The muscle ache and language frustration may well be worth it

I've done an awful lot of looking back in this blog so far. Am I finding the present challenging? To be honest, yes, a little bit. But I guess the main reason for it, is that I love casting a retrospective eye on the chapters of my youth slotting seamlessly into my progressing biography and wondering what the next events to unfold in synchrony will be. I was chatting to a friend the other day about how I was already enjoying my course here (an MA in Religion, Science and Ethics: Philosophical Approaches), even more than I had enjoyed philosophy at King's (and I'm only 5 classes in). She remarked, that perhaps it was because I was meant to be here - what with God providing the finance and everything - it seems like He has ordained this next period of my life and given me the fervour for the course to accompany this divine pre-planning. I thought about her suggestion after our conversation. Was my being in London somehow arbitrary, or at least less important than my present phase? It occurred to me during this monologue, that had I not have studied in London, I would not have met Jeff and Becky, who had first posed the question of me coming to Holland; and what's more, it was at my church in London that I nurtured the desire to go overseas and plant churches... There's no point asking the 'What if?' questions. The only thing a guess-of-an-answer to those can render is, that things could have been rather different. Instead, I'm going to try and spend myself dreaming about the 'What next-s?' and how what I'm going through now, will in turn, become events transcendentally weaved into my future.

This helps me to get through the days when I am fed up. As much as I love Leiden, a gorgeous and very Dutch historic town with canals to divide driving lanes, in place of more typical white road markings, sometimes I am simply disenchanted with it all. The times the love is coldest is when I am stood in the foreign supermarket aisle staring longingly at the inconsequential cereal selection; if I stare forlornly and intensely enough, maybe just maybe I'll wish into existence a box of Branflakes! Not a tall order - it's not like I'm asking for Cinnamon Grahams or Crunchy Oat Bakes (two epic breakfast choices by the way). I settle heroically for their version of muesli without much foot-stamping and get it stuck in my teeth later that week. Living abroad can be tough. What I find perhaps even more testing is that people aren't English. Now, I know I'm living in a land that's not my own and you may say, that this was to be expected and I did know all along. But sometimes you can know something, without reallying knowing, if you know what I mean. It's like there are facts that loom above your head, but until you're plunged into that factual situation you don't digest them enough to be affected by them. I, of course, knew that English would not be as freely available here, or at least not perfect English, but until you're here mixing with new people, you just don't realise how tiring it is. For someone who craves more than anything authentic friendship, the underbelly of superficial people-pleasing conversation, I admit that I am struggling slightly with talk about how many pets I have, my siblings' names and the weather; but understanding and intimacy takes time.

Not quite on the brink of an existential crisis, I have over the last few weeks, been asking myself: 'What if I'm wrong? What if God didn't tell me to come here? What if God doesn't exist at all and you're following someone that's not there, pouring your life away for an imaginary friend? Your life would be so much easier at home with a breakfast comfort and your mother tongue - but you've done this to yourself.' Things could have been rather different it's true, but somehow as much as I doubt, and wonder if I'm being a fool - I struggle to really doubt you know. I guess the situation is parallel to the not knowing until you know. Some knowing is different to knowing. But this doubt of mine is somehow not the paramount, life-ruling kind of doubt, it's just negative questioning affirming the positive that I'm alive and thinking.

I spoke to my dad on the phone beyesterday (most languages I'm learning have a word for the day before yesterday - so I've made my own) to wish him a 'Happy Birthday'. More easily pleased, perhaps than I, he said his hearing my voice had made his day. He also reminded me that it was 6 years to the day since I had been baptised. Wow, so I've been doing this Jesus thing for that long. We should be pretty well acquainted by now, but I'm still getting to know Him and finding out He's certainly my most multi-faceted of friends. I don't regret for one moment following Him. My life would be seriously different by now. About 7 years ago, my sister's friend apparently predicted that I was going to be a teenage mum! Maybe that says something about who I was before I don't know. Personally I think it's a little unfounded - I might have been drinking stolen whiskey in my pushchair (apparently 11 is quite a young age to start drinking) but I certainly wasn't promiscuous. My brother occasionally informs me that he liked me better when I was a cannabis-(ab)user, but personally I'm glad to have put the red-eyes, munchies and paranoia behind me. Of course now in the midst of Holland's famous Coffee Shops, where cannabis, not coffee is on the menu, I am offered a legal ticket to highs, but I'm not yet convinced it's a place I want to revisit. I kind of like the crazy journey God has taken me on so far enough not to need enhancements.

I realise I've been slightly over-indulging myself with my introspective-blogging today, but I have one last thing to share before I put down the proverbial pen... I actually got in a rowing boat last night! After two unsuccessful attempts at getting out on the water, due to the clog-clad gales that so frequent this land, conditions were finally perfect. Rowing in a real boat is so much harder than rowing in the gym. It was a little difficult for me to take everything on board: what with being an English novice, sitting at the very back of the vessel away from the supervision of the cox, and trying to contain my excitement of being upon the water; yet processing Dutch instructions shouted at me, of which the sound vibrations got lost somewhere between the cox, the length of the boat, the splashing of oars and myself. And what's more there were two coaches cycling along beside the river, calling out at me to keep my arms straight, to clip my oar and to follow the rhythm of the girl in front. If I hadn't been in the boat, we'd have soared and it'd have been brilliant for the other girls. I'd been under the impression that I sucked. But on getting out of the boat a tired hour and a bit later, I was told that I was one of the best beginners they'd ever had and they couldn't believe how quickly I'd improved. I blushed as they congratulated everyone, 'especially Naomi' on our achievement. Haha, the muscle ache and language frustration may well be worth it!