Recently Turkey commemorated a year since the coup attempt from 15 July 2016. Posters with images of the military stand off scene on the Istanbul First Bridge were displayed around the city as millions marched to the bridge to remember those who lost their lives that evening. I even know someone personally whose family member was killed that fateful night 1 year ago.

At that time (15 July 2016) I was still in England, clutching my newborn son and almost every fibre of my body did not want to move to Turkey. One year on and I am so glad that He made me brave. So glad that we moved to Istanbul.

10 months on living here and it has not all been easy. One year on from the event that threatened the peace of this nation, since the New Year circumstances have been much more peaceful and we are so thankful. One year on after settling our family into an entire new existence we have waded through homesickness and culture shock. However things that are so different about living in Istanbul from England have become normal for us.  Here’s some of our ‘New Normals’- celebrate with us!

• Takeaway Water: My three year old son asked me the other day where water came from. He interrupted my lengthy explanation about clouds, the sea, condensation and purification and told me that, no mummy, it comes from the man on the motorbike. And he is right, instead of drinking our water from the tap, we ring your local water man (ours lives on our street) and he motorbikes up the road with a huge bottle of water and hauls it up your stairs for you and delivers it to your door. All for about £1.70.

 

• We have two dogs and 8 cats ...that we co-care for with our street (in our house there is also a canary that likes to chirp along to Fall Out Boy and until recently  a very fat goldfish. RIP Kirmizi Balik).  Street cats and dogs here are immunised by the government and cared for by everyone. Our street dogs are Tank and Susie and they have become part of our family. When Susie was hit by a car the other week and our neighbour told us with tears in her eyes that in 10 mins the vets had taken her we shared her pain. Shared responsibility shared experiences, shared emotions. It is a new normal to care for street animals.

 

• A watery daily commute. Instead of the M62 I take the boat on my daily commute. Instead of blackbirds (and maybe rabbits) I see jellyfish and dolphins.

 

• Sleeping through the Call to Prayer from the Mosque. Hardly notice it anymore, it no longer wakes us or the kids up at night or dawn

 

• ‘Planimiz yok’. Throw your diary away! In order to meet up with a friend here, there’s ‘no plan’, it’s a spontaneous ‘what are you doing now? Come to the cafe’ text. I love it because it goes against every fibre of my English cultural self not to plan, plan plan. It’s now normal

 

• ‘Cok Tatli’ is what we hear a LOT. It means ‘so sweet’.  People here are always so sweet to your kids. It took some getting used to in the beginning because it’s so different from how we are in England but now it’s normal and we love it. I have noticed my older son becoming less shy with Turks who want to chat with him or play with him and instead of hiding behind me he now smiles and even replies in Turkish.

 

• We can speak Turkish!  After lots of hard work and determination we can speak a basic level the language! It’s now normal for us to be able to speak everyday Turkish to people and it is wonderful. Of course we have a long way to go but this is definitely worth celebrating!

 

• Peacestanbul.  Speaking as someone who heard and then saw the fall out of the December 2016  Besiktas football stadium bomb from her home, above everything all we are so so thankful for a peace in our beautiful city being our new normal. Please pray with us that it may continue.

​A man’s melodic voice crackles over a loud speaker, rising to a high pitched crescendo from the minaret of the local mosque. I jump. However no one else seems to notice in the Turkish cay (tea) house in which I am sitting to capture by pen, a snapshot of Istanbul, Turkey. Fast-paced conversations in Turkish continue around me without so much as a pause as the Call to Prayer continues to get louder. My hair sticks to my head in the balmy evening heat as I look out over the Bosphorus sea. This is Istanbul, a city unlike any other. East meets west here in this city of 17 million that straddles both the continent of Europe and Asia. Veiled women walk alongside transgender prostitutes down Istiklal Caddesi. Suited professors stride purposefully to take university lectures on literature, engineering and architecture.  Religious 'amcas' (uncles) emerge from the local mosque and slowly shuffle down to the local fish market. The distinct smell reaches me long before I arrive, assaulting my nostrils. As I draw nearer, fishy water spray hits my bare legs as vendors make an attempt at keeping their silver, scaly wares cool by throwing buckets of water over them. It would be refreshing but for its salty stagnant nature. Grilled over charcoal and served in fresh ekmek (bread) with salad, plenty of fresh parsley and a squeeze of lemon, a quick fish sandwich satisfies the growling in my stomach- hunger I didn't notice was there until I stopped.

This summarises Istanbul well. Many cities are known as the cities that don't stop. Or sleep. Istanbul does stop. But not for long. Time is precious here and time for loved ones and rest is rare, most working a 6 day week. Turks rise early and work hard. They break for lunch around noon and whether a housewife, office worker or vendor, the lokanta is a popular option - huge canteens where smiley-eyed chefs serve up ladles of hot fresh food from the kitchen. Trays of delicious cold mezze are laid out like a healthier vegetarian version of pick and mix. Rows of salads and cheeses, humous and dips adorn the counters. ‘Dolma’ means 'stuffed' and here you can find hearty hot dishes of dolma of many kinds. Aubergine, pepper, spinach or vine leaves, stuffed with spicy rice and meat. After lunch the city continues bustling. People usually finish work around 6, returning home for more cooking and family time; children staying up late to join in the fun. I can rarely keep the pace of late nights and early starts whilst in Istanbul and as soon as the sun rises on another hot day in the city, I wash away the dark circles under my eyes with 2 or more cups of sugary cay. However much I try, I cannot master the art of drinking the dark milk-less tea here in Istanbul without sugar. So I do as the Turks do - keep drinking cay -after stirring a sugar cube vigorously into it.

Cay here is the essence of conversation. As the cay flows so does chat. Empty cay glasses are immediately replenished.  It is a sign that you are welcomed, that your conversation is edifying.  I try my best to make heart connection with my broken Turkish - which I am slowly learning. Language differences are but a small barrier to heart connections. A smile, a gesture and a whole lot of wild gesticulating makes for a winsome combination. Turks patiently and kindly welcome me into their world. From students in cafes who want to practice their English to kind teyzes (aunties) on park benches chatting up my baby whilst nibbling sunflower seeds, Istanbul and I continue to get to know one another. 

This concrete jungle welcomes me and is so inclusive of families. My toddler and baby are constantly accommodated and worshipped as the little sultans I’m sure they sometimes imagine they are!  Safe conversation topics are family, food, health and education - politics not so much. Religion is a part of life but for some more than others. In most people I have met, Muslim or not there is a curious enquiry for truth, and discussions on spirituality flow.  Very quickly this city is getting under my skin. It has taken a long time to love it but now I do there is no letting it go. My friends here love hard and time is the most precious gift they offer me and my family. Those with a sweet tooth will do well here - just wander through the Spice bazaar and taste the different Turkish delight on offer - my personal favourite being the classic rose flavour. Pastry delights such as baklava give me a jarring afternoon kick alongside a devastatingly strong Turkish coffee - eat your java heart out triple-shot Americanos, you ain’t got nothing on the Turkish kahve. You can have a teyze even read the coffee dregs to tell your future if you so desire. For me, I don't know the future but I hope the future is bright for Istanbul.

Coffee can be your fuel for the wonderful shopping found here. From the glitzy Grand Bazaar, an undercover maze of vendors of jewellery and antiques, to the enormous designer malls easily accessible by the excellent Metro system Istanbul is a shopping heaven. My personal favourite are the small shops that line the 'kitchen streets' of each district, they sell absolutely everything- things you need and things you absolutely do not -  plastic bottomed rugs for family picnics, toy mop and buckets that will occupy my toddler for hours sloshing water around the balcony and beautiful red glass pomegranate ornaments.
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And now I will put down my pen. My cay glass is replenished as I nod my thanks. I still stick out like a sore thumb here as the foreigner that I am but I think this partially why Istanbul loves me. And I love you too, Istanbul. 
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Two weeks ago one of my kids had their first proper ‘accident’ (I’m so proud!?) It had been a lovely sunny family day in our city. We had met one of my friends and her toddler in the park. It was around 3 pm. My 2.5 year old had taken a big stick (branch?) up to the top of a slide. I took it from him before he poked someone else’s toddler’s eye out. 30 seconds later I saw him bounce headfirst down the stairs and land on his face. You know that few seconds of silence a child gives before they scream or don’t scream? It’s a window you can intercept sometimes with a distraction or comfort to divert the shock. Well this time there was no seconds silence and immediately along with the blood from his nose, sprung a piercing cry. After scooping him before I could even sit on a bench another family was mopping my son’s blood off my shirt. The mother gently pressed one to his nose and stopped the bleeding. An older lad of maybe 8 came and offered my toddler a cookie (which he crammed in his mouth straight away amid blood and sobs).

I kid you not within 1 minute the entire park was around our bench. My husband had to literally push his way through the throng of concerned kind people around my sobbing son. ‘Excuse me, excuse me, he’s my son’ he said in Turkish as the sea of people reluctantly parted to let him through. My new friend continued to slop the blood flowing from my son’s nose. I got lots and lots of advice as to what to do next, most people advising I took him to the hospital. After a while the sobs subsided, the bleeding stopped (and my son’s right eye began to disappear!) and we gathered our stuff to leave the park and make the short journey home. My friend that I had arranged to meet, sprinted up to me panting and carrying her 18 month old toddler and unbeknown to me she had run down the street to the local pharmacist and got us an ice pack and antiseptic cream! I was overwhelmed by her generosity and kindness. Later at home my boy fell asleep from the shock of it all (and he hadn’t napped that day!) and after some sofa-time with toast and Peppa Pig was soon happy again. My phone bleeped with my friend asking how he was.

If this incident had happened in England the heart would have been so much the same, everyone wanting to help but I can’t imagine the same amount of overt concern that I experienced here. By English standards it may have even been considered intrusive! A few months ago I might have found it so. But in that moment where I faced a crisis (all beit a small one) and I was a yabanci (a stranger) the people of this community drew so close. They drew me in as one of their own. The fact that we were English didn’t matter. The fact that our Turkish was broken didn’t matter. The love and kindess (and the cookie!) of the Turks last Saturday was unbelievable. I will never forget it and God please help me to learn from it. 

I left Grief behind at Ataturk airport on 12th September 2016. He was not welcome at the doors of our new apartment. That night, at 9pm (with a 3 hour time difference) my weary family (and screaming baby) struggled up 3 flights of stairs to our new apartment. We were greeted by the friendly faces of friends who nodded understandingly as we fumbled our way into the salon filled with boxes. I will never forget that first night. 12 suitcases. Sticky contact lenses. Overtired children. We had unintentionally landed on a bayram in Turkey - a religious holiday so everything took hours at the airport. I will never forget holding my yelling babe on my lap in the airport taxi as my mum calmly informed me that she thought we were going over the edge of a narrow road in our neighbourhood, into a ditch. I equally calmly (unlikely!) told her to close her eyes and pray! Needless to say Istanbullus are epic drivers and said ditch was skillfully avoided without so much as a cursory glance from our driver. Water was hastily drunk and pyjamas found and we tried to settle into our new beds. That first night was very very long. And to be honest, pretty awful. 

But it's not awful anymore. We are settling. We are enjoying living here. Over the last 3 and half months we have adjusted slowly to apartment living. I have adjusted to apartment parenting! To not having the convenience of a car. To having to carry a toddler, baby, buggy and shopping up 3 flights of stairs. I battled the temptation to compare. Oh beware, friends, the comparison game that kills all joy. I wanted to compare motherhood in the UK in comparison to here. No playgroups. No car seats. A  good friend visited us in November. He has 4 kids. He gets it. He told me that for every challenge comes a blessing. How right he was. When I get to the top of the stairs I thank God for the amazing view that is ours. Don't get this in Yorkshire! Another friend messaged me recently and told me to pray whilst tackling the stairs instead of complaining. I'm working on that. 

For the sake of keeping joy, we focus on what we do have not what we don't. As a mum I look to what does work for me and not what used to work in another completely different context. And I lower my expectations. I can't get everyone up and down from my apartment safely on my own. So unless I have my husband or mum to help, I don't. We stay in. And paint. Play with coloured rice. Bake. I know my sons will have a great childhood here. It will be different from the one they had in the UK. And dare I say it, some parts will be all the better for it. Let's take Christmas for example. 

I cannot tell you how precious Christmas was here. Some parts of it felt 'normal' because we were able to normalise with the appropriate paraphernalia. Certain things were available like Christmas trees and decorations, certain chocolates that you can stick on your face (they shall remain nameless) and of course the internet made purchases, films and music readily available to satisfy our every festive whim. Having said this howeverr, now I think about it, 'Home Alone' did not make it on once. Perhaps it's not too late to rectify this....Anyway. Being abroad meant we could start from scratch with Christmas- it truly is the most wonderful time of the year. We could create our own traditions. I could buy my kids the gifts I wanted not the ones (or the amount!) that capitalism deemed appropriate. Being away from all the adverts, special offers and sales meant that Christmas this year, aside from not being with the dear family and friends that we love, one of the best yet. Carols, games, gifts, food, friends. Yes but what did I miss the most I hear you ask? The cheese. Oh the cheese. 

In 3 weeks I will be boarding a plane on a one-way ticket with my family, with extra luggage for Istanbul. My walls are bare in my house here in England, and a friend came to pack and bubble wrap all the pictures and a select small collection of sentimentally important items, like our wedding photo album yesterday. What does it feel like, getting ready to leave my passport country, my home, my family and friends? This post is probably going to be more therapy for me than insight for you but I hope it will be a bit of both as to what the grief of leaving feels like and why it is actually a good thing, and a 'friend'.

Tonight is our leaving party. And to be honest a part of me is dreading it. I will be seeing dear faces that I love all in one room, that in effect I am saying goodbye to for the foreseeable future. Those who know me also know I am an emotional person, for which I do not apologise. However as I have grown, I have had to learn how to manage those emotions. The thing about Grief is that it's a bit like the children's book 'We're Going On a Bear Hunt' by Michael Rosenthall (I have a primary school teacher husband but the analogy comes from the brilliant book 'Looming Transitions- Starting and Finishing Well in Cross Cultural Service' by Amy Young). Like in the Bear Hunt book you can't go around/over/under certain terrains whilst looking for the bear. With our dear friend Grief it's the same. You can't go around Grief, or over it... you have to go through it (him?)! That's the only way to get to the other side of it.  

I think Grief is a bittersweet friend. Bear with me and I'll explain why. Some people are pre-grievers and some are post-grievers. I am definitely a pre-griever, which means I have been grieving the loss of my passport country and it's cultures and people and landscape, and even food, before I have left it. It's fair to say I have begin to 'feel' the pain of grieving 6 months ago and this has just continued to increase over the months. Heightened with all the hormonal/sleep deprived implications of having a baby, plus certain stressful headlines about the nation we are moving to, have made for a rather tumultuous summer. My anchor holds within the veil. Like King David from the Bible in his grief I keep landing on hope. I know that going through the Grief will bring me out into a place of hope. The Psalms have been such a comfort and a help to me. Such honesty I could identify with in certain ways. So why is grief a friend? Because going through it is the only way to get to your destination.  Like David I know that eventually I will be on the other side of it. I will be okay. I just want to thank my friends and family who have borne with me these last months. I know it is hard to know what to say when I am a teary wobbly mess! One friend even expressed this saying 'I don't know what to say. I want you to stay but I know you want to go so I am trying to tell you how great it's going to be!' Let me just say thank you for letting me be sad. Thank you for accepting our decision to go even if you would rather we didn't. Thank you for supporting us. Thank you for encouraging me and and giving me the pep talk I needed when I wavered.

Its funny the places that I have bumped into my good friend Grief- the other day it was in Asda. I was with 2 of my friends.I saw all the 'Back to School' stuff in the front of the shop. And bam! I smacked bang into Grief out of nowhere! Ouch. The pain physically shook my whole being as waves of sadness hit me and turned my stomach to jelly. Funny the effect of a new packet of Bic biros can have on someone about to be come a Third Culture Adult! Asda and new school things are a massive part of my culture that represented Britishness, my childhood, habits, and my job... my life! So weird and I was completely unprepared for it. You could have found me sobbing in the socks aisle of Asda in Wakefield! Perhaps its hilarious!?

Another time Grief popped up to surprise me was having dinner with a close friend. When she left my house we said 'this isn't goodbye. We are not going to have a long sad weepy goodbye, just a 'see you later'. No sooner had the door closed than the sobs emerged. She was the same in her car. She text me and told me. We all grieve in different ways. Some grieve after they arrive at their destination. Some before - like me. I make no apologies for the way I am grieving but I thank you for bearing with me. If you're coming to the party tonight I don't have any expectations I just want to enjoy spending time with you. My dear friend Grief is still paying me visits and the weirdest things can make him pop up to meet me. I am not always pleased to see him. But one day soon he will go away. I will do up my seat belt on the plane, take a deep breath and say 'enough now'. I will think 'I'm done with you Grief I have left you at airport security, you're not coming with us'. I will embrace the new adventure and enjoy the ride, the new home, friends and culture we have chose to love. And I will be okay. I will feel joy again.  My family will thrive in our new home. We will be a Third Culture Family where the 'Asda' culture will be a fond memory and comfort and as time goes on, we will find comfort and normality of our new home.

Forgive the silence on the blog from my end. Since finishing work on maternity leave, I have been the one to really starting clearing our home ready for the big move, while the hubby works hard at school. My hand physically aches from using my phone to run our Facebook selling group and hovering over the 'selling' live page of my e-Bay app. Our home is looking barer with blank walls... at least it is to me. You see, to the naked eye it looks no different because for each box of items I pass on or sell, a new bag of baby grows from a friend arrives. Having another little boy due in 3 weeks means a lot of recycle and reuse, but to be quite frank with you, getting rid of stuff, de-cluttering and packing, whilst simultaneously buying and borrowing baby paraphernalia has at times, been quite overwhelming. I am a list person. List of lists. Lists of things to achieve weekly. Monthly. Daily! I needed to let go of the lists- they were making me miserable. Instead, today, I'm pausing to reflect on what it means to pack up a life and move it to a completely new context. Oh and I'm making the most of this gorgeous sunshine by laundering the mountain of aforementioned baby paraphernalia. 

So I do feel like my whole life is for up for sale. When friends come for dinner I am literally like; 'if you see anything you like, ask me if you can have it' (Seriously. Do.) It is hard to know what to take and what to leave behind when we move to Istanbul, what to give away or even to ask friends to keep for us. When we got married 8 years ago, we didn't have a wedding list at John Lewis. We were Argos and Ikea all the way (mainly because I am quite clumsy so there really was no point us having nice matching crockery sets, it's the Greek in me, having a smashing time!). We always knew we end up abroad so on a subconscious level held back from splashing out on pretty things for the home. So when we finally get to our new apartment in Istanbul I cannot wait to furnish it and set up home for my family Turkish style. I can't quite imagine what it will look like. I know God has a perfect family apartment all waiting for us, but I cannot  see it yet! We will be sorting out a rental quite last minute. May I take this moment to indulge on what I HOPE it may be like... 

Actually I am so kidding, I long for open plan living, with space for the kiddoes to run about. Nothing cream coloured (aforementioned kiddoes!), a safe balcony and somewhere to hang our washable nappies. Yes we are going to continue them when we live in Istanbul as no one recycles ANYTHING in Turkey. I am hoping hanging freshly laundered reusable nappies will ease the pain of chucking plastic yoghurt pots and paper in the bin constantly. Seriously, it's painful. There's lots of little decisions to be made like this. Compromises to be made- 'shall we pay to ship x y and z or will it be cheaper to buy it all again when we're out there? What about the carbon footprint of flying out our crates, vs. the landfill issue of getting rid of items?' I'm sure we will make some mistakes along the way, but the main thing we are going with, is to go with as little as possible and start again. What I like, and value here, may change due to the culture, weather and style of the unique European/Asian style of Besiktas Istanbul. There are definitely a few things I am  sure we CANNOT get out in Istanbul. Limes for making any kind of Asian food. 'Sophie la Giraffe'. Crunchy peanut butter. Soap and glory products. Ah I hear you say; 'First World Problems'. Yep. You're right. End of. Again, I find myself working out in my head a balance of totally changing my lifestyle culture to working out what things actually we need to take to remind us of home. But then again, Istanbul is our future home... Only time will tell on this one. One thing is for sure, it has been surprisingly fun and freeing getting rid of everything. Exchanging physical clutter for spiritual gifts that will be far more useful. 

So, am I really selling my whole life? No. I am giving it freely. I am choosing to give my life for One who gave it all for me because I believe He is asking this of me and my family. What do I get in return? Well, we are going to get adventure that's for sure. Last night I couldn't sleep (heartburn AND a baby with hiccups at 37 weeks anyone?!) and was considering how EVERYTHING one day will pass way. The best quality crockery, my clothes, money, homes, everything. Nothing is eternal except us, Him, and His Word. So it is with great joy I sign off leaving you with this verse;

The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.
1 John 2:17

Thanks for reading. Any feedback or comments appreciated, still new to the blogging game, and things like getting my images to look neat and aligned! 

OK guys. Christmas is over and all through November we had a flurry of church visits and various other practical things to sort out for 2016... And now it IS 2016. So we dust ourselves off and address our long to-do list and in the process face within us the worries, anxieties, fears and listless other emotions that a move like this brings. The joys of Christmas and both of us having birthdays in January served to hone in our focus onto home and our friends and family. And it was with bitter-sweet joy we soaked up our last festive season here in England. Now we face the packing. I love stuff. Books, pretty clothes, funky accessories, pieces of art. Oh and this is not to mention all the paraphernalia that comes with having a toddler ( noisy V-Tech plastic beasts anyone?) and our bundle of joy due on the way later on in the year. And so we gotta sort though all our possessions in my 31 years and half them pretty much. Only take to Istanbul the essentials. I am sentimental person so getting rid of cards, journals and keep sakes is really hard. On the plus side if you're local keep your eyes peeled for news of clothes swap or book sale :)

 So yeah, I feel pretty overwhelmed when I dare to let my mind wander and consider all the packing we have to do before we go... I sometimes lie in bed and once I start thinking it's very hard to switch off. Jenn Johnson at the Bethel Wonder Conference shared last summer the story of how she wrote one of her famous songs 'God I look to You'. In a moment of complete overwhelmed state she was looking to her tasks and felt overwhelmed. When she looked at God first, that feeling leaves as we get His perspective. And the same has been for me but it is daily active choice to keep doing this. To face my baggage (metaphorically and literally!) to defeat the feeling of drowning at bay.

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So we're half way through our mini visit to Istanbul this half term. I am so relieved I still love it here! From the moment we see off our boiling hot (broken air-con?) Turkish Airlines flight, to this rare moment of tranquility sitting on a friends balcony (daddy and small one at the park), I have allowed the passionate, busy and absolutely unique spirit of this city back under my skin. We spent a day in Sultanahmet sight seeing, before heading to stay with friends who have let us invade their gorgeous tranquil apartment with our backpacks and rowdy 15 month old. 

Anyway. I'm under no illusions of the cultural challenges we will will face when we move here and how tough some of these adjustments will be. Here are my top 5...

1. There is no such thing as health and safety here- and no one to sue that cares! Seriously, the roads are constant trip hazards (great fun with a no- suspension buggy) and the balconies and stairwells are quite open and eye-watering high. Kids walk on the rooftops of their apartments here- I can't even look! So safety wise with kids- you just gotta be on it (and lock them up til they're 12?!).

2. On the subject of kids.... The Turks love them. Love. Them. We got shifted to the front of every queue at the airport to get through security the Turkish end all because little sir was airing his lungs! Cue also, a Turkish man picking up my son and walking off to his family to all cuddle, pinch his cheeks, sit on their laps and murmur in English 'are you coming home with me? Yes?' Cue nervous laughter from the tired, boiling hot (the broken air-con remember?!) British mother buried under luggage.

3. The food here is taken seriously. Meals are a social event of great honour as its the honour of the host to serve you as opposed to in England where it lies with the guests. There are restaurants every 10 yards, and food is good, nutritious and cheap. Cue pide, a type of meat and cheese pizza bread, dolmas, bulgar, kebabs, salads, plenty of ekmek (bread) and cay and a sweet to finish.

4. You gotta get used to hearing the Call to Prayer. 5 times a day this melodic hauntingly beautiful singing echoes (blares?!) put from the speakers in the nearest cami (mosque) towers near you. If there's one near your bedroom window at 5 am this is especially fun. The baby slept though it and so did hubs...

5. Sevgi. This means love in Turkish and when love is found here, it is real. People are incredibly loyal and the whole of Istanbul society works in friendship. If you need a job doing, no matter the cost you call your sisters friends brothers business. Our hotel on the first night got us his brothers taxi firm - classic example of this. There is no fake niceties here, no polite small talk about things that don't really matter. Turkish people want to know their new English friend so ask every question they want - even your age and what you earn.

So there you go, a few insights into our trip so far. We are having a great time and we love Turkey.

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'Sometimes the only pay-off for having any faith
Is when it's tested again and again everyday'...

'Immortals', Fall Out Boy
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In the run up to moving to Turkey I have a sort of mini bucket list of things to do with some of my closest friends in the UK. I've always been quite eclectic in my music taste but this year I've wanted to experience some more live music- Leeds is great for the music scene, from small intimate venues like The Hifi Club and then the fairly new Leeds 13.000 seater massive Leeds First Direct Arena. This where I got to see Fall Out Boy this weekend, bearing in mind I don't get out loads with a toddler at home. And it was brilliant , yes we were sat at the very top with the cheapest tickets, but the memories right back from university with 'Dance Dance' - listen to it here, to more recent beautiful melodies like Young Volcanoes, which the band performed stripped back and acoustic. Of course most of the crowd were teenagers, but it reminded me of the bands I used to like as a teenager, mostly punk rock and melodic rock, and its because the songs draw you into a special place. A place where your voice is heard as a young person, a place where you can express your longing for a life beyond this earthly one. A cry for faith in something or someone. As a youth worker, I applaud bands like Fall Out Boy for using their platform of fame and power to engage young people with that. One reason we go to enjoy music or the arts in general is because they transport us to a different place, they take us out of this broken world and away from our problems for one evening, of escapism into a world of unchained melodies and wishful lyrics. Peter Wentz the bands bassist took an opportunity to address this at the gig with the following parable...

Wentz addressed the brokenness of the world, and the bad news and pain we see on the news everyday. He then recalled a Cherokee parable of a conversation of a grandfather with his grandson.

An old Cherokee chief was teaching his grandson about life...

"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. 
"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

"One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego.

"The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. 

"This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, 
"Which wolf will win?"

The old chief simply replied, 
"The one you feed."

So what was the message the crowd took from Wentz? To be a better person? To surround yourself with goodness and positivity? I've found a few explanations on how it means we should take control of our thoughts and banish bad ones and just think good and positive thoughts, Well, both as a human and as a Christian I can confirm that is simply not that simple. We know that the sin and destruction in our world starts off as an evil thought from the evil wolf. The Bible has something to say about how we deal with these thoughts- 2 Corinthians 10:5 says;

5 We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

Sometimes I let negative thoughts into my mind. I get carried away by fear or feeling angry with someone. The great thing is with Christ is that God helps you 'take those thoughts captive'. John Piper says that we can cry out:  “Oh, God. I know that mere intellect will not dismantle the deeply rooted errors of my mind so I avail myself, I open myself, to the Holy Spirit and I seek your face.” When my thoughts tempt me to make bad decisions, or to be anxious or fearful I simply ask God to make my thoughts obedient to Jesus - that is he takes them away and my mind is renewed to be like his. And it is an ongoing process. 

So, overall, my evening of rock and roll, drew me closer to God, and was good for my faith. I always believe we can see the hand of God in everything, nature, business, the arts - after all it was all made by God for our enjoyment. I am thankful that Fall Out Boy 'went there' they dared to address the brokenness of the world and their role of making music to offer an escape for people and a way of expressing themselves. Of course  I believe the only true hope for mankind lies in faith in Jesus Christ. Wentz parable, although far from Biblical, told his young and impressionable audience, that to overcome evil, we merely don't feed the bad wolf in our minds. However I am reminded that we can only do that with the Holy Spirits power in our lives, and have our minds renewed like the Bible says.

What about you? How do you cope with negative thoughts

What bands remind you of your youth?

What song lyrics continue to move you to believe in a better place, whether here on earth or somewhere else?

Where does your hope lie for a better world in the midst of the chaos?

Thanks for reading and keep rocking on... Some keen groupie filmed some of the gig on Saturday so for a taster of Fall Out Boy Live in Leeds Oct 2015, have a look here.