Who is the lamb and who is the knife?

Today I picked my parents up from the airport, as they came home from whats called a discovery trip with Samaritans Purse, Operation Christmas Child (the shoebox thing, but not just for the tsunami like that one time that they were really badly organised by some other group and never got there) in Vietnam.

For those of you who don't know a) I went to Vietnam for four weeks in Nov/Dec 2008 and b) OCC is an amazing christian mission thing that allows a fantastic organisation to get a foot in the door and brighten up children's lives, as well as doing other amazing work in the communities.

So my dad showed me one of the videos of this little boy, who got a cat in the hat toy in his box and for some reason it really got to me. I guess cos its such a simple thing that we take so for granted, and yet it was so amazing and beautiful to this little boy, that it made the whole thing become that way.

It reminded me of when I was there, I played catch with this little girl at a school we visited really briefly, her name was chai and we played catch for like, 45 minutes until we all had to stop playing with the kiddies, give them the tennis balls and footies we'd been mucking around with and head off.

Sounds simple enough I guess, but our guide had to tell her about three times (in their language too) that it was for her before it really clicked properly, and the look on her face was simply incredible.

Another time we gave away a football and had to tell the young boy three times (this time with us attempting his language with help from the guide) before he realised, and he cried. Our guide told us that this was one of the poorest villages around, and that he had never had anything like it, and may never have if we hadn't given him it. Heartbreakingly beautiful.

And then there was slum survivor a while back, I came back shaken up, convicted and actually kinda disturbed, I cried myself to sleep that night thinking of all the people who never get out of that situation.

Part of my point here, is that I learn so slowly. I think part of me is afraid of being passionate, afraid of the type of deep convictions that simply must be acted upon. Ok, forget 'I think', I know.

I get so many opportunities to be truly ignited for a cause that matters, and often I am, but never for long enough to do anything about it, and I bet that is a huge reason behind it, fear of action and its repercussions, fear of...
Well the unknown I guess. What a silly thing to be afraid of...

Only two options, Love and Fear.
Only two results, Love and Fear
(I should memorise this lol)

I'm always harping on about love, blogging, writing, talking, painting, writing songs, drawing, wasting time not actually doing anything at all...

So how do I get past the fear?

No poem or song could put right what I got wrong

Titanic.

Widely known as the cheeriest movie ever.

-cough-

The first time I watched the titanic, I did not cry.

I did not cry when he dies, when they are freezing and dying and there seems to be no hope.

I did not cry when those left are saved.

I did not cry when it ends.

I am not even crying now, I am shuddering.

My poor affluent, spoiled, individualist little heart breaks, as that irish mother tells her children 'they'll get the first class people in the boats first and when it's our turn we'll be ready'

As the stone hearted first class mother says

'Will the lifeboats be seated according to class? I hope they aren't too crowded.
'Oh mother, shut up! Don't you understand? The water is freezing and there aren't enough boats. Not enough by half. Half the people on this ship are going to die.

'Not the better half.'

As the man hesitates, hesitates and then jumps into one of so few lifeboats and he sits there, trembling, he knows full well what he does. He knows that he has sacrificed their lives for his.

And I am sitting here, watching Jack freeze and Rose cry, as those in the boats flail around and listen to the cries for help slowly getting quieter, slowly fading away and my heart is breaking. Not because Kate Winslett just did her 'I'll never let go' bit.

Because I am Cal Hockley, pretending I am a childs last hope, to save myself, pretending to be good to save my own sorry skin.

I am Molly Brown, speaking up to little and too late, and sitting down.

I am saving my own skin.

Fifteen-hundred people went into the sea, when Titanic sank from under us. There were twenty boats floating nearby... and only one came back. One. Six were saved from the water, myself included. Six... out of fifteen-hundred. Afterward, the seven-hundred people in the boats had nothing to do but wait... wait to die... wait to live... wait for an absolution... that would never come.

I am the first class of the titanic, but goddamnit, I'm going back.

I'm going back to the scene of my crime and I'm going to make a difference.

But am I really?

Life is comfortable, poverty is far away...

I am too human.

But if I have to watch Titanic once a week and feel this agony all the time...

It's better than the regret of following the alternative.

I will not be those people...

Please god... help me to be better than I am, better than human.

take my heart, take my heart, kindle it with your heart.

take my heart, rekindle my heart.