The Best Policy

EDIT- 24/09/12  4 years after writing this post I read it and realize how risky this is. I'm getting into higher profile levels of ministry and I don't want this to be misconstrued or taken out of context. I'm meeting lots of new people who may read this blog at some stage. I'm not going to delete it but I do want to emphasize something. The battle that I describe here was a childhood problem. I am 30 years old now. I am excited and proud that God takes sinners and helps them to overcome even the most embarrassing of histories. God helped me to deal with this sin in my first year of Christianity, as an 18 year old. I entered adulthood having a radical turnaround and anyone who knows me now knows how much I value honesty and transparency. Sometimes my problem is being TOO honest and transparent now (not that I haven't told a 'white' lie over the last few years) ! HAHAHA! I think this post may be an example of that. So I just want to be careful but still leave my post as it is, as an 'honest' account of my journey. Enjoy. :)




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Some extraordinary things have happened in my life- things that often seem too far out to be true. I hope to share many of them with you. I am about to do the very thing you wouldn't do when trying to convince people of the extraordinary things that have happened to in your life- potentially take the first step in ruining my own credibility.

This is not the first time I have shared what I am about to tell you. I've told many people, as many as I needed to. I've preached about it publicly and had the message recorded on the net. My pastor has told a whole bunch of people from the pulpit about this openly, with me there. It's humiliating and embarrassing and the sort of thing that makes people bury their face in their hands and shake their head "aw geez Ben". Well that's what I would have expected people to do anyway. That's the way I thought about myself.

I was a chronic liar. From a young age, I felt compelled to tell people things about me that weren't true. I would tell people 'secrets' about stuff that made me look 'special'. Stupid, boastful stuff- like I was a rep cricket player or a state chess player and I didn't want anybody to know.

The main one I used to say was that I was a black belt (it later became a blue belt) in karate. I figured that this one would put doubts in people's minds who wanted to hurt me or bully me. A fringe benefit of a stupid boast. It didn't work! There was a particular kid when I was in Yr 2 that I told multitudes of lies to, that steadily got worse. I think his parents got wind of it and probably told him to stop hanging around me.

I went to 4 different primary schools and each time I would promise myself I wouldn't get myself entangled in stupid lies I had to maintain again. Sure enough I would fail and trap myself again. I very rarely got caught out, I can't think of one that I did. I didn't lie about others, I didn't want to hurt anyone- I just wanted people to believe that I was more than a fatherless loser . I wanted sympathy. I wanted respect. I wanted pride. I wanted positive attention. It was worse when I lied about personal deep stuff.

I thought I had rid myself of the karate lie when I got into high school until one guy came up and questioned me. "Hey Ben! I know a guy who knew you growing up- he said you were a blue belt in karate. Is that true?". Damn it! It followed me. I didn't deny it. I just told him to keep quiet and not tell anyone.

He told people.

And so I found myself saying it again- bluffing and making up details in a few instances.

I would have awkward conversations with a friend who really was doing karate (he's a black belt now) and I'd bluff my way through the lingo. (I was obsessed with karate as a kid- books, movies etc. I had tried white belt a number of times but didn't persist).

Most of the stuff I said were half-truths- things I could pull off, or thought could have been true. For example, I was a pretty good goalkeeper at soccer. I told people I used to play reps. They believed me because I played like it might have been true. The truth was I was asked to try out for the Sutherland rep team. I attended the first of two trials and was too sick with nervousness in the second. I didn't even keep- they already had several keepers. The list goes on.

I had a pretty good hold over it as I moved through my later years in high school. I had a couple of minor slip ups, but I pretty much stayed in maintenance mode. I lied my butt off once in Yr 12 to save myself getting bashed and losing my only allies- managing to convince everyone, but other than that..... All of this was a source of shame and stress for me.

But I tried to avoid it and not think about it as much as I could. Most people have a particular disdain for liars. I would cringe as people would talk with me about another particular friend who was a habitual liar behind her back- how they were catching her out in her lies and how 'sick' they thought she was.

At the end of Yr 11, Christmas 1998, I became a Christian- which is another story altogether. God had many things to deal with in my life and during 1999, one by one, he began to deal with them. He helped me stop binge drinking, quit smoking, begin to change my attitude towards schoolwork and discipline, stop swearing- many of the peripheral things.

Then the day came. I think I had been a Christian for about a year when God gently spoke to me in my bedroom. "It's time to deal with your lies Ben. It's time to tell everyone everything you have said and confess." You have to realize that there wasn't much more terrifying a prospect than that. I was happy to have swept this issue as far under the carpet as possible. Every time one of my old lies came up, I had become good at changing the subject as quickly as possible.

Many thoughts fly through your head at a time such as this. Panic, denial, negotiation etc.
God wasn't going to give me a chance to think about it too much- I became aware that there were people at my front door. It was night time, and who was standing there? A group of my best friends who I played sport with regularly, and had lied to the most. Obviously my heart skipped a beat. These were my Sri Lankan and Indian friends who usually had strict curfews. They were never allowed out at this time of night. But there they were. Just after God had spoken to me.

"Hi Ben. Our parents, for some reason, said we're allowed to stay out a little longer. So we thought we'd come and visit you!"

I gulped, tried to breathe and told them to wait just one minute while I had several , silent mini nervous breakdowns on the inside. I ran back to my room and mildly hyperventilated. I psyched myself up. "Alright God. I get it. I have to do it now." I returned to my friends and said we had to talk.

In the dark, we walked to and sat in a little enclosure next to Wattlegrove tennis courts. I was shaking like crazy and holding back tears. I found it really hard to get the words out. I was convinced they would hate me, be disgusted with me or disown me and I wouldn't have blamed them in the slightest. I told them that I would understand if they did that for what I was about to tell them. I was even more concerned that, as a new Christian, they would no longer believe anything I would say as I tried to share the love of Christ with them.

And so I began to confess everything, detail by painful detail, as I gauged their silent, shadowy outline and streetlight-lit faces. I especially watched my closest friend as he listened, mouth open. And so I did it. It all came out. And then there was silence.

"So do you hate me now?". They shook their heads in disbelief, so I interpreted that as a 'yes'.

But quite the opposite was true. I tear up even now as I remember what they said. They hugged me, laughed about it and comforted me. One even said they respected my belief in Christ even more, as that is what prompted me to come clean- a really hard thing to do.

But my closest friend still looked shocked. I paused for his final response which I thought wouldn't be too good.

"I can't believe that you thought a thing like that would affect our friendship" he finally said with as smile on his face.

The legends. Absolutely beautiful people (I have tears in my eyes as I write this). A weight lifted off me like you wouldn't believe. I felt instantly lighter.

I spoke to a number of other people after that with much the same response. It may not have been as big a deal to them as I thought. It even seems childish now as I look back so many years later. But it was huge then. For me. And who knows what might have happened, what burdens I would continue to live under, if God hadn't prompted me and orchestrated that meeting that night.

So I believe in God. And, as I've said, in this blog I want to share my life and thoughts with you. And some of these things are challenging and paradigm pounding. And so I've proceeded to do the opposite of worldly wisdom and tell you something that may very well make you hesitate to believe me. That's fine. I've discovered that risky faith-oriented actions are the way to go. Honesty really is the best policy, even if you seemingly take yourself down with it. God knows. He knows my heart inside out. And if I choose to do things His way, even if it hurts or seems stupid, things always work out for the best.

That's it from me tonight. Thanks for letting me continue to share a little of my story.

Flyman

EDIT- 24/09/12   I wrote this over 4 years ago now. Yesterday, I met my father and some extended family for the first time. While once I had no desire to meet him and he seemed little more than a hazy, ethereal 'character' my heart changed and I went to look for him. It was a beautiful experience and I feel nothing but a surprising love and compassion for him and I want to give their family a chance to tell their side of the story. I was more than surprised to find out how much Mum and I meant to them and how much they have thought of us over the last 30 years. I have a cousin NAMED after me!

Anyway, I remembered that I wrote this blogpost and realized how this perspective might hurt them. They have gone from being a vague, stranger-than-fiction part of my history to real flesh-and-blood people who have their own story to tell and deserve the grace, understanding and compassion of God. My Uncle Greg, who knew my father, pointed this out to me before I knew them (that it was harsh).

Having their life (given to me through the perhaps skewed and biased perspective of my family whose sole intention was to protect me and justify why I didn't have a father) splashed into the public like this may not be the best. However, I have decided not to remove this post, as I want it to remain as an accurate representation of my PERSPECTIVE and thoughts about the father's side of the family at that time. It's not necessarily the absolute truth, but what I had been led to believe at the time. It may also help the Mustafays understand where I was at and why I didn't pursue my father earlier. Now I know that they were counting the years waiting for me and my father was preparing himself to look for me as he thought I was old enough to be able to talk maturely about what happened. He knew and feared that I thought the worst of him. I never even considered this possibility. Thankfully, I found him first.

I am so glad I found him and instantly knew that I want not only him, but their whole family in my life. It's a sad fact that though my step-dad embraced me, I feel that my step-dad's side of the family never truly accepted me. They were always warm towards me, but the feeling was I was still somewhat of a passenger in Mum and Dad's new family. I feel nothing bad towards the Skinners and understand their perspective. My Step-Father has been incredible towards me and offered to adopt me. I said no and I never understood why. But I did take his last name.

Anyway, here is the blogpost I wrote 4 years ago. It comes from a different place and a different heart and I hope this edit helps make things clearer.

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On a more serious note, I'd like to continue to introduce myself and let you in on my story a little.

I don't know my real Dad, or my 'sperm donor' as my Mum would call him. He's out there somewhere, if he's still alive. I only know a few details about him. One of my uncles, when I was a baby, burnt all the photos my Mum had of him, with good intentions apparently. I once saw a hazy picture of him in a newspaper article when I was a teenager. I was into adulthood by the time my Grandfather one day nonchalantly informed me he had a photo of him with my Mum and proceeded to go and fetch it from his study. He placed it in my hands and I was gobsmacked. He seemed to not realize the gravity of his actions. I stared at it for hours. I now have it framed. It's small, about 5cm x 5cm, but it's something. I'd never really felt anything for him until then.

Mum fell pregnant with me when she was 19. She was swept of her feet by a charismatic, charming and exciting guy (by her description) in his mid-twenties. His first line to my Mum was 'hello beautiful' said in a deep, breathy, smooth tone, saturated in an exotic European accent. I know this because when Mum told me, I tried to impersonate it, and she was freaked out about how accurate it was. He was from a family of gypsies, and also a family of liars, so they may not actually have been gypsies (Gypsies are apparently liars anyway ;) LOL) More on that another time......

By Mum's hazy description, my Dad was half Albanian and half Turkish. Which makes me 1/4 Albanian, 1/4 Turkish and 1/2 'moy eh-ncestors were on the first fleet mate' Aussie. My father's family were a dodgy bunch apparently. They were once owners of a famous nightclub in Brisbane which got burnt down in suspicious circumstances. I think I was told that they were apparently pretty 'in' with the criminal underworld scene- drugs and brothels and all that, it's all hard to remember. One of the cousins, I think, was later revealed to be a police informer.

My father was not the nicest of characters. He was addicted to gambling- betting on horse racing in particular- and would steal to feed the habit. He would get himself in trouble with debts from shady characters and Mum would bail him out. He would beat the hell out of her for her trouble- something about his honor or some garbage....

He was a successful amateur boxer and was a drummer as well. He had left early in high school to work but was quite intelligent according to Mum. He was apparently not the angry scary woman basher type, but the remorseful, bawling his eyes out, 'take me back' woman basher type.

When Mum fell pregnant with me he was excited, she tells me. He wanted to marry Mum, to be my Dad and even had a name for me- Yasmin. I would have been named Yasmin Mustafa. I even had the engagement ring he gave my Mum- I wore it- until a few years ago when it was stolen in a house break in (I'd cut it off because it was too tight. I might also add that it looked more like a wedding ring so it wasn't girly).

But his ensuing fatherhood didn't change him. He still couldn't control his impulses to gamble, to lie, to steal, to lash out at my mother, and perhaps even more. So whilst Mum was pregnant with me, he still bashed her- even in the stomach. It could have killed me.

So Mum did the smart thing. She ran. She came to Sydney, where the rest of her family had moved, and moved back in with her parents. I always ached for a Dad as I grew up. But I knew that I didn't want to know my real one. And I always respected my Mum's decision to run and raise me on her own. He probably would have done the same terrible things to me. "He would have broken your heart," Mum would say with a trembling voice.

Many people told my mother to abort me. Mum was brought up under a reasonably strict Catholic upbringing. A young, single mother doesn't fare too well in that context. Other things happened too, which I can't get into here, that sought to come against my very existence. I was born in fetal distress, the cord wrapped around my neck several times. I would be born and grow up in the affluent Anglo-Saxon Sutherland Shire, where the nuclear Anglo family was the norm. I would be literally, pardon my French, a poor mongrel bastard.

So half my heritage is a mystery to me. I have a whole bunch of family out there somewhere that probably look like me and it's possible my real father may still think about me. Him, or someone who knows him, may even run into this blog. His name is Ismet Mustafa (I'm not sure if that's how it was spelt). People called him 'John'. I've never thought too much about it before, and some people have been quite taken back at my lack of desire to find him. But as I write this, I can't help but wonder...... it's all so surreal and vague. And I also don't want to dishonor my stepfather who I consider my real father (he came on the scene when I was 10). He says he doesn't mind. All of my family are supportive of me if I want to look for him.

One final note- you're probably wondering why I called this log 'Flyman'. Here's where it gets interesting, and it starts to sound too weird to be true. My father was a cat burglar of sorts, and was pretty good at it too. There was a man who became notorious in Brisbane in the 80's for scaling hotel building walls and breaking in. In the papers he was known as 'Flyman'. That was him- he went to jail for a while a little later, but I'm not sure if it was for that. It's all a bit mysterious and vague, but the older members of my extended family remember it and had the paper clipping- I don't know what happened to it unfortunately.

I had a very brief job for a company selling security systems. I was on training and in the car with my partner, and he was telling me some of the stories they say to emphasize the importance of security. He told me of this guy in Brisbane, in the 80's, that they used to call 'the Flyman'. And how he used to scale hotel buildings etc etc. If I was eating something at the time, I would have choked on it!

Truth can be stranger than fiction. Hope it helps you continue to get to know me a little better.

Thanks for reading,

Ben

How to lose a blogfan in 10 days

Well there you go, I've made my debut in a blaze of glory.

But rather than bask in the adoration of my throng of fans, I must promptly get to work driving them away. I figure that my arsenal of potential posts in waiting will do it anyway so I may as well look like I did it on purpose. Alice, the proud executive of the REALITY CHECK fan club, has boldly stated her intentions to stick with my blog through thick and thin. Are you sure about that Alice? Can I hold you to that? Must I appeal to your sense of integrity?

You see, I need loyalty Alice. Because my subject matter will sometimes be 'change the channel' material. Have you counted the cost? Will you be there with your pom poms and choreographed cheers then Alice? Can I count on you to hang on my every word?
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Ben: Today I would like to talk about William Lane Craig's "Middle Knowledge" theological approach to the problem of divine foreknowledge and free will...

Alice: Woot woot bring it on. Yaaaay for Middle Knowledge *shakes pom poms*
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Ben: In this edition we will explore the quality of my SX electric guitar. Should I upgrade my pickups?

Alice: Yeeaaahh wwoooot Tell me more!!
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Ben: Today I am exploring why I am compelled to look in the toiletbowl before I flush.

Alice: Give me a 'B'! Give me an 'E'! Give me an 'N'! What does it spell???
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On a serious note, I'm really not sure who would be interested in sticking with me. Just have to wait and see I suppose. It doesn't help that I'm a weirdo amongst weirdos amongst weirdos. Let me explain-

* I am a born again Christian. This identity is central to my life, my thinking, my passion and
my purpose. And that doesn't make me terribly popular to the mainstream. Our thinking grates with society's thinking. Which inevitably leads to conflict. And we all know the great Australian adage 'never talk about politics or religion'. I'm not overly political. But Jesus Christ saturates everything I do. Hello? You still with me? Walked away yet?

* I am a Pentecostal/Charismatic Christian. That means I believe in a specific expression of Christianity that takes the ongoing supernatural work of God seriously- like healings, prophecies, tongues speaking etc- all that weird stuff. So, in other words, even amongst the majority of Christians, I'm weird. And Mainstream Christians don't always feel terribly positive towards Pentecostals. I hate to say it, but there's often that same awkwardness directed towards me when a Christian finds out I'm one of 'them', with what I would feel from someone who feels uncomfortable around Christians. (Just an important sidenote- please don't think that early morning 'God will make you rich' tele-evangelists are representative of Pentecostalism. It's not. It is an offshoot that most Pentecostals would not associate themselves with.)

* I take theological pursuit, wherever it takes me, seriously. Which means I won't always agree with the status quo. So I sometimes find myself needing to hold my tongue as to some of my beliefs, so as not to offend my Christian brothers and sisters. And it has led to some 'weird' beliefs, of which I will probably share some over the next coming months. And so my next layer of isolation.

So I am a weirdo amongst weirdos amongst weirdos. And I'm mostly okay with that. So if you want to hear my thoughts, my past, my stories and don't mind being offended or hearing stories that will mess with your worldview, stick with me. Get inside my head and see what makes me tick. And I'd love to do the same with you. But that's the thing about blogs and social networking and all that. You've just got to be who you are. Chameleon's get found out.

So if you don't care about what I write, don't read it :).
Except Alice. She has to read it. And like it. She promised :)

Ben

Name that blog...

So.

I'm named after a rat.

It's not a point of great pride for me but Mum had good intentions. You see, Mum loved a song named 'Ben', famously performed by a young Michael Jackson. I'm told there was a film clip where ;Ben' was a cute little Golden retriever or something like that. The truth is, the original song was written about a pet rat- more than that- a homicidal, man-eating genius rat who was the leader of a pack of killer rats (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0068264/) sworn to protect his owner from bullies by eating them.

Thanks Mum ;).

Upon entering school, I quickly found my species changing. Ben the homicidal, man-eating genius rat became 'Ben the Hen'. And in case I forgot this fact- that I was now a hen- I was reminded by my friendly classmates on a regular basis. What a helpful bunch they were. :).

The thing about the name 'Ben' is that my Mother was quite proud of it's originality. What she didn't realise was that her thinking wasn't original. Every one of my classes had another Ben in it. So instead I was called by my surname 'Mason'. Until I got chicken pox in Yr 2- and then it became 'Measle Mason'. My protests as to the inaccuracy of this designation seemed to only increase the name-calling funnily enough.

My Mum married when I was in Yr 6 so I became a 'Skinner'. I was very happy to take the name. But it didn't take much imagination for my continuously courteous classmates to think of lots of fun derivatives.

So I've had lots of experience in names. In setting this blog up, I had to name it. In all honesty, I didn't think too hard about it. I really couldn't be bothered. I remember trying to name our band with my friend in high school and it was hard work. Name after name sucked. We made great big long lists and of course every name but the one we came up with, we figured, would be disasterous to our potential world domination for one reason or another. My Dad and Mum (yes the one that named me after a rat) would happily join our vocal brainstorming to suggest ideas. "How about 'Snot boys'?" Dad would say, struggling to get it out, as he keeled over with laughter. "How about *snort snort* "The pimply faced greasy teenagers" *hahahaha* Mum would retort. And they'd continue thier interjections in tears and laughter, while we tried to ignore them, until Mum eventually ran to the toilet and vomited (it's true. It would happen often when she laughed. She had a hernia.) "Stop laughing Mum, you'll vomit" was advice that would often pass my lips. Advice unheeded of course.

We eventually settled on M-phasis. That's right. Spelt with an 'M'. We thought that was cool. We'd be in a talent contest and the compere dude would screw up his face and read our band name. "Next up is...um....Emphasis?" "That's right. Spelt with an 'M'," I'd yell out from stage right. And then, on would we strut, promptly asking a few disinterested middle aged ladies in Greenacre shopping centre if they were 'ready to rock'. We were M-phasis. We were gonna make a statement. Our name was who we were.

I have called this blog 'Reality Check' after a song I wrote in Yr 11 and 12 (it took me a while to complete). I was named after a song, and so will be this blog. It's generic enough to not box me in yet representative enough of what I want to communicate. And I'm sure it won't effect my chances of world domination. I think it's cool ;). I hope that this blog can be a lot of things- a journal of my thoughts, stories, journeys, experiences, things that have shaped me etc etc.

But most of all I want this blog to be an honest account of my regular head on collisions with reality.... With what I continue to discover to be real, rather than what I thought was real- the reality that "I didn't see officer..." until I hit it. My life as a continuing "reality check".

So please- join me, subscribe, interact, criticize, enjoy, be bored by, 'all of the above' me. And let me know I'm not just talking to myself :)

Ben the 'pen'.


Last verse of Ben (Michael Jackson)

Ben, most people would turn you away(turn you away)
I don't listen to a word they say
They don't see you as I do
I wish they would try to
I'm sure they'd think again
If they had a friend like Ben
(A friend)
Like Ben
(Like Ben)
Like Ben