Home Sweet Hostel (week 4)

Okey dokey, okey dokey, I’ve got a lot to cover so fasten your seatbelts and please keep all personal belongings inside the cart at all times. In case of emergency, your nearest exit is through the door behind you.

So last week’s entry (one quarter down, three to go – what a stupid title) was kinda rushed. I don’t feel like I gave you a proper idea of the week and so I shall endeavour, dear reader, to do better this week. My excuse is that I was super freaking out about packing (it usually takes me about two weeks to pack for anything and so the prospect of only having a couple of days was clearly inhibiting my brain).

It’s 9.30pm, I’m sitting on the sundeck listening to some of the guys play guitar and soaking up the super creative vibes in the hope that my blog will be more interesting if they lend me some creativityism (yes, that was a blatant fish for compliments, and yes ‘creativityism’ is a real word). I can see some of the lights of the city and hear cars driving past (I can also see into the flats opposite and so I’m checking them out for sniper potential). Life is pretty sweet.

For some life isn’t sweet. Our justice movie this week was called Human Trafficking. No prizes for guessing what it’s about. It’s a dramatization, based on facts, about a global network of criminals who buy and sell women and children and then force them into prostitution. It follows the lives of a number of women and children who end up working in brothels.

One woman was tricked by her new boyfriend into a weekend abroad and then sold and taken to America where she is forced to become a prostitute. She is kept under control by threats to her daughter who waits at home for her to return.

A teenager from an eastern European country (can’t remember which one) enters a competition for a modelling contract in America. The winners are then taken to America where they are confronted with the fact that the competition was a front and instead they have to work in a brothel.

A 12-year-old American girl is on holiday in the Philippines when she is abducted and made to work in a brothel. A young Filipino girl in the same brothel was sold by her father as the family needed the money.

These are stories of how many women and children end up being trafficked. This is the reality of the twenty-first century. Selling people is the third most profitable criminal activity after drugs and arms dealing. It’s something that happens in all major cities.

This is a particularly relevant message to those in London - where major sporting events are increases in trafficking and prostitution follow. While we’ll be celebrating the Olympics (or complaining about how many millions over budget it was, overcrowding on public transport and general shambles of the whole thing) there’ll be hundreds of women in our city being raped multiple times a day so that someone can get richer.

Wanna take some action? Check the ‘Act’ pages on http://www.stopthetraffik.org And, of course some serious serious prayer is needed.

I was totally gonna start this entry with last weekend but clearly those creative vibes I’ve been soaking up had other ideas. So yeah, we’re back at the hostel after a few days outside the city. We stayed on a Marae (Maori meeting place) near Tauranga (a city about two hours from Auckland) for five-ish days (Friday to Wednesday). It was a super great few days, I even got used to the whole all 27 of us sleeping in the same room thing. I certainly now have new appreciation for our five person room at the hostel. To be honest, I don’t think I’d manage sleeping in a room by myself anymore, I totally won’t be able to handle being in a house by myself. I’ll have to switch to ‘Ninja mode’ to cope (wearing a balaclava and black clothes, patrolling the house with a Samurai sword and hiding behind the fridge. And yes I do realise that ninjas and Samurais are different but if I need to mix my martial arts in order to feel safe then I will).

So yeah we stayed in a super beautiful part of Welcome Bay (I think that’s what it’s called. I’m still just getting into cars and not really knowing where I’m going or how to get there. I mean the YWAM cars not randoms. Stop panicking Mum). The view from the Marae looked out across Welcome Bay and over to Mount Maunganui (which I climbed, but I’ll get to that later).

I need to tell you about a very strange thing happened over the few days we were there: I had an overwhelming compulsion to be outside. Yes, Rachel-who-loves-the-filth-and-grime-of-cities, wanted to be outside in the country, where the air is clean and the wildlife lives. I seriously don’t understand it but for that day every spare minute I had I spent outside. Maybe it was just my body telling me that I needed to top up my tan. Or maybe I’m being converted to the ways of the country. If it’s the later please pray for deliverance. Next thing you know I’ll be driving a tractor and not understanding why you don’t know the difference between hay and straw (apparently they’re different things). This reminds me of something super monumental that also happened this weekend; I saw my first New Zealand sheep. They looked just like the British ones (once I’m country I’ll probs be able to tell the difference).

So about that mountain - on Saturday we went to the coastal part of Tauranga where I climbed Mount Maunganui. An actual extinct volcano mountain. You know Mount Doom? Well it looked like that but more green and with sheep. So I can now add ‘experienced Kiwi mountain trekker’ to my list of accomplishments - professional tap dancer (I figure performing in two dance shows makes me professional), experienced kiwi bush trekker (we went on a death hike in the bush a couple of weeks ago) and interpretive triangle player -  take that Mr Darcy I am properly accomplished). The view from the summit was super awesome.

During the week we had lectures in the afternoon and in the mornings we went to the Tauranga House of Prayer (THOP). Every morning they have four hour prayer sessions. At first I was like ‘four hours? What am I gonna do for the other three hours and 50 minutes after I’ve prayed?’ But it was actually really cool. Having an allotted four hours to spend chilling with God was super awesome. I often feel that there’s so many things I say that I’ll pray about tomorrow because I don’t have the time now and so having four hours to sit and be still with God was super cool.

The thing (well there’s two actually) that struck me most from lectures last week was that everything is for God’s glory. Even Jesus coming to earth, dying and being resurrected was for the glorification of God. I don’t think I’d ever considered that Jesus died and was resurrected for God’s glory. It was all about me. And how he had saved me. There’s a verse that speaks of doing all things for the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10v13). That should be our ultimate purpose. I’m thinking, so that I don’t forget this, I’m gonna name my next pet Captain Glory Indiana Skywalker (Glory for short). For real. I just need to decide what animal to get. I’m thinking an Alpaca. Preferably a ginger one.

The other thing that really struck me this week was being reminded that God comes first, no matter what. In the context of social justice, no matter how important the cause what’s it really worth if we sacrifice our relationship with God in order to get there? If there’s no intimacy with God then we’re heading for disillusionment and burnout. In Matthew Jesus speaks of gaining the world but losing your soul (How do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul in the process? Matthew 16v36). I used to think that this only applied to material possessions and striving to achieve everything the world said you needed in order to be successful. I now realise that achieving all you want, whether for justice, work, church or family is of little consequence if at the end of it you’ve spent so little time with God that you no longer care about him.

Another thing I realised this week (it’s been a week of revelation) is that Kiwis celebrate Guy Fawkes Night (I almost super overused some exclamation points there but I thankfully caught myself just in time). If I’m honest (and I feel that I know you, o virtual reader, well enough to be honest) before I came I was more upset about the prospect of missing bonfire night than my family. I now see this as another reason to stay in New Zealand (Benjamin you can stop rejoicing because you still can’t have my room).

So there it is – the last week or so. I know I said I was gonna give you some info on South to-the Afr to-the Ica but if you’re not exhausted from reading this then I’m certainly exhausted from typing. Bonus points for reading this far, if you let me know I’ll send you a sheep or something.

P.S. Have you noted the use of ‘super’? It’s my work for the week. Everything here is super. Everyone says it, you should say it too. Here’s some examples: “Rach your blog is super awesome” (this would also be a fitting compliment should you so wish to boost my ego in such a way) or “Rach, I super miss you” (so I know that doesn’t sound like it should work but it’s totally what you’re thinking right now. I’m a psychologist don’t you know, I read minds).