Happy Valentines

"You´re not going to change the world!" The familiar voice of one of my biggest fans and greatest critics has stayed in my thoughts and the pages of this journal since the beginning of this trip. Although it has never been my intention to prove them wrong or to even formulate an answer for such a dead statement it has provoked thought, a lot of thought.

(an embarrassing hereditary dysfunction). TodayYet despite persecution and negativity this passion for change and vision for justice continues to grow. Unfortunately for me (and poor Lorna who is so apologetic to everyone for the hyperactivity of her fellow Soul Toucher) my excitement for this mission demonstrates itself in squeals (I know that everyone who has heard the dolphin like noise I make when hearing good news, meeting a good friend or even eating ice cream is remembering that squeal and thanking God I´m at the other side of the world right now!). So Anyway I scream and I squeeze my face is an exciting day although emotional: we are leaving our family and dear friends, Jimmy and Gladys; leaving New Zealand in pursuit of Argentina. So given the events one could anticipate a lot of squealing and face squeezing. However, quietly and discreetly (honest) tears drowned my excitement and with my head buried in my book I read an answer to the statement that has plagued me for so long: "You are not going to change the world”.

The book is called Red Moon Rising. In it Pete Grieg and Dave Roberts transcribe the tapestry of events that has changed their lives in the past decade; theirs and all those involved in the 24/7 prayer movement. In short they recognise the importance of prayer and consequently it's power. Boldly they set up a prayer room in the city of Chichester, England. It is somewhere people can go to pray 24/7. Now using means available to almost everyone in the world today, the worldwide web, they have orchestrated prayer rooms across the globe supporting one another and ministering to each other. Meaning that around the world as I write this and you read it people are praying. (Now I´d seriously encourage you to read the book because I do it little justice but just so as you know I´m not talking monastries or even churches I´m talking about rooms in the centre of cities, under pubs and clubs, between shops and schools, full of people like you and I - normal if you can call us that! - Men and women, young and old making time in their day to spend time with God. This book stresses the importance for us to make time. (Read Philippians 4:6 and Luke 18:7 Nehemiah 1:6)
Skipping back
Recently I replied to Stephen, one of my best friends. Some of you know him as Stephen James Bogle aka rock star from Erngath Road who doesn’t like onions. Although I didn't really want to discuss any of his questions in the public domain I figure some of you may have the same questions as he did, he just knows me well enough (and he’s brave enough) to ask them! He really asked about knowing your calling from God. This is something I struggled with for a long time…unnecessarily.

For years I was complacent; I knew enough of God or so I thought. Then increasingly my complacency became frustration. I was frustrated at what I saw. I was so tired of seeing all these people having bloomin breakthroughs and hearing from God that I started thinking that a lightening moment was what I needed. I would look at them and think, “well that’s great you were a nightmare and now God has saved you and you’re a different person. But what about the rest of us. What about those of us plodding on, trying to know God everyday! Trying to be better." As soon as I gave up trying to tag onto their journey I really started travelling on my own. Looking back I realise that what I was seeking an experience, not a relationship! An experience requires one moment and relationship require effort, perseverance and communication! Thankfully I know this now: “Come near to God and he will come near to you,” James 4:8. I mentioned that recently I read Red Moon Rising. It is in reading this book that I have become more confident (although trust me I have moments of extreme nervousness too) in the army that God is raising up. An army that, as Pete Grieg illustrates, is marching in its knees. I left Scotland thinking I was in the minority, that very few people my age craved God the way I do. Travelling the world I have seen that we are not. The world, because of media, Internet and prayer is getting smaller and the church is getting bigger.

Back in the airport
Excitedly I race from page to page. Reading testimonies of prayer rooms in Germany, Canada, China and the lives of clubbers being changed in Ibiza. I cry and cry, squeal and squeeze my face. Although apparently invisible my behaviour is being monitored by the gentleman manning the Cellar (a liqueur store in the airport) across from which the Soul Touchers have perched themselves, equipped with books, bibles and ice-coffees, everything we need to survive the four hour delay on our flight. If David (I´ve subsequently learned the name of the man from the Cellar) was to enquire about our choice of reading material he may think it coincidental (yes and slightly weird) that Lorna is engrossed in a book entitled Rebuilding the walls (by Stuart Bell about Ezra and Nehemiah) while I frantically highlight, underline and on occasion read aloud the events of 24/7. I however see it as a consequence of being in this generation. Pete Grieg writes: “Around the world tens of thousands of people are praying for the nations” RMR And therein lies what I´m getting to hett up about!

For months Lorna and I have envisaged a movement, a faceless army going out to serve these nations. Our trip started as a call, a kinda accident and so when I read that the international prayer movement known as 24/7 was started by all accounts in the same way: “with no plan, no budget and no expert (Albert does that sound familiar to the proposal we put to you?) it restored my faith. As did the reassurance that the workers really are being prepared. And so you are right. I am not going to change the world. I am just one face in a faceless army of people who are tired of the perpetual struggle to know their calling. It is clear: "To take the good news of Jesus to every culture, ushering in the Kingdom of Heaven." This is not an artificial call that you have to go away and struggle with. Yes there will be practicalities to consider: how exactly you can contribute. However the answers will remain a mystery until you make time for a serious relationship not just an experience.

Everyday is Carnival
14th Feb 08 Yes, again.
Today is groundhog day for us; because of the time difference all of the things we didn't do in New Zealand on the 14th we're getting a chance to do now here in Argentina. Primarily write to you!

Sitting beneath a large fan in our dear friends Tim and Carmen's apartment we enjoy flicking through photographs and filling them in on our trip since we left them in Mozambique. We're now staying with them (on the top floor) at the heart of Buenos Aires! Lorna and I both concentrating on the Spanish TV channel put on as background noise in an attempt to get us accustomed to the "Language of Love" having just flown to our final continent, South America!

Although still a long way from Bonny Bo´ness and Dunfy we never feel that far and especially now having met up with the Tollemaches (Tim and Carmen were our translators in Moz). Portuguese speaking, living in Argentina (a Spanish speaking country) Tim and Carmen have no problems now chatting to us in English. Within twenty minutes of arriving we have had our first candidate for English class - Renata Correria, one of Tim’s colleagues from work. Although initially blushing at the prospect of speaking to two “native English speakers” and insisting that her English was poor Renata soon relaxes, intuitively picking up on the Scottish accent.

Our mission was never to introduce South America to Bo'nessian English but we figured that it could catch on having been invited out with Renata and her friends later this week. Although starting slowly, stuttering our way through questions of family and where we are from we soon found ourselves engrossed in stories of voluntary work here in Argentina, Brazil and of course where we have been around the world. Talking to Renata we quickly discovered we had a lot more in common than age, we discovered a passion for serving. A Brazilian Chemical Engineer, also living here in Argentina, Renata tells us of her involvement in voluntary projects and how her company encourage her to serve by giving her paid leave, a strategy that enables employees to partake in social care in their own communities.

As she conversed in perfect English - muttering Portuguese occasionally towards Carmen who reassuringly corrected her - she confirmed what had been in my head the moment I cried in the airport - the world is getting smaller and the church is getting bigger. People now more than ever are willing and wanting to serve!

Lorna and I met in Peru so we both have experienced Latin culture before but as Carmen lead us through the crowded streets of Buenes Aires we soaked up a totally new atmosphere: Latin music blasting from store fronts was accompanied by young dancers entertaining the passer's by with traditional tango moves. Street artists composing stunning portraits and landscapes of Coredillera De Los Andes (Mountain Range) and Perito Moreno (Glacier) out of spray paint and an array of rusty instruments: knives, nail and scraps of cardboard. The shops a sea of red (not hopeless romantics it's just valentines day) there is music, beautiful people and Dulce de leche (ice cream) everywhere!

15/2/08: A walk (RUN!!) in the park.
One of the officers lay sleeping in the passenger seat his perfectly polished boots resting on the dash board, face buried beneath his helmet shading his eyes from the afternoon sun. Meanwhile his colleagues are sprawled along the roadside, some setting out barriers and others huddled together commenting on passers by, including the two in hot pink who had just come onto the scene - Soul Touch with their loyal companions (chaperone’s) Tim and Carmen. Ahead of us lies an ornate building “El Palacio Presidencial” (The White House of Argentina - except its pink).

So we took it all in, the new buildings, new faces and the redundant police. The only people more subdued than the sleeping officer were the protesters. Sitting peacefully under tarpaulin they created more posters to add to the array already displayed along the entrance gate to the government building.

Strangely I didn't notice any of this at first glance. She had shiny black pigtails held in place by pink feather pom pom bobbles matched by pink checked shorts, even more captivating than her bright outfit was her giggle - caused by her father placing pieces of bread around the youngsters toes, encouraging hundreds of pigeons to surround them.

As my camera zoomed in on the pair (oblivious to the world, the police and the political propaganda surrounding them) a scruffy figure appeared in the frame; then another; then another. Tracing the tiny figures with my lens I moved towards them, almost stumbling into the fountain where they were paddling.

"Can I take your picture?" I asked the first child and he smiled, bearing rows of tiny yellow teeth. The boy quickly gathered his brothers for a photo; then another; then another, striking poses then giggling hysterically at themselves on the shiny screen. It is a familiar scene for me. Children dressed in rags, bare torsos and outstretched hands, begging. Luckily Carmen was at hand and she bought all three ice-creams reminding me of a sermon I heard recently by Tony Compolo (Preacher). Compolo talked about how he felt sickened by girls as young as twelve selling themselves on the streets of Thailand (correct me if that was not the country please). The girls offered to spend the evening with him and so he agreed. He then proceeded to order every kind of ice-cream Sundae he could and bought a host of Disney movies for the girls to watch. It was not the evening the girls were expecting but he himself said that if he could do nothing more at least he could allow the children to be children for just one night. (Compolo has a huge ministry that actively works to break chains of injustice, providing homes for the homeless and care for the needy. However on this occasion he was simply entering the hotel when the girls approached him). Handing out the ice-cream I prayed to God that the children would one day receive all the goodness in their lives that God has intended for them.

Later that same evening Tim (he is a professional Marathon runner!!!!) and Carmen took us to the park where Tim and I would run while Lorna and Carmen walked (Lorna is still recovering from the blisters she got from a glacier trek in NZ- causing her to walk down a mountain in her stocking souls!). Within minutes Tim was way ahead and I proceeded to run at snails pace around the 1-mile track, over and over again. It really is a beautiful park, filled with families picnicking until late in the evening. People hire Rollerblades and bicycles; I could have spent the entire evening watching people bouncing off knee pads and each other.

On my final trip round the park, before I became completely exhausted, I decided to stop at a water fountain. Stumbling over to it I greeted a small family next to it, smiling at the smallest child trying to climb up to the water. Instinctively I picked the child up allowing him to get water to drink. As I held the child a severe stench clung to my dehydrated mouth. It was only when his mother and father started to laugh that I realised the child was not getting a drink. He was washing his hair in the fountain. Apologetically I sipped some water and continued running, thanking the family for allowing me to use the fountain. I turned back to see them washing their clothes and laughing, undisturbed by the ignorant runner.

These encounters remind me of the reality here, there and everywhere. They do not detract from the beauty of this place infact it was in these moments that the real beauty of life came through. In the moment of compassion when Carmen bought the children an ice-cream and when I lifted the child helping his mother wash his hair. They are small differences. Tiny infact but never insignificant! Small contributions towards are larger goal are what makes it complete!
Today we´re going to meet with the minister (Gerardo Muniello) from St Andrew´s church, the church we are visiting here. We pray we make a contribution to their ministry and that no matter how small or how big that it will be one of significance!

Love you all Erica xx

Hoddit and Doddit’s Bogus Adventure Continues!

As they sat watching the sunset over Lake Wanaka Hoddit and Doddit reminisced fondly about their adventures in New Zealand:

After waking in the back of the hatchback, in which they’d enjoyed a cosy night sleep under the stars (free of charge!) Doddit commented on the heat, “I’m biling in here. Are we on fire?”

“No not yet but we are in our sleeping bags; there are two of us in a very small vicinity and yes the sun is starting to cook us.
Frantically the two friends, having realised they should have parked in the shade, wrestled out of the cooking cocoons in the boot and hopped into the front seats.

The north island is extremely beautiful and so the two girls had no end of idyllic spots to choose from to enjoy breakfast. After stopping for some plastic appliances, muesli and their daily intake of fruit and veg: half a banana each, they parked up to have breakfast. “Eh we should maybe get off the main road before we eat this,” Hoddit (co pilot) suggested.

“Ok hold my bowl please, ” Doddit replied, passing Hoddit her bowl as she pressed the accelerator. “The cars not moving! The cars not moving. THE CAR IS NOT MOVING!” Doddit shouted elbowing the muesli out of Hoddit’s hands and into her lap. “There’s a red light on. What does that mean?”

Calmly (not) Hoddit assured her pilot that it was ok and to put down the plastic spoon; violence really was not necessary.

“It’s shaped like a battery,” Doddit’s nervous, irrational tone rose over U2’s rhythm guitars blarring out of the stereo. “Our battery it dead. it must be dead. We’re not moving!”

“Ok keep calm.” Hoddit offered a few words of wisdom as she too pondered over the red, battery shaped, light.

Staring blankly at the dashboard the girls quickly caught the attention of an innocent passer by entering his own vehicle on the opposite side of the road. Without hesitation Doddit rolled down the window. “Help! Our battery is dead.” She screamed over Bono!

The kind gentleman swaggered across road in typical Kiwi fashion: relaxed!!! Glancing expertly at the gearstick he droned “Yeah you’re in drive sweet-art You can’t start an automatic in drive you have to put it in PARK!” And with that their knight in shining Billabongs vanished into his 4 x 4. Scooping the muesli off the floor (what’s a little spilt milk between friends) the two girls
giggled and promised never to tell anyone about their embarrassing incident.

Later that afternoon as the girls meandered their way over some of New Zealand’s most stunning mountains, neither of them mentioning the mornings escapade, they sang their little hearts out, stopping spontaneously to take snaps. Having manipulated their way round countless bends, numerous corners and over multiple creeks they found themselves isolated on the top of a mountain. Mesmerised by the green valley below, carpeted by some of New Zealand’s largest Mauri trees, they caught glimpses of the beauty on camera. Stopping is something Hoddit and Doddit can cope with; starting however was becoming more of a bother. Cautiously checking the car was in PARK Doddit released the hand break.

“Why are we rolling back?” A hysterical passenger (Hoddit) enquired. Again, “why are we rolling back!?”

“We’re rolling back!” Doddit shouted back at her. “Why are we rolling back?” An (unusual) eerie silence filled the car. There was no noise as the car continued to make it’s own way back down the mountain it had climbed. Immediately checking the battery light was not red and she had moved park into drive Doddit continued in her bemused state. Luckily her co pilot was at hand. “The engine’s not on,” she gasped just in time! And the two went on their merry way rejoicing…
Now in the south Island with a slightly smaller unaccommodating vehicle the two hunted for somewhere to rest their pretty little heads for the night. Eventually they found a sign for cabins under $40 (bout 17 pounds) that slept two! Perfect they thought looking back at the empty road they had travelled and forward to the empty fuel tank. “I think we should stay here for the night.” They agreed.

Courteously taking the cabin key from the receptionist the girls listened intently to her directions around the campsite. With a map and key in hand they quickly found their cabin…or so they thought. Bounding up to the cabin door Doddit squealed with excitement, “I love this cabin. I can’t believe this is out cabin. I can’t believe we got all this for $40 and look there’s even a wee t.v!” Doddit chuckled peering through the french patio door that led to their outside decking area. “This is so lovely, ” she smiled, wondering why they were still standing on the wooden deck.
“Eh… I canny get this key to work,” Hoddit said perplexed, trying aggressively to fit the huge key into the tiny lock. “This looks like my garage key,” she commented.
“That’s great. It’ll maybe fit your garage cos it doesn’t fit this lock.” Doddit replied now trying the same huge key in the same tiny lock.

Puzzled the girls looked around counting the cabins. “Ok, we’re number four and this is definitely number four,” they worked out. Staring at the highlighted map the kind receptionist had given them they counted out the cabins.

“But these are the only cabins here.” Hoddit stated.

“Oh no they’re not,” Doddit slurred pointing to the SHEDS behind them. And so it was so that the girls bunked cosily for the night in their little green shed. Equipped with one socket, one bed and a huge infestation of sand flies Hoddit and Doddit giggled about their “luxury accommodation”, wondering which army camp they had rescued the sheds from and from which car boot sale the 50’s furniture had been salvaged.

So now Hoddit and Doddit are in Wanaka and the sun is almost set but they have time to share one last tale.

Most recently the girls have been enjoying the scenery and sights of the south island. Unlike the north the south is sporadically populated and townships or towns can be few and far between, as the girls quickly discovered. Even more uncommon to spot than a person is a gas station and so as night fell the girls travelled down the west coast looking out anxiously into the ocean for whales, famously seen in this part of the world. Once again the dashboard of their car flashed to their attention. This time the (green) light illuminating the tiny car was more recognisable and shaped like a petrol pump. The car rolled to a halt.

“Maybe we can flag down a lorry to give us petrol.” Doddit’s tiredness causing her delusional episodes, evidently.

“Or…we can phone the AA.” Hoddit replied, cell phone already pinned to her ear. “That’s why we paid insurance.

Within the hour Ron (this time their knight was more subtly dressed in luminous yellow attire sporting reflectors, resembling their very own walking talking traffic cone) was there to help the dafties in distress. Gratefully the girls got back into their mean machine (car) and drove the remainder of their journey into the nearest town…all two metres away! In their defence it was DARK!!

And so the drama continues. We continue to love life, love God and have a whole lot of laughs…usually at the most amusing people we’ve met: ourselves.

K so here’s the test: who’s who? Entries to soul_touch@yahoo.com

Love and blessings in abundance Hoddit and Doddit xxx

Sleepless Nights

Sleepless nights are becoming somewhat of a habit for us here in New Zealand. Unlike many travellers in this part of the world ours are not caused by late night partying on sandy beaches into the wee small hours (although we did have a wee party of our own today on a beach we had…all to ourselves; a blog in itself so I’ll leave that story for a rainy day). Last week’s sleep deprivation was caused by another type of party; known to thousands of Kiwi’s (New Zealander’s) as Parachute. It was one the most intense party I’ve ever been to for many reasons:

The festival was held in a place called Mystery Creek, Hamilton, NZ (a town near-I have no idea in which direction- Auckland) and for the remainder of the weekend, where we actually were and why the festival was infact called “Parachute” remained exactly that…a mystery.

For us the party began on Thursday, although the festival was not set to kick off until mid afternoon Friday, when some 35, 000 young people would flood onto the fields prepared for the festival. To define “young” most of them still had hair, of varying different (weird) styles sprayed, dyed and ruined all the colours of the rainbow (for those of you who knew me during my unfortunate spice girl wannabe days no cruel comparisons please-Beevie!). Having said that there were some oldies there…us for a start! (You read that it was Lorna’s birthday and that she is now officially 24, I repeat 24! Happy Birthday Chic!)

That evening Lorna and I quickly learned how to assemble a tent…then another tent…then another tent under the watchful eye and guidance of our mentor Amy! Working under star light- on this occasion hoddit and doddit were unusually ill-prepared forgetting not only our torches and mattresses but brains it would appear- we helped Matt and Amy put up tents. After kindly arranging volunteer positions for us in the Manna bookshop (selling Christian resources) Amy and Matt offered to give us a lift too. (The bookshop was in a village especially assembled or the event. The village itself was incredible, Ferris wheels, bungy ropes, hairdressers and temporary tattoo stalls where some of the things there to entertain people between listening to their favourite artists.)

Amy and Matt (two of the amazing leaders we met on SU camp a few weeks ago) told us a little about their church on the road trip to Hamilton. One of the things both Lorna and I picked up on was the number of youth they seemed to have in their youth group, “Yeah it’s amazing. There’s hundred’s of us.” Matt boasted, failing to mention that for the remainder of that evening we would be erecting the entire youth groups tents ready for them arriving, bright eyed and bushy tailed, Friday morning! Oh how we laughed…not! (Matt we did love it I’m just kidding it’s all about the banter!)

Therein lies the first of many sleepless nights. What followed was a weekend of amazing fun, intense sunshine and beginnings of new friendships…oh that ‘n’ a whole education on Christian music. What I have failed to mention is that the 35,000 people jumping up and down on Saturday night to Switch Foot (An American band seemingly very famous! Note to self never call them Sweet Feet or ask who they are to their faces or to any of their fans!) were there to worship God. Parachute is the biggest Christian music festival in the Southern Hemisphere and we believe it is the beginning of many to follow, maybe one day in Scotland!

Working in the book shop, attending worship lead by the likes of Parachute band, Leigh Nash (Lead singer- Sixpence None the Richer), Hillsong United and listening to sermons by some of our favourite speakers including: Tony Campolo, Reggie Dabbs and Charlotte Scanlon-Gambill were some of the things that we got up to that weekend. In truth we felt ridiculously blessed to be part of it all.

Yet the message the festival has left me with is the cause of yet another sleepless night: tonight. The buzz of seeing so many people, young and old, worshipping God blessed us. Yet the responsibility of knowing that it is just the beginning has stirred me to get out of bed and write to you. One of our favourite bands at the festival were called Israel and The New Bread- if you haven’t heard them make an effort to do so asap. Their rhythm is slightly Latino, their voices full gospel choir (African flavour) and their lyrics completely spirit filled jazz!- What more can I say I’ve never seen myself as a music critic but they sound delicious!

On Sunday night, as worship came to an end being lead by Israel and his band the thousands of voices sang together, “I am not forgotten”. Lorna and I are familiar with this song as we sang it repetitively with the children in Uganda. As we lifted our hands to the sky (Oh yes be afraid be very afraid the place was full of “those types” of Christians) I belted out those words; singing for each child in Africa and all those we have met around the world…”I am not forgotten. I am not forgotten. I am not forgotten”.

Tears of excitement fell as I looked around completely overcome by the lives of young people being changed all over New Zealand. Excitement rose within me: “If they can do it we can,” I thought. They may have more sheep than Scotland and the weather may be (a lot) better but on all accounts we’re pretty much the same: a nation of young people who crave for more: more of God!

Now for those of you who know me I’m a bit of a chanter and I love to belt out a good gospel song but as we sang those lyrics over and over and over they became more weighted. With the excitement and praise came responsibility. All around that stadium people lifted their hands proclaiming Jesus as their saviour. People from all walks of life, with different jobs, different levels of responsibility and at different stages of their journeys (I’m talking spirit…u…al!) and with different hairstyles. Some lifted their hands for the first time and some I’m sure for the hundredth as an act of worship.

As I clung to my sleeping bag in our tent that Sunday night (I’m telling you it may be hot in the day but it’s baltic at night even with a several hoodies and Bob Bonnar’s thermal socks on) I thought about our worship. So many people have referred to us (and all those that lift their hands during worship said “I do”!) as happy clappy Christians. Actually if truth be told it makes no difference if you lift your hands, clap your hands or sit on your hands it is what is in your heart during worship that I’m talking about. So if, metaphorically you life your hands, in other words you say God I want you in my life, I will go where you will lead me I’m talking to you and I include myself in this next statement…

God wants us to be more extravagant in our worship!

Over the course of the weekend we heard many speakers. Using different mediums, varying styles and a lot of individuality they presented one message. Now I’m not well enough known in the “church world” to talk to such peeps so I have no idea whether or not their sermons were orchestrated to compliment each others but I doubt very much if they were given that all of the speakers are super dooper busy, influential people who are literally from different sides of the globe. Their message was conclusive: We are a generation that has the means to worship with more than our songs. We can worship with our lives. I’ve mentioned Bono’s speech before in which he said that this generation will be remembered for what we did, or did not do to help in Africa.

Lorna and I have now come to Kaiteriteri, it’s far north in the South Island. Another indescribably beautiful part of NZ! Today we spent some hours kayaking to several idyllic secluded bays, where I beached (yip like a whale- well dolphin maybe-!The waves were rough- nauseating does little justice to the motion in my head !) and Lorna photographed our beautiful surroundings. As we took our kayak back to dry land we lay sleeping in the sand. It wasn’t long before we were wakened by children (and adults) on jet skies, surf boards, rubber rings. Fit men in speed boats pulling their wives and children screaming from rings tied onto ropes strung from the backs of their motor boats. Sounds like fun eh? Quite an entertaining way to spend a day on the beach I’m sure.

As I watched their fun the song of worship I had offered to God resonated again within me. “I am not forgotten. I am not forgotten. I am not forgotten”. Now it is not for me to make judgement on what people do for leisure activities or spend their money on. I’m sure if they’d offered me a shot on the jet ski I would have hopped on, infact just a couple of weeks ago Lorna and I were tobogganing from a speed boat very similar to the ones on the beach today with our friends in the North Island. What I’m saying is not that God doesn’t want you to have fun but he is crying out for justice. People are crying our for justice.

What has caused this sleepless night is an urgency. Perhaps it is a consequence of where we’ve been in previous months and the thought of where we are going (we leave here on the 14th of Feb for South America) but never the less it is a wake up call. A simple reminder that they are not waiting for Bono to make another great speech. The orphans are not waiting for politicians to change laws and bring about order. They are simply waiting for the church: the people who lift their hands and worship God with their music to start worshipping God with their lives.

Now I’m going to bed. I’m not going to sleep I’m sure but instead read more of my book: Red Moon Rising, one of the greatest books I’ve ever read. It’s not for the faint hearted. It’s passionate and even more straight talking than me. For those who do brave a read you will discover that what I’m saying is nothing new. I’m simply regurgitating what is being said in churches all around the world: this generation needs to rise up. The question is how many sermons do we need to hear, how many blogs do we need to read and how many children do we need to see die before we respond, extravagantly? In his book Pete Greig highlights the urgency and the responsibility of the church but more so he points out that it is not just in Africa. An English author he writes about suicide rates in Britain being at an all time high, anorexia and other self destructing diseases harming millions of young people everyday.

Now the last thing I want to do is cause you a sleepless night. It is never my intention to distress you but only to join you. Focusing on the power of prayer and the instrumental use of technology to facilitate prayer around the world Greig writes about a faceless army. I love that image. Of a church marching forward no one face standing out in the crowd. Everybody with a differnet roll in the army. For a moment at Parachute I stood with a tiny section of that army- a mere 35,000 strong. We were all worshipping but I can’t sleep for excitement; I’m imagining what justice will come about if our lives start to be worship full.

Love you all abundantly. Erica x