No mere mortals

“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you may talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and corruption such as you now meet if at all only in a nightmare.

All day long we are in some degree helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in light of these overwhelming possibilities it is with awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendours."

I was watching a talk last night, and (like all good speakers) the speaker quoted CS Lewis. It was the quote above, which I've heard before, but once again the truth of it struck me.

That idea, that the people with whom we interact with each day are human beings and so have inherent worth, who will not die and cease to be but will live forever in either hell or heaven, gives new meaning and significance to our most mundane tasks.

Today I was especially thinking of the responsibility and significance of my interactions with my children. It's so easy to go about the activities of the day - the dressing, feeding, talking, hugging, nappy-changing, singing, disciplining, reading, playing, bathing - as a list of things to get done, until you put them to bed, hear their rhythmic breathing as they sleep and congratulate yourself on making it through another day, hopefully without too many tears shed from either them or you.

But these children that have been entrusted to me are no mere mortals. Each day, every day, I am in some way helping my children to their eternal destination. My children are immortal.

I thought about this idea this morning when my cup of tea got cold as I built J a fairly intricate train track, carefully positioned around the edge of our dining table so J can reach it but S isn't able to destroy it. I reminded myself of it when we went out to run some errands and I tried (not always successfully) to be patient with J as he stopped and bent to look down in every single puddle we passed (which was quite a few). I didn't think about it at the time, but I did later, when I was focusing on helping Joel to help me to mop the boys' bedroom floor and I suddenly realised S was sticking his hands in the mop bucket water. I definitely thought about it when S had such a nappy explosion that it resulted in a mid-afternoon bath.

We all know in theory that everything we do has significance, it all matters because people matter and have such worth and value. It's just easy to forget that in amongst the laundry and wondering what you are going to make for tea tonight because you have literally no ideas left and no inclination to wrangle children out of the door to go to the supermarket.

But our children do have eternal worth and significance. They will live forever. So will our spouses. So will that really annoying colleague and that friend who sometimes drives you up the wall. And that check out operator who you know is the slowest and inwardly sigh when you find yourself in their queue. And that person who walks down the street right in the middle of the pavement, oblivious to the fact that you are running late and that if they just walked on one side there would be plenty of space for you to get past with the pushchair but no they are going to walk down the centre as if following an invisible line.

No ordinary people, no mere mortals, but immortals who we interact with all day long. What a challenging thought.

Three months today

Three months today we'll be getting on a plane and heading back to the UK for a couple of months. 

Three months today we'll be saying goodbye to Istanbul as home - we'll be putting our furniture and possessions in storage and when we come back we will go immediately to a new city to live.

Three months today we'll be on our way back to see family and friends. J and S will get to spend time with grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins (most of whom haven't met S).

Three months today we'll have said goodbye to our friends here, who have been like family in many ways. J will have said goodbye to his gang of friends who all live very close to us and who he sees multiple times a week. 

Three months today we'll depart from our host country and arrive in our passport country. We're excited about spending time in the countryside and by the sea, in L's and my 'home country'. For J and S, they'll leave the only place they know of as home. 

Three months today we get to go back to the UK and eat fish and chips, sausage sandwiches and Indian takeaway. But we won't be able to buy açma or poğaca or take advantage of the summer peaches, melons and tomatoes that are produced here. 

We have a quarter of a year left in Istanbul and we want to make the most of that time and use our last few months well. At the same time, the changes that are coming are starting to loom in our minds (or mine at least). The emotions surrounding our leaving Istanbul, going back to the UK for a couple of months then moving to a new city are already a jumble, and that's inevitable I think. This is the reality of living in another country. There are going to be a mixture of emotions and that's okay. We can be sad about leaving the city, home and friends where we've lived for the last couple of years at the same time as looking forward to our time in the UK and our move to a different city. 

If you've ever seen it, these emotions are summed up perfectly in the Pixar film Inside Out. The film features five characters, each a different emotion, who live inside the mind of a girl called Riley and the film follows what happens as Riley moves across the country. It's going to be required viewing for my Third Culture Kid boys when they're a little older. I won't spoil the film - because if you haven't watched it, I really recommend it. But one of the reasons I loved the film was because it showed that happiness and sadness are not opposites of each other. Each has an important role to play. And so we're going to embrace all the emotions of the next few months.

And if all our emotions get the better of us at any point, there is always going to be a relevant quote from Inside Out:

"Crying helps me slow down and obsess over the weight of life's problems."

"This is crazy, this is crazy... No, Joy, be positive... I am POSITIVE this is crazy!"

"Oh no! These Facts and Opinions look so similar!... Don't worry about it. Happens all the time."

"On a scale of one to ten, I give this day an "F"."

"Oh, we're in a sadness spiral!"

Firm and secure

I read these words a couple of days ago and they jumped out at me from the passage:

"indeed, the world is established, firm and secure, 
Your throne was established long ago; you are from all eternity"

The world is established, firm and secure? I don't know about you, but my world does not seem very firm or secure. On a personal and family level, we're anticipating some major changes this year and there's a lot of uncertainty about how things will work out. And whichever country you live in, the world rarely seems firm or secure.

We also live in a country where the ground does not even seem firm or secure. I never really thought about what a privilege it was to live in a country where there is no imminent threat of a large scale natural disaster until I moved here. The North Anatolian Fault Line (NAFL) runs across the top of Turkey (and there's an East Anatolian Fault line running down the eastern edge of Turkey as well), making Turkey a 'seismically active area'. In other words, relatively speaking, there are a lot of earthquakes here. The NAFL is about 20km from Istanbul and a large magnitude earthquake is predicted to impact Istanbul in the coming years, although no one seems ready or able to define what is meant by the "coming years".

Some days I walk down narrow streets and look up at the tall, densely packed buildings around us and wonder where on earth we go if the ground starts shaking. I hope that we're not on a bridge if an earthquake comes. I hope that if an earthquake comes, we're all together as a family. I wonder what construction methods were used in building our flat, whether its relative age makes it more or less secure. Our earthquake grab bag sits easily accessible.

But this world that seems so fragile is established, firm and secure. And what makes it firm and secure? The answer is set out in the preceding verse (not quoted here) but the words that immediately follow hammer this truth home. The One who brought the universe into being, who is sovereign over all things, sits on his throne. And that throne was established long ago, because he has no beginning.

That is the only reason why this world is firm and secure. There will be no earthquake here without his permission, that is not under his control. There is nothing that will happen to us here that will not work out for our ultimate good. So we step out, we walk and run and jump on this volatile ground with complete confidence, that the eternal One is our refuge, that under his wings we find safety and shelter.

Çamlica Hill

On the other side of the Bosphorus is Çamlica Hill. To be precise, there are two Çamlica hills - Big Çamlica Hill and Little Çamlica Hill. The big hill is about 268m above sea level and looks out onto part of the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn. It's also one of the highest places in Istanbul and was on our list of places to visit here, so we headed there last Saturday morning.

Getting there was easier than we expected (a metro one stop then a short walk to a bus stop and a bus over the Bosphorus) and we enjoyed a quiet walk up the hill. When we reached the top, we were a little puzzled why it seemed so busy (at 10.30 in the morning, which is early for Istanbul on a Saturday!) when the path had been so quiet until we realised there was a big car park on the other side of the top of the hill and the municipal-run cafes at the top of the hill are obvious a favourite breakfast spot. So much so that the cafes were full, though there was plenty of space to sit outside on a rather windswept bench with a cup of tea and admire the view.

And despite the good vantage point and being able a lot more of Istanbul than can usually be seen, I realised actually how little, even of the European side, can be seen. There's so much more that spreads out inland that just fades into grey.

Looking out onto the Bosphorus from the Asian side

Our view from the top of the hill

Panorama view

And just in case you'd forgotten, there's a lot of Istanbul on the Asian side as well!

And we got home in time to get J to bed for a nap and 5 minutes before a thunderstorm - definitely a successful trip!