinch back there when I put my hand on your shoulder!”
“Your hand? You don’t mean..... it
couldn’t be...... you? Your hand? Alby? No!
!”
“Yes”
he said. “If I can touch people through the hand of one sinner, say a guy
called Chip, why can’t I touch a person through the hand of a sinner called Alby?
He
had me there. If he can use me, he can use anyone. Okay?
CHAPTER 31
WHAT
DIFFERENCE WILL IT MAKE?
Lia looked up from her plate, where she had been mixing her
serving of ice cream and fruit into a mush, and asked: “Daddy, who made God?”
Dad
looked startled. “Oh my! Ask your mum, Lia, she is better at big questions than I am.”
Mum
pulled a face at Dad: “Thanks a lot!” she said. He grinned.
“Well
then?” said Lia. “Come on; give me your answer Mum.
Who made God?”
Mum
and Dad again looked at each other. Lia wondered what
was going on.
“Why
are you two acting silly? Have I asked a naughty question, or something? Is it
a secret for grown-ups?”
Dad
quickly answered: “No Lia, not at all. Your mum and I
are being silly because we do not know the answer. Your question is too big for
us. It leaves us answerless.”
Mum
added: “You see, Lia, parents like to be able to
answer their children’s questions. It’s one of the things parents are for. But
who made God is a question that’s too large for our little, human brains. God
is too big for us. God just is!”
“Gazooks!” said Lia. “That’s
spooky! I wish I had not asked . But when I have been
around for ages and ages, like you and Dad, I’m going to have an answer.”
Dad
smiled kindly: “I wish you luck. When you have your answer, tell us, won’t you Lia?”
She
nodded, and returned to mushing up her food. Yuk! I don’t know how she can eat
it like that.
Lia’s question set me thinking again about how God got
started. At school the next day, I very casually (as if I was inquiring about a tennis score or what was in their sandwiches) put the
question to Tan and Ham. “Guys, who made God?”
Tan
stopped munching his pork roll and just looked at me, with the slightest of smiles on his face.
Ham scratched the left side of his head, laughed and knuckled me on the upper
arm before muttering: “ You must be kidding, right? “
I
shook my head. “No, I’m serious. Who made God? Where did God come from? There
must be somebody who knows the answer!”
“Why
ask me?“ replied Ham . “You are the church guy, not
me. Why don’t you ask your God? No don’t. I reckon the answer is so big that if
God told you, bang! Your pea-sized brain would blow up! Even my obviously
superior, king-sized brain could not contain the answer!”
I
punched him on the arm. “Superior? Yuk! Just listen to
the nerd will you Tan? He’s got a swollen head but its
not from brains!”
Tan
laughed with the soft laugh that is his specialty. He finished his pork roll
and wiped his fingers before continuing: “Serious talk, right? Like: what is emu? Dictionary: Emu is big, flightless
bird., three toed, runs fast, native to Australia. You
know?. A what you call it a
de..fin..it..ion?”
Ham
and I nodded.
“Okay.
What is God? Fool question.. Dictionary only for all made things. But God is not made; God
the only notmade.” He looked into my eyes: “You get it, Egg? God
is notmade,
that is part of what the word God
means. No beginning, no end. Holy, holy, holy! My answer is to kneel and
worship. Okay?”
This
guy Tan is for real! And smart! I again nodded and Ham scratched the side of
his head. For a while there was deep silence. The sound of the school bell
summoned us back to class.
Later
in the week, after school, I rode over to the lake. (We call it a lake;
actually it is not much more than a big pond. But it has some great yabbies in
it) There was a familiar guy there. He was feeding some coots and ducks with
bread.
“G’day,” I said. “What’ya
doing?” A silly
question. It was obvious what he was doing.
“And
good day to you, Chip,” he said as he turned around. “I’ve been expecting you.
What’s news?
“Nothing
much,” I said. “ Just normal stuff. You know. Except
there is something I’d like to ask you. We were talking about it at school
today; Ham, Tan and I.”
“ Ah,” he responded, “Lia’s
question, the big one.”
“Yep,”
I said. “I should have guessed you would already know about it. You don’t miss
much, do you?”
“Nope!”
he said, as he threw the last of his bread to the ducks.
“Well?”
I queried.
He
turned and looked at me: “Well what?”
“Stop
fooling around. You must know. Who made God?”
“Ah;
that. Let me ask you a question: “What difference will it make to the kind of
person you are, and the things you do, if I give you an answer to your question.?”
“What
do you mean,” I asked.
He
put his hand on my shoulder. “Chip. Will an answer to
your question make you happier, or more generous, or kinder to your sisters, or
more forgiving of Alby, or more thoughtful of your
parents, or a better friend to Ham and Tan? Will an answer cause you to give
more of your pocket money to starving people, or will you become more friendly
towards new kids at school, or will you stand up for me more bravely? What
difference will it make if I you could understand who made God?”
“I
don’t know,” I answered. “I really don’t know.”
He grinned that affectionate grin of his. “
Think about it.”
With
that he went to the edge of the pond, stepped on to the water, walked across to
the other side and disappeared among the trees.
As
I rode for home, I thought about what he asked : “What
difference will it make?” Maybe I should stick to questions that can make a
difference?
CHAPTER 32
WE HAVE SEEN
THE GLORY
“I’m
starving,” exclaimed Josie, “let’s stop and eat our lunch.”
“Me
too; I could eat a horse,” I cried.
Tan
laughed; a soft kindly laugh; “ You guys know nothing
what starving means.”
That
shut us up. We both knew Tan and his family had been through really bad times.
For Tan, really bad hunger and thirst was a terrible fact of life.
This
happened while my family, Josie’s and Tan’s we on a hike. We were walking about
20 kilometres along a national park track which met the sea from time to time.
We waited for our parents to catch up and begged to be allowed to stop near
this rocky point for lunch. The parents looked at watches and agreed.
I
always eat quickly. Today I ate like a Tasmanian devil..
My lunch was finished while the others had hardly started theirs.
“Can
I go and have a look at the sea around that rocky point?” I asked.
“Be
careful. Take 10 minutes, definitely no more,”
I
worked my way among the rocks until I was around the point. There was a small
bay and a sandy, horseshoe beach on the other side of the promontory. What I
saw there froze me in my steps. It was unreal!
He
was there. He sat on a rock, his feet in the sand. Crowded around him were
animals and birds. A mighty sea eagle perched on a rock near his left shoulder.
Beside it, without any sign of fear, sat some peaceful doves. A big grey
kangaroo stretched on its side on the sand, totally relaxed. A wombat and an
echidna looked up at Wirake. At his feet lay a dingo
with a young bandicoot resting comfortably between its front paws. A magpie sat
on his right shoulder with its head turned sideways. On his lap coiled a large
tiger snake , sharing the spot with a joey. There were heaps other birds and animals gathered
around, like a church congregation.
He
was speaking to them. I could not hear what he was saying but they seemed
intent on every word. The wombat nodded every now and then, as if he agreed.
The snake lifted up its head to get a better look at the speaker.
I
was spellbound. It was awesome, as if I was looking a long, long way into the
future? Or was it the past? Or was it both? Or was it into heaven? There also
seemed to be a light, a soft shimmering radiance flowing from Wirake, which embraced all the creatures.
As
I watched, a seal came lumbering up from the sea, taking its place among the
other creatures, its head cocked wisely on one side. A wallaby hopped across
the rocks and joined them. A crimson rosella flew down and sat on Wirake’s left wrist.
After
a while, Wirake stopped talking, turned around,
looked up at me, and beckoned. Slowly, afraid that my movement might spoil
things, I walked down to join them. The grey kangaroo shifted and made space
for me near Wirake’s feet. Humbly, I moved into the
gap and did the only thing I wanted to do: I knelt there at his feet.
For how long? I do not know. Maybe a few seconds, maybe
minutes. Time seemed to exist no longer. Rocking a little, with my head bowed,
I found myself whispering: “My Lord. My Lord. My Lord. My Lord and my God.”
He
gently reached a hand to my chin and turned my face up to his. His eyes were
pure love as he spoke: “Don’t be afraid; it is I.”
Was
I afraid? It is hard to describe. I was less afraid than I had ever been in my
whole life. yet I was also more afraid; kind of
overwhelmed. It was not a terror, but a holy kind of feeling made me shiver and
shake.
The
spell was broken by the sound of clambering feet and voices. Tan and Josie were
coming looking for me. Wirake smiled and nodded. I
stood up and climbed quickly up from the beach. Near the top of the rocks I
looked back. Wirake was no longer there. Most of the
animals had gone. I saw only a wombat waddling along the beach and the seal
snorting in the shallows.
Josie
and Tan emerged over the promontory. “Wow!” shouted Josie, “just look at that!
A fur seal! Wow!”
“And
there’s a wombat,” gasped Tan “Look at him walking like old fat man! You see,
Egg?”
I
joined them and looked back. “Yes, I sure did, I said. I really saw them.”
“Hey!
What have you done to you face?” asked Cuz 1. “It
looks kind of shiny. Are you sunburnt or something?”
That
surprised me. I had no idea that my face was shining.
I
said: “Err...excitement I reckon, at seeing wild creatures; and the exercise
from climbing up these rocks from the beach. It’s
great spot though, isn’t it? You know, I feel very close to God in places like
this.”
Tan
nodded and looked deep into my eyes as if he guessed something of my secret. I
smiled. He smiled.
Josie
said: “Come on, lets get back to the others. You are
going to get a big lecture, Cuz 2. You overstayed
your ten minutes by a lot.. Your dad is not in a good
mood.
She
was right. I copped the full blast of dad’s displeasure, which included doing
the dishes every night for a week. But any punishment was outweighed by my
remarkable experience; outweighed like the ocean outweighs a cup of water.
CHAPTER 33
A FRIEND TO
THE RESCUE
“Come
here you black runt, I want a word with you.”
I
ignored the speaker. Dad has taught us not to respond to racist taunts.
I
was in the newsagent’s shop, looking for a new folder for some school work. The
speaker was the owner who usually sits in his little office at the rear of the
shop. Today he was prowling around the shop.
His
fingers dug into my shoulder and he swung me around to face him.
“I’m
speaking to you darkie,” he snarled. “I’ve been watching out for the
shop-lifters and I reckon I got myself one. You and your lot have been costing
me a packet.”
I
felt very embarrassed. Other people in the shop turned to stare at me.
“Turn
out your pockets,” he ordered.
“You’ve
no right!” I said. “I have done nothing wrong. You cannot do this.”
“O
yes I can and I am!” he shouted. “I know about you lot. You are all the same.
Bludgers and thieves and mongrels! Turn out your pockets!” He dug his fingers
more deeply into my shoulder. With his other hand he began searching my
pockets.
Finding
nothing, he took my school bag, undid it and tipped the contents on the floor.
Seeing a new exercise book, he grabbed it and waved it at me: “Gotcha! I knew
you had been at it.”
“No,”
I answered, “you are wrong. I bought that last week.”
“O
yea? Sure! And I believe that pigs can fly!” he retorted.
By
now I was near to crying. Some of the people in the shop laughed scornfully.
I
suppressed my tears and said: “It’s true. I bought it last week. Look inside;
you’ll find work which I did last Wednesday.”
“Fair
enough’, commented a blond woman who had not joined in the laughter at my
expense.
“Give the kid a break. Take a look”. She came
up and stood beside me.
“Rubbish!”
replied the shop owner. “ You are one of those
do-gooders, I bet. Look, see for yourself!”
She
took the book and opened it. Five pages were already written in. The first page
had last Wednesday’s date on it.
“There
you are,” she said. “The kid is telling the truth. I reckon you owe this boy an
apology.”
“Apology?”
cried the shop owner. “No way! No apology to a
thieving black fella. They are trash, all of them. I bet the little crap stole
it last week.”
The
woman turned to me: “ Come on, she said, let’s leave
this shop. It has a smell about it which I don’t like at all. In fact it stinks
so badly that I’ll never shop here again.”
With her arm around me she ushered me from the shop.
Outside,
she smiled and said: “My name is Cynthia Fox. What’s your name, young man?”
“Chip. Chip Berry,” I replied.
‘Not
a son of Col and Marie Berry?”
I
nodded.
Now
she smiled broadly. “I know your Mum and Dad very well. You are a lucky boy to
have parents like them. Hey, Chip, what happened in that shop was disgusting.
It must have really frightened you. Try not to let racists like that idiot get
you down. Not every kupa is like that. Right?”
“I
know,” I said, grinning at her use of ‘kupa’, one of
the aboriginal words for white man. “Thanks. Thanks for coming to my rescue,
Mrs Fox. I’ll tell Mum and Dad how you saved me.”
I
watched her walk away. There was something familiar about her walk. You know, a
bit like Wirake?
As
I rode home, I reflected (like I have a million times) on the experience of
being a aborigine. I am proud to be a koori. Yet even
with the encouragement of great parents like Mum and Dad, it is still hard not
to get bitter.
There
is always somebody ready to criticise. I reckon that if you are a koori, you
don’t have to just behave as well as the white guys, but better. Even then,
plenty of people talk down at you, or treat you as if you are some kind of
exception.
Like
after I won the maths prize: a parent of one of the other kids congratulated me
and said: “Well done Chip. What a surprise! You have done wonderfully well;
especially considering your background.”
What a stupid thing to say! I consider my background
and I’m very proud of it.
It
is great that mum and dad gave us aboriginal names. Our names can be
abbreviated into English but at times it is good to write my name properly: Chipala Berri. Chipala means a
whistling duck and Berri is a kind of shrub that grows in Dad’s home country.
Maliandra, which means butterfly, suits my little sister Lia. Lidjet is nice too; it means
a pretty bird called a finch .My parents have animal names. Mum’s real name is
Mari, which is a word for wallaby, and Dad’s is Coolawin,
meaning big koala.
Sometimes
the Lord Jesus comes to me as an aborigine. That’s why I call him Wirake, an old aboriginal word that means friend or mate.
Jesus is my best friend, the only one who knows all my faults yet still loves
me; the mate who will never ( no matter what happens)
let me down.
Ham
and Tan don’t mind me being an aborigine, nor do most of the kids at school.. They are good mates. Only a few kids, like Alby and his mob, make things difficult for me.
When
mum gets abused, she says to us: “ If it was not for
the Lord Jesus I would have lost heart, years ago.”
Come
to think of it, what kind of a person would I be without the love of God in the
Lord Jesus Christ?