Me and the World at 20: Christmas

This year I celebrated my first Christmas in the UK for 6 years. For those of you who don't know, my family has lived in Ukraine for the past five and a half years and I have either lived with them or visited them during the winter season. This summer they moved back to England and once again we had an English Christmas. This has been really exciting for me as it is actually a national holiday in the UK and not just a normal working day like in Ukraine.

As December 1st approached, my Christmas spirit began to spring up from where it had lain vacant all year long. My mum put together a homemade Advent calendar (which is the absolute best thing ever, btw) and I started to crochet snowflakes to decorate the house with. I envisioned for myself a wonderful Advent full of festive activities like baking cinnamon rolls, reading wintry folk tales and drinking mulled wine every night. 

This was me in my brain re. Xmas

However, as I floated into the second week of Advent my Christmas spirit had massively depleted and was almost all but gone. The balance in my bank account was getting smaller and I had to fit various Christmas dos around work and church stuff. 

Don't get me wrong - I love giving presents and dressing up to hang out with my friends. I do not resent Christmastime. But unlike when I was child, it is now my own responsibility to get myself from A to B. I must decide which Christmas parties to go to and how to get to them. I must now earn and spend my own money on presents and meals out. Due to the natural course of life, adulthood has made Christmas much more of an effort and I guess I wasn't expecting that :3

So somehow, in the midst of what is supposed to be a very joyous season, I began to get really down. I worried about my lack of money and messy time management. The winter blues didn't help either and the Christmassy activies I had fantasised about weren't really coming into action either which made me feel like a bit like a festive failure (which is pretty lame now that I come to think about it). Christmas suddenly became rather disappointing. My romantic notions of a wonderful Christmas where everyone gushes with incandescent joy weren't quite met by the expectations that Hallmark movies and John Lewis adverts have pushed since forever. 

As the 25th drew closer, the more pointless it all became and the sooner I wanted it all to be over. And then one night I opened my Bible to Matthew chapter 1. 

"This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was faithful to the law, and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly..."

I read on with new eyes and rediscovered The Christmas Story. Mary and Joseph became real people to me. Mary became more than just a good teenage virgin and Joseph more than a nice carpenter. The Bible revealed them as people who knew God and knew His voice when He called them. Mary rejoiced in her destiny to be the mother of the Saviour of the world and Joseph lead their family from Nazareth to Bethlehem to Egypt and back again according to God's instruction. These people were incredible.

But the best part about this story? It's not about Mary and Joseph. And it isn't just a story. The tale doesn't just end with "...and the wise men came and everyone lived happily ever after." No, The Christmas Story is in fact just the beginning of the great story of salvation for the world. Jesus came and experienced life as a human being. He was fully human and yet fully God at the same time. He willingly took on the vulnerability of a baby so that He could conntect us with our Father once again and walk with Him like Adam and Eve did before the Fall. 

Think for a moment of a Christmas void of stress. This would inevitably mean having a Christmas where no presents would need to be bought, no extravagant food made and no extra parties organised. While that sounds extremely plain and unexciting, instead just imagine taking the season to rest and remind each other of hope, joy and unconditional love. Wouldn't we be happier at Christmas? Like, truly happy?

The Bible says that true hope, joy and love can only really be found in a relationship with God.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead."  - I Peter 1:3

"Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, 'The Lord has done great things for them.' The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad."- Psalm 126:2-3 

"Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love." - I John 4:7-8

So what does Christmas mean to me now? I believe it's a time to reflect on and celebrate the good news of the Gospel and use the season to reach others with it. I will continue to enjoy festive food, music, parties and decorations but they won't hold the same weight that they did before. Christmas can only truly be a happy time if Jesus is at the centre because without Him there is no reason to celebrate Christmas, there is no hope and no light in the meager life that the world keeps dishing up. The best part is that the joy of a Jesus-centred Christmas is one that will continue into the new year and the rest of lives.

I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and wish you all the best in the year to come! Love, Laura x

Watching Rubgy: What goes through my mind

I don't really care much for rugby. Well, maybe a little. I care more about rugby than I do about football. When I hear someone say, "Ooh, the rugby's on!" I'm like"yay" but I don't actually think that much about it. In fact, I forget all about it until I happen to watch TV at a friend's or my boyfriend, Simeon, mentions it in passing.

A couple of Sundays ago I watched a match with Simeon and some of his friends. It was Australia v Scotland and everyone was super excited. The majority of the room were rooting for Scotland and Simeon in his beautiful contrary way was rooting for Australia. I mean, I can see where he's coming from - they do have sexy accents.

Anyway, upon walking in the lounge I realised how serious the viewing of this match was going to be. Everyone was huddled together on the various sofas and chairs watching the TV screen intently waiting for victorious results from their beloved Scotland (which is kind of funny because under any other circumstances the English would be eagerly awaiting the fall of their northerly neighbours). 

No one had their phones out, the snacks had barely been touched - this was serious business. I sat myself down on one of the sofas and, naturally, went straight for the snacks. The game was already underway and Scotland were doing quite well. 

I tried really hard to concentrate on what was going on. It was really difficult. As my eyes followed the little blue and yellow men on the screen, I was constantly distracted by the various beards and hairstyles they were sporting and by how their mashed up their faces were. I also found the enthusiastic fans quite fascinating - especially the guy with the very realistic kangaroo mask on. I imagine he must have been really hot in that mask what with all the jumping around and general excitement. Also, how could he even see anything through the mask...?

It looked a bit like this
 

I still wasn't really sure who I wanted to support. While Australia is a very cool country, I really felt for the Scots who apparently haven't won anything significant since the early 90s. Also the slightly camp referee, whom no one in the room seemed to like, was dishing out a lot of yellow cards to them and that made me feel even more for them. I'm very easily swayed by pity when it comes to choosing a team to support. 

Half-time came. Scotland was doing really well. I ate more snacks while I further contemplated who to support.

As the second half started and I tried to concentrate on what the little huddle of jerseys was actually doing, I began to wonder how on earth Britain always manages to get its butt whipped by the southern hemisphere teams. 

But seriously, why? What gene or training technique do they have that we don't? Cos I somehow doubt that it's their beautiful accents and radiant tans that win them one cup after another. Maybe it's their intake of exotic nutrients from the Pacific reefs or their ability to run on little water because they train in the desert. Maybe. You never know.

Of course this is just the picture of rugby that has been portrayed to me by the media and my peers. Maybe Britain doesn't suck, but from what I have seen and heard, we probably really do.

Another thing occurred to me as the teams battled it out: in rugby you have to be so okay with people grabbing your butt. I mean, imagine this: you're running along with the ball and BAM! a big dude and some of his buddies from the opposing team chuck themselves on you to get the ball. They grab your arms, your legs, your torso, your head, your... butt. How personal. How intimate. But I guess when your head's in the game it doesn't really matter. It's a contact sport after all.

My mind was brought back to the game when the tea coaster that had stuck itself to the bottom of my glass suddenly hit the nearby sideboard. The game was almost over and Scotland was doing really well - SO well in fact that I was quite sure they'd win it. 

Aaand then... they didn't. And that was it. Australia won by one point. 35-34. Everyone in the room (except Simeon) exhaled in defeat as the players on TV slapped each others' sweaty backs and cuddled their bros - Scotland to console one another and Australia to celebrate. 

What can I say? Rugby is intense. I may not have a clue what is going on, and what is going on may not hold my attention for very long, but it is still quite an entertaining game to watch.

My first day cleaning toilets

I am currently on my gap year and for the past month or so I have been searching for a job. When I realised that I wasn't going to get to the top by simply being incredibly awesome, I started looking for jobs the old-fashioned way and sent off a billion CVs to whatever job that kinda, maybe, sometimes floated my boat.

Looking for jobs is hard. It's exhausting. It's almost as hard as studying except you don't ever know what the result will be even if you're putting your all into it. But anyway, after all my effort, one finally came through. An agency found me a cleaning job and now I get dollar by cleaning the lav at a local primary school. Lush. 

Honestly though, I am actually very grateful for this job. Nothing else was coming up and the hours are a perfect 12 'til 4pm, so quite frankly there is nothing for me to complain about. I may be cleaning toilets but at least I'm not destitute.  

On Friday afternoon I walked up to the looming secondary school which stands in front of the primary school for all to see with it's great glass windows and blue paneled walls. I trotted in bowled over by the sheer enormity of the building, not really knowing what work awaited me. All I knew about the job was that I would be making things clean for 4 hours, 5 days a week for 2 weeks. 

The secondary school was like a futuristic Hogwats. There were 3 levels of suspended metal corridors and winding staircases placed around various circular room-pods that kept going up and up and up. Everything was super colourful and there were loads of motivational signs like

JK but that woulda been kewl

Anyway, so the boss lady met me. Her name was Susan*. She introduced me to some of her fellow cleaner ladies. They were pretty awesome - like a lovely little community of middle-aged women who cheerfully clean and complain together about all the mess the 'little darlings' make (cleaners' speak for children). Susan paired me with a chatty lady called Tina, whose apprentice I would be for the day, and then popped us over to the primary school building to get started.

What a primary school. It was like walking into IKEA: white wiggly walls and sleek floorboards. There were multi-coloured seats, shelves and tables everywhere and in the central corridor part of the ceiling was held up by a massive metal green stalk. It was something else. Not like the old, musty C of E primary school that I went to once upon a time with a scratched assembly floor and weirdly patterned curtains to divide classrooms. None of that. They had gone all out here.  

For the first three hours of my shift I weaved in and out of lines of small children, trying to keep up with Tina and her trolley as she toured me around the school, showing me the ropes. We emptied bins, cleaned loos, wiped down sinks and mirrors - oh, and we mopped up a lot stray wee. Kids, particularly boys, don't seem to realise that their pee belongs in the toilet pan and not on the seat or the floor. Tina's face was literally like this every time we found misdirected wee

One of my favourite things we did that day was go upstairs in the lift. When you select which floor you wish to go to, a woman with a Hispanic accent announces where you are going and when the doors are opening and closing. It's brilliant. In fact, it so brilliant that I might even consider it a perk and a reason to come back to work.

After 3 hours of work, Tina and I had a little break. I stood with her in the cleaning cupboard munching on a beautiful, long-awaited wrap that I had made for the lunch break that I found out doesn't exist. Tina had been good fun to walk around with but after our break, it was time to part ways. I was to go it alone for my last hour. 

It wasn't so bad. Even though I was still hungry and my hands were as dry as the Atacama desert due to overusing hand sanitizer, I mopped those floors and scrubbed those loos to shining perfection. It was a bit awkward trying to get round the premises with the trolley as I still hadn't quite mastered pushing it around without splashing water all over the place, but I got by.

All in all, it was a pretty good day. I learned some stuff about toilets, the staff at the school were really nice and the primary school headteacher even gave a warm welcome. As I go into my first full week of toilet cleaning, I will hold this dear phrase to heart:

*all names are changed so I don't lose my job for breaching rules about privacy and stuff 

Leaving Ukraine Behind

I have been going to Ukraine every major school holiday to see my family and to get my braces seen to this year. My family have been missionaries out in Ukraine for the past 5 and a half years and this August they moved back to UK to be closer to me and my brother (who has recently moved back to the UK as well) and for my younger sister's education. 

I have found it difficult going back and forth between England and Ukraine over the past year. Although my family were still living over there, I have moved on a lot since moving back to the UK in January 2014. I have found it difficult to constantly say hello and goodbye to people and not be around to build/carry on building relationships with them because I no longer live there. 

I knew that going to Ukraine this summer would be emotional. It would be my last trip to Ukraine for a long time and I knew that, although I may not have wanted to, I needed to make the most of it. The past few months I have been blocking out a lot of my emotion towards my life in Ukraine to make room for my settling in England.

I traveled to Ukraine overnight. I passed the time watching the new Partners in Crime series (EPIIIIIC - although I do prefer the 1983 version with Francesca Annis and James Warwick) and a bit of Fred and Ginger. 

The original duo. They are - how you say? - ze best.

I also made friends with a really lovely Norwegian guy who happened to be a Christian too! It was awesome. 

When I arrived in Ukraine I took a breather before getting on with saying goodbye. Between orthodontic appointments and packing up the house, I saw and said goodbye to a handful of special people who have been consistent friends during the past 5 and a half years in Ukraine. Some I hadn't seen for a while, but by taking time out to come and see me I could tell that they cared. It was very touching especially as I haven't been around much recently.

The tears first came when we said goodbye to Yann and Lucie's best mate. This guy has been like one of the family and saying goodbye to him made the move all the more real. 

I went to our church in the village with my parents for our last Sunday. It was very emotional. I haven't been to the church there since Christmas and it was difficult to see some of the people that have caused so much trouble and pain in the church (you can read more about that here). As we drove to the village that morning everything in me made me want to turn around and go back home, but I really felt God pushing me forwards and telling me to give it a chance.

Even though there has been so much conflict and disappointment in the church over the past 5 years, some of the damage has started to be resolved. One of the ladies who caused trouble repented before the whole church the Sunday before I came and the church family there has grown.

At the end of the service we all sat around a table drinking tea and eating cake and pizza (??). It was really lovely. I took one last wander around the building and the "manse" next door before we left for old time's sake. 

Afterwards I waited for my parents in the car. While I was waiting I took a good look at the street where our church is. The sky was blue, the sun was shining and all the grass and trees were nice and green from the summer showers. The street stretched right over the main road that runs through the village, down and on past the local shops, to the nursery and eventually the school. So many memories surfaced in those moments as I sat in the car: walking to school with a heavy heart wishing I was still in bed, trudging through the snow in my big boots and coat, marching with my class to the village memorial on May 1st and walking around the village on cool summer evenings with a burning desire to see the village come to Christ.

Me on my first day of school. Didn't know what to do with my
bouquet and at the end of the day I just handed it to a random
teacher although I was actually supposed to give it to my
 "homeroom" teacher :3 #awkward (2010)

I won't be seeing that village for a couple/few years now. In a way I'm glad... I hope that time will carry on its healing process and I can go back there one day and truly appreciate the village. 

The hardest part of leaving Ukraine was saying goodbye to my youth leaders and very dear friends, Tanya and Venya. They helped my family to pack up the house and get rid of things until the minute we left our town, Svitlovods'k. They have shown nothing but steadfast love to us and even though they have difficulties of their own, they have had open hearts and taken time to come alongside my family and help out on a personal level but also in ministry. As we drove away from Tanya and Venya's house we all welled up. I am going to miss them so much.

All in all, my last time in Ukraine (for now) was very positive. It's good to go back to England with the closure I have been anticipating and waiting for for quite a few months now. And bonus, I got my braces off!

Though I'll miss Ukraine and my friends there, I look forward to traveling and living in new places (Asia, I am coming!). 

Now to move forward where God has put me for the moment...

Me and the World At 19: The Aches and Pains of Church

If anyone is a church kid, it's me. Both my parents were church kids - my mother is a pastor's daughter and my dad is a deacon's son. I have been going to church literally since I was born and have partaken in all the churchy activities that have been available to me according to my age group.

However my church-kid experience has not been a typical one. I have been exposed to a variety of denominations and cultures and that has given me an interesting insight into the workings of the church both from a congregational side and a leadership side.

I was dedicated as a baby by my grandfather in the French Brethren Church Assembly my mum grew up in, and as my parents settled down in England we went to a variety of different churches from Baptist to Brethren to Pentecostal because of their moving around so much. We finally settled down in what is now my home church, Harbour Church, here in Folkestone. 

Being a kid at Harbour Church was great. I am so happy that I grew up with so many leaders around me that cared for my spiritual and emotional well-being and took the time to talk to me about Jesus and the Christian life.

I am a very deep thinker and the things of eternity and beyond the ordinary have always weighed heavily on my heart, even as a kid. God put people in my life who took the time to listen and answer the questions that have troubled my heart throughout the years and I am so grateful for all that positive input. 

However, despite having such a positive upbringing in church and a Christian family I have experienced a lot of hurt from the church. Not God - the church. 

When I was 14 God called my parents to be missionaries in Ukraine. My dad is Ukrainian and we went out there to pastor the church that my grandfather had planted before he moved to America with my grandma. 

The move changed everything. I suddenly went from being 'just another church kid' to being a pastor's daughter/missionary kid. I was thrown into a new culture with a new language and my family had a whole new set of responsibilities to fulfill. We had to rebuild the church's dilapidated buildings - it was a wreck when we arrived - and we tried to further the ministry. 

The outside of our church

The "main hall". The walls were really bare and we had to light a fire to keep  the room warm in winter. It would get so stuffy and it was tempting to fall  asleep during the service :3

The other end of the "main hall". Everyone sat really close together - something we had to get used to being English :)

As I reflect of the time I had in Ukraine before moving out from my parents', my heart aches and my eyes well with tears because those three and a half years were the hardest of my life.

The years I was supposed to be spending doing my GCSEs and getting ready for A-levels were instead spent trying to settle down into a community that didn't wholly accept us and a church that wanted to control my family. 

I could write an entire book about my negative experiences of church in Ukraine, there are so many. The sad part is that it wasn't just the one village church that hurt me and my family, but other churches in the town we lived in that showed some particularly bad attitudes regarding discipleship and living the Gospel. 

In the village church at first people welcomed my family and showed tremendous generosity and hospitality only to try and divide us as a family unit over the next couple of years. About two and a half years into my parents' term (they have been serving for just over 5 years now) our church experienced a split. We lost half our congregation and as a result vicious rumours about my dad spread like wildfire around the village. I lost a lot of weight and sleep due to that and have struggled to recover full health since that time. The split and the time leading up to it put an immense strain on my parents' marriage and our family relationships as a whole. 

During that time so much ugly truth about church members was uncovered: participation in the occult, emotional abuse, arm-twisting for finances, theft, broken-down marriages, fornication, discontent, bitterness... the list goes on.

We had put so much trust in the people of our church when we had first arrived. We thought they shared the same vision as us and that they were lapping up the Bible teaching we were giving only to find out the opposite was true. Our generosity and sincerity was used and abused countless times emotionally, financially and time-wise; these sacrifices often left our family wanting. 

I am amazed at how such a small group of people could pour so much poison into a church and village all in the name of Jesus. Now that hurts. Forget the abuse our family received. Jesus' holy name was used and abused in countless twisted and selfish ways and that is something that sickens me to the pit of my stomach. 

Regarding other churches, the hurt I have experienced has not always been as a result of being directly affected but by watching people I know being controlled in their life and financial choices by church leaders. Watching the way Christians treat each other has also been very angering and hurtful. One day people are “brothers and sisters in Christ” and the next they're stabbing each other in the back.

I have seen people work themselves into the ground out of guilt and the fear of not being busy enough. I have also watched friends of mine put their all into full-time ministry whilst holding full-time jobs with very minimal support of the church. This has messed up relationships between church leaders and created a lot of resentment.

I have seen the fruit of poor mentoring and misinformation: wandering away from Jesus, rampant gossip, adultery, occult practice and manipulation to name a few. I'm sad to say that I have known pastors to be some of the worst gossips. Many of the stories I have heard from others about church have shown a poor demonstration of the grace and compassion we as Christians should be known for.

I have seen the effects of Word of Faith Movement on the way church is done and the lives of Christians and non-Christians alike. The pursuit of wealth and spiritual highs have left many feeling guilty for not having enough faith and doubting if they are even saved. Christian have often used physical health and wealth to lure people into church when actually they should have just sat back and loved people, letting God do His amazing work in their hearts.

I have so much that I could be bitter about regarding the church. I know that all the things I have listed above are true in other parts of the world as much as in Ukraine. I also know that the church in Ukraine is not entirely bad and, I hope, the reality of the church there is far more positive than what I have personally experienced.

Despite what I have written, the Church is actually a wonderful thing. She is Jesus' Bride but due to people and their messed-up attitudes, the Bride is not all she could be. Praise God that: 1) He is not the Church and 2) He is continuously building His Church around the world, making her more and more perfect.

The Church has a unique opportunity to reach out to the world in an attitude of absolute love and humility. I really love the Church and feel so privileged to play a part in its growth as God calls me.

My testimony is one of someone who got hurt by the church in many ways but has continued to walk with God despite it. If you are someone who once did go to church but got hurt by it and left, can I challenge you to give it another go? I know it's painful but like I said before, God is not His church. God is constant, loving, accepting and healing and He never changes.

Let's end this with a happy family picture. The Trokhies in 2011. 

The World and Me at 19: Feminism

Recently I haven't done so much writing on my blog because when I have sat down to write it seems that more questions come to mind than conclusions. I like conclusions. I like knowing the answers to the questions in my mind and putting them into words.

However, that has not been the case of late, so I have decided to start putting forth my questions instead. After all, how on earth am I supposed to know all the answers and draw my final conclusions when my life has only just begun? 

Therefore please accept with grace this post of honesty and sincerity. I might say outrageous things and I may not produce any satisfactory conclusions at all, but I hope that by putting this out there I will encourage others to think and inspire them to seek out the answers to their questions.

So here we go.

Upon returning to the UK from Ukraine last year there were a few issues that I was confronted with pretty much immediately. Feminism was one of them. 

I have never been too fond of the word 'feminism' growing up. It's always had negative connotations and brought to mind images of women rioting in the streets topless, weird art featuring a lot of ovaries, man-haters and career-oriented, workaholic women who don't want children. 

I remember walking back home from the pub one night about a year ago with my best friend and listening as she recounted a conversation she had had with a girl that evening about feminism and I said that I didn't agree with it and thought it was silly. She asked why and while I stood by the thoughts I had just expressed, the question as to what feminism might actually be was planted in my mind. 

Not long after that conversation I started a section of my English A-level that was about language and gender and how language affects the way men and women perceive themselves and each other. Initially I was angry that I had to study this topic, seeing it as the education system trying to brainwash me into compromising my faith for liberal ideals.

But when I put my emotions aside and started talking about it with a couple of ladies at church my perspective changed. Why are women used as examples of physical and emotional weakness in language? As I persevered with my studies I noticed how the way people speak of each other affected their expectations of each gender and themselves as an individual. 

I think language is the key to any culture and the tongue expresses the mentalities people have within them. This of course affects society and therefore it became apparent to me that the way we talk about each gender does affect the way we view, not just women, but men too.  

Living in Ukraine for most of teenage years has deeply affected the way I perceive men and women. There men are very masculine and women are very feminine. There is not a lot of room for a middle ground. There also isn't a lot of room (in small towns and villages, anyway) for discussions regarding feminism.

As far as sexism is concerned in Ukraine, my experiences have shown that men have the upperhand in society. I have found a lot of men to be emotionally domineering and undermining of women and even in some cases physically.

However, I have also come across households where women are very domineering over men in a sly and manipulative way. The woman will still insist that the man is the head of the house while in reality she in complete control of everything he does, says and thinks. The Slavic mentality is very much one where each gender knows its place which is why women will still say they recognize a man's place even if they don't demonstrate it in the way they live. 

Male roles are also very distinct - the man drives, the man does the manual labour and the man is the main family protector and provider. Alcoholism is strife in Ukraine (and most of eastern Europe) so depending on whether or not this factor is present, these tend to be the general expectations of men. On the other hand, communism put a lot women to work outside of the home, although domestic chores are still very much the woman's domain. 

I feel very strongly against both of the above domineering approaches. While I still hold to what some might say is the traditional view of the man being the head of the house, I do not agree that that gives him the right to domineer over a woman and her nature. At the same time I do not agree that this gives women consent to take the opportunity to tread men down and suffocate their nature. 

Switching from Slavic culture into Western society than puts such a massive emphasis on gender equality and equal opportunities has turned out to be quite a shock and I have since been trying to figure out what I believe for myself. 

I have a very wonderful friend called Katy who is very passionate about justice for both men and women. She has sat down and listened to my various experiences like the ones written above and questions concerning feminism and what it is and she has given me some great insight into its importance. 

On Saturday I went to a discussion group at the Quarterhouse in Folkestone run by Katy and her friend Catherine called "Raising Children and Resisting Sexism" for International Women's Day. It's probably a bit odd that a 19 year old kid should want to go to something like that on a Saturday morning, but my logic was that one day I will be a parent and these are the issues that my generation will be talking about therefore it would be good to know what they are. 

There were a lot of interesting ideas thrown around and the atmosphere was one of free thought (wow, that does sound rather hippie-ish :3). I spoke to and listened to women (and men!) from different walks of life and discussed things such as how the toys children play with and the clothes they wear cause them to view themselves and other people. 

I came away from that discussion group with new insight. Like I said, I have not come to any conclusions yet but I am very happy to have spoken to people with different life experiences who feel passionate about positive parenting and improving our society.

So here are some of the questions that are swimming around in my head after all these experiences and discussions:

How does my faith in Jesus work with feminism in a 
way that does cause me to compromise my beliefs?

How can feminism as we know it work with 
other cultures apart from Western culture?

How does sexism and feminism affect me as 
an individual women and a child of God?

How do I discuss feminism with people 
who do not believe in God? 

Feminism is a very heavy topic. I still feel quite tentative to put things up about it on social media and to call myself a feminist. The term still makes me feel a little squeamish and I'm not quite sure where I stand in regards to my opinion on it.

However, like my friend Katy explained to me, feminism is a call for justice. It's not about hating men or women being better than men, but fighting for the right thing. 

God is a God of justice and love and as His follower justice and love for all should also be my mission.

So here it is: feminism and me at 19. I am still grasping the concept of what it is and how it works and I while I don't believe it to be the end-all to our global problems, I still want to find out more and fight for justice in this world. 

P.S. Happy international women's day! ✽

We Love Folkestone: FREE CANDY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Saturday a bunch of us from various youth groups in Folkestone got together to hand out free loveheart sweets in town centre in the build up for Valentine's Day just to show a bit of love. 

We got together before we went out and had a time of worship and prayer, preparing for what we going to do. We stuck various Scripture verses to each packet of sweets with messages of God's love and compassion to bless every person we gave the sweets to. 

"Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged,
for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I
will hold you up with my victorious right hand." - Is. 41:10

It was a bit scary I've gotta say. As we got ready to go out I was really psyching myself up and thinking, "Aw yeah, it's gonna be great! Gon' give people some sweets, some lurve!" But when it came to it I found myself meandering around town with a bunch of youth looking awkwardly at people and wondering, "Do they even want these sweets? Do they even like loveheart sweets?". 

After a bit of wondering around and overcoming some nervous giggles, we started giving the sweets out to people we passed in the street. Some people turned us down but the majority took the sweets.

I approached an elderly lady in the street asking if she'd like some free loveheart sweets and she very happily took them saying that they were her favourite. I offered her some more but she declined saying, "I shouldn't - I'm diabetic!". She also said how she was feeling really low that day and, by the look on her face, I could see that the sweets seemed to really cheer her up. I was very touched by that meeting. 

Simeon, a guy in our group, gave some sweets to a mother who was walking along with her child. She let us give her and her daughter some lovehearts and they were so grateful that the little girl gave Simeon a hug round the legs. It was so cute! The mother said to us before walking on that we had really made her day. 

At the bottom of town we have a butcher who sells meat from a one of those kiosk-vans every Thursday and Saturday and I decided to go up to him and give him some sweets. He looked at me at me funny and said "no, thank you" but his mate standing nearby said he'd have them. As I walked away the butcher cried after me, "'Ey! I want some too!". So we gave him some and would you believe it, he started reading the verse attached to sweets, Philippians 4:7, out loud through his microphone right in the middle of town.

 

There are so many other stories from that Saturday afternoon that I can't write them all down now. But these two things struck me as we handed those sweets out:

1. What we were doing was very unusual. We weren't trying to get anything from anyone, we just wanted to give - a very alien attitude in this world. 
2. What we were doing was really simple. We weren't doing anything particularly fancy. We were just strolling round town giving people a favourite sweet. We didn't get a stage up in town and hand out tracts or give away masses of free stuff. All we did was give something that would hopefully put a smile on people's faces and make them feel special. 

We didn't invite anyone to Church or particularly talk to them about Jesus. We just said that we were from a local youth club and wanted to show some love. However, about 250 people in Folkestone have now read a piece of the Bible and I find that to be very significant. If anything I hope that what we did on Saturday, and the things that WLF are going to do, will be a "link in the chain", as my grandparents say, to people experiencing God's love and salvation for themselves. 

WLF selfie!