Japan

When I see pictures like this I marvel at our planet.  I am in awe at its beauty.  I see the creation of God before me.  A world that once, for a short time, He was well pleased with.  We happily accept the creation of a loving God because we enjoy it. 

We ski in the mountains He formed, we walk along riverbanks decorated with flowers and blossom trees He renews each year.  We swim in the sea and then run out to play in the sand, taking delight in the fun where two days of His creation merge.  The creation of His world is beyond our comprehension and we happily live in it.

When I see pictures like this I marvel at our planet.  I am in awe at its destruction.  I see the creation of God devastated.  A world that is slowly crumbling away, a world He mourns for.  We cry and feel helpless when we see the creation of God so cruelly destroyed.  Yet, when the planet is beautiful and working the way we want, we are happy to acknowledge His ownership of its beginnings.

However, when destruction occurs, God is the first to be blamed, even by atheists.  Suddenly, His presence becomes more of a reality and a likelihood.  Nature loses its authority. 

We can't call God up on the mobile and invite him for a newsroom interview to question Him.  We can't put Him on trial for allowing nature to do what nature does, when nature does what we don't like.  All we can do is put our trust in Him that He has all this in hand.  We have to trust that there is an answer to the unanswerable and that one day we will understand.  Until that time, I will keep on trusting God that throughout this devastation, His plan is continuing and I hold on to hope of an eternity where Jesus will return to take me to a new place, one more wonderful and beautiful than I can ever begin to imagine.  A world where there will be no more earthquakes, no tsunamis, no war, no famine, no heartbreak and no mourning.

Until that time, while I try to comprehend myself why this has happened and I pray for the people who have lost loved ones, who have lost homes and livelihoods and who now have to face water and food shortages, I will also continue to praise God for his mercy and grace and thank Him that people did survive.  I will praise Him and thank Him that in the midst of all this destruction a lone 60 year old man was found nine miles out to sea floating on his roof, still alive.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. (Psalm 46:1-3)

Toki

Meet the new addition to the family.  His name is Toki, he's a Japanese Spitz and he's 8 weeks old.

 

Not a caterpillar anymore

I was working late last night and as usual, if I'm working late, I'll ring Andy to see how the kids have done at school, have they got any homework, have they eaten their dinner ............ and for the first time ever last night it was reported back to me there was no broccoli left for my dinner as the kids had eaten it all.

Parents everywhere know that when the green stuff is accepted by the kids, that's a major breakthrough.  A momentus time when you realise as a parent your persistence has finally paid off.

And this trivial little episode has spoken volumes to me.  About how we often look at somebody's character and believe they'll never change.  We don't allow them to grow because we think they're not capable.   Or we look at the person they were a year ago, or five years ago, or ten years ago, and can't quite grasp that, yes, actually, they have changed - or perhaps, we have changed and they were who they were all along and we were the ones at fault. 

People change and at times, the change is so dramatic, we are unable to grasp it or even accept it.  They are who they've always been.  We see people who fail at school, but as adults they run successful businesses, we see people who were once full of hate become the most caring doctors and nurses.  We see corrupt politicians go to jail and become Christians (Jonathan Aitken).  We see drug addicts become counsellors.

If we accept that our children change as they get older, what is so hard about accepting adults who change?

So, my challenge to everyone is to consider people in our lives we have a permanent judgement over.  Who is that person we look at and say, 'Oh him/her, they'll never change.  I've known them for years and I know them better than they know themselves.  I've seen them do this, and I've seen them do that.  I've heard them say this and I've heard them say that.  I know they'll never change.'

My challenge is that we pray for that person and moreso that we pray God powers a change in us towards that person.  My challenge  is that we see them for who they really are and not who we think they are.  Then, do something nice for them.  Even if it is just to say hello next time we see them and not walk by assuming them to be somebody else.  And overall, consider which one of us is the caterpillar now and which one is the butterfly.

Big fish, little fish

She's beautiful.

She's graceful.

She's sweet.

She's charming.

She brightens my day.

She warms my heart.

She was born on my birthday.

She's my eldest daughter.

She's my gift.

She's growing up.

She got her placement for secondary school yesterday.

When giving your whole doesn't leave a hole

I've been finding the last few months many concerns have pressed on my mind, things I've discussed with Andy, only to find a few weeks later it's the prime topic in the church sermon - other subjects have cropped up too and I'm starting to find that I'm rather insightful about what's coming up - and also a little scared that I'm seeing things and having insights into people's feelings before they happen, or before they speak to me - I  need to work with that and pray into it, I know, and I need to dwell deeper - which is also the theme church have been working on recently.  Friends have spoken to me about what's on their minds, which I've thought about days in advance and just today I e-mailed a friend to let her know I needed to give her more of my time, only for her to e-mail back and say she felt her friends were deserting her - I'm finding a gift I've known I've had a long time, but never really sat down to acknowledge - probably because I've been too wrapped up in me, myself and my own.

Giving has been on my heart for a long time now.  It's pressing on me more and more.  Financially I'm not in a position to give much, but I know that I have talents and just a little more time on my hands now the children are getting older and I have Fridays off work.  Up until a week or so ago I held on to the very fine thread I might actually get a promotion at work.  Promotion I know I deserve (my last three year reports have said so), promotion I know I'll be good at, in a field I enjoy, but this would mean giving up my Fridays.  It would also mean a shedload more money, but one thing I'm happy to declare is that of all of life's wonderful little treasures to increase our greed capacity, money chasing is not one either Andy or I pursue.   Originally I intended my Fridays off  for housework, but after spending nearly 12 years as a working mother, the routine of running a home at weekends and evenings works for me and Andy.  So... it seems I have time on my hands.

At Christmas my employers graciously granted me a week's leave to work voluntarily for a local charity.  It's an annual entitlement and one I intend to take advantage of annually.  I spent four days working in a church hall checking boxes for Operation Christmas Child.  I loved it.  I loved sitting in a hall chatting away to little old ladies, having cups of tea and biscuits and marvelling at some of the beautiful items people sent and tutting and grumbling over the really rather awful tat others sent.  It felt good.  It felt good to know that I was giving something of myself for nothing in return and knowing that somewhere in the world a little girl or boy was going to open a box full of goodies, that would for a few days or weeks bring a little happiness into their lives.

But, it doesn't feel enough.  Homeless people have played on my mind.  I mentioned to Andy I wanted to look into helping the homeless. Two days later at church, up popped Nigel on the screen, a homeless man in Reading.  A man I have now walked by and spoken to numerous times on my way to and from town.  A man I've found out not only likes tea and cheese sandwiches, but on a cold day is rather partial to a hot sausage roll.  I've had it on my heart to look into doing soup runs of an evening, but have never taken time to really look into it.

So, this week, the sermon was about dwelling deep into ourselves to give more.  Not just financially, but our time, our love, our prayers, our talents - and to do so willingly, not begrudgingly, not counting the cost, but to count the benefit to the person or people we strive to serve.  I look at what Christ gave for me and know that there will never be a time I can outgive Him, but I can have a good go at trying!  Another thing that touched me was that a couple of weeks ago I found a website that spoke of the Give A Day For Ten Days Pledge, and it was littered with all manner of ideas for giving, so I thought about it, thought it sounded great and planned to blog on it over the weekend - then the sermon came.

So, I know I've been spoken to very clearly.  After spending a lovely morning recently, having coffee with a new friend at church, we separately felt God was speaking to me very clearly about using my Fridays for my own financial gain and promotion at work, when the time could be spent better serving others.  I'm still praying into it so I know for sure it's really God speaking and not just my own mental deliberations for and against the motion.  I know my friends and others need more of my time than I currently give and I know I can make more effort in little things and not have to think the only way I can give is to hand out money.  I rarely ring people because I hate the telephone and I'm awful at interrupting people when they speak, so I don't bother doing it, I need to ring people more and give them time.  I need to put the kettle on more and invite friends over and I need to take an interest more in other people so I can pray into their lives and ask God just how I can help them.  It's been an eye opener, it's pressed on my heart and now it's time for me to act.

Barnets on a Budget

I have yet to meet a woman who doesn't enjoy a trip to the hairdresser for a spot of pampering.  It's really got nothing to do with getting a good hairdo, it's about the attention.  It's about the escape from everything and everyone.  It's about the pure joy of having somebody being overly keen to make you happy. It's about being brought cups of tea and biscuits.  It's bliss. 

It's also expensive.  It costs money - oodles of it.  Find a good salon and you find the need to justify the cost of a new hairdo alongside the weekly food budget.  Guilt sets in.  Is it right to be so selfish?  I can buy the kids shoes for that, I can fuel the car for a week, I can pay this month's electric.......

But is it wrong now and again for a busy Mum to want to escape for an hour or so for a bit of selfish 'me' time.  Is it wrong to want to suspend time and put the world on hold while someone asks you for one shampoo or two?  And is it wrong to insist on two shampoos and conditioner please because the head massage is sooooo relaxing and makes your spine tingle and feels sooooo good and you feel the stress ebbing away ... and is it wrong to sulk momentarily when they ask you to follow them to your seat when you'd rather have a third shampoo and a bit more conditioner because I was floating away at that point.......?

No, it's not wrong.  But it is an easier pill to swallow when you find a hair salon that offers model nights and you get that very same treatment for a fraction of the published price.

So, Mums everywhere.  Check out your local salon and ask them if they do model nights.  They are always looking for people to volunteer their heads for training.  Don't fret, they are overseen by the experts and you come out with a professional wash, cut, restyle and blow dry (and sometimes a colour if you like).  The salon I go to is fantastic.  The staff are fabulously friendly and really appreciate having the chance to help their apprentices and students work towards their qualifications.

Give it a go - you deserve it.

Knitted Together In The Mother's Womb

The hairdresser is the only place I tend to read magazines.  I'm not particularly interested in who's shacked up with whom, which 'celeb' has spent millions on a house not quite big enough to accommodate their ego, or which lip gloss is considered the most suitable for the pout of the season.  But today, whilst having my hair done I came across a short interview with a British actress who had agreed to do a photoshoot because her pregnancy had miraculously made it to 26 weeks.  She has a very publicly documented pregnancy due to a previous late miscarriage, having delivered her son at 22 weeks, only for him to die moments later.  This pregnancy for her is fraught with danger to the point she's on bed rest until the due date.  All through the interview it was clear she felt proud she'd managed to hold onto this child in her womb for so long.  Each day she feared she would go through the devastating loss again of delivering a pre-term child that was not to survive.  But now, having gone past 26 weeks she feels confident of her baby's future.  I shared her anguish, but not to the same extent.  Reading her story was uncomfortable and chilling.  I remember with each of my four pregnancies that sudden fear at realising it was over an hour since my baby squirmed or kicked, wondering if something had gone wrong.  I remember delivering my first child and the horror I felt when the midwife could not find his heartbeat and the emergency team rushing into the room to deliver him without further delay.

Those panics were momentary as I have four beautiful healthy children.  To experience those panics for anything longer would have been torture.

So, my thoughts wandered off and I found myself thinking about another actress, Amanda Holden.  As I read the magazine I sat with tears in my eyes, wondering how on earth she was coping with the devastation of her recent stillbirth.  The joy she had felt at reaching over 30 weeks pregnancy after having a late miscarriage last year, her relief at knowing she'd gone beyond what is normally considered the dangerous phase.  Feeling confident enough to break news to the world she had less than three months to go before her beautiful child would be with her.  Then to face the utter devastation of her child dying and having to endure the awful distress and cruelty of having to deliver that child into the world.  I couldn't even begin to fathom how it felt.


On Sunday 13th March, Reading Family Church are holding a Thanksgiving Service for children recently born in the church.  Children are so precious, moreso than we at times admit.  They are a gift from God - each and every one and they are miracles.  They are miracles of His perfect creation and each one is unique, formed by Him in the womb and known by Him before we even know we're expecting them.  On that day, even though my children are no longer babies I know I will be thanking Him for each one of them.  Thanking Him for four healthy pregnancies, four relatively easy labours and four little lives entrusted to me and Andy.

As I watch them grow every day I still stop and pause and thank Him that they're here.  I thank Him I never had to ensure a miscarriage, a stillbirth, a cot death or a tragic loss of a young child.  I marvel at who they are and how they came to be.  I wonder at times why I seem to have had such a simple ride whilst other parents have had to endure unimaginable and excrutiating heartbreak.  I feel helpless that my feelings are nothing more than sympathy - I can't empathise with them, as I haven't been there.  But I do know that each child that is lost was preformed by God, known by Him and belonged to Him.  I know and trust with all my heart that those children taken before their consciousness was mature enough to decide, and are innocent, are in His care and safely in His presence in Heaven.  I know that God grieves with those parents who grieve and my prayer is that they come to know this comfort and love and find their peace with it.

Psalms: Rediscovering The Undiscovered

I have long been aware that the Psalms are believed to be among the most highly read books of the Bible amongst Christians.  But the Psalms are a book, I've most of my Christian life, managed to avoid reading.  When I thought about it this week and considered my attitude, I could only come up with the pathetic excuse that I don't like poetry.  I can still recall sitting in my A' level English Literature lessons groaning when the word 'poetry' was mentioned.  I liked novels, I liked Shakespeare and I even had a fondness for a bit of Chaucer, but poetry?  What was it about poetry I recoiled from? 

The vulnerability it so often reflected.  The vulnerability of both the author and the reader.  Allowing the depths of yourself to be laid bare in order to understand and empathise with the author, to suffer in the turmoil of somebody anguished, to celebrate in the jubilation of somebody overjoyed and to love with the lover who had love requited and to weep with the lover who didn't.  A bare tearing open of the soul.

So, I read a little about the background of the Psalms and how to approach them and what struck me is that I have to allow them to become a mirror of my own soul.  Many years have gone by since we could argue a camera never lied, but take a basic mirror and stand in front of it - and you see yourself for who you are.  At times we appear more beautiful than at others.  At times we appear refreshed, at other times weary, but whatever is reflected back at us is who we are, as a basic mirror has yet to be able to manipulate the image stood before it.

Delving into the Psalms will reveal to me every emotion I possess. I find it incredibly easy to build a wall around myself defending my vulnerability, but incredibly hard to allow the defensive bricks to be knocked down.  My wall receives regular repointing and it's a part of my personality that I hope the Psalms will knock through.  I want them to penetrate my soul and lead me to a better understanding of myself and of the God I seek to trust.

As I read the Psalms I hope the words I meditate on will be an articulation of my own thoughts, revealing my hopes, my joys, my fears, my disappointments, my praise and my confidences in God.  I hope they will reveal to me a path to leading a more Godly life in terms of both my behaviours and my attitudes.  I want to appreciate and develop a love for a book I've long avoided and no matter who I am, where I am or what my current situation is, I long for the Psalms to reflect the thoughts of my heart and treading into them is going to be both an exciting and challenging journey.

Will they keep him in?

After trying to get Sam to understand we would like him NOT to attempt a second escape into the main play area today I reminded him this morning when dropping him off at Breakfast Club, 'Now, you do know that you're not allowed to climb the fence.  So, promise me you won't do it again.'

Cue big eyes, cheeky grin, big giggle and 'Well, I might have another little try'.

Alcatraz would have nothing on this kid.

Tom, Dick or Harry

Before I had kids I always said I never minded what I had, but I would be especially happy if I had a real, proper naughty mischevious little boy. Sometimes it's really not good to wish for these things.  Today, on only his second day at Foundation Stage, Andy and I were greeted with a chuckling teacher explaining to us that Sam had attempted to escape.

It transpires he was outside in the play area, which is right next to the main school field and playground.  It is fenced off with an approximatey 6 feet high chain link fence, with gaps in the wires just big enough for four year old little feet.  Seeing his older sister Eleanor on the other side on the field, and no doubt, knowing Eleanor, she probaby added a bit of encouragement, he proceeded to stack the milk crates to make a handy set of steps so he could bunk one over the top and head off into the main school playground to join her playtime.  It seems the grass was greener.....until he was noticed by the teacher.  When asked what he was doing he tried to justify his actions by explaining 'I was only popping my head over the top'.

He thinks it's hilarious.  I hope they check for tunnels tomorrow.

Fun Days

Most people with kids know these days that trips out as a family are expensive.  Nowhere seems to offer a fun day out at a decent price and even then, if you do get through the gates relatively unharmed in the wallet area, surprises are usually lurking inside on stalls that are outrageously overpriced for naff returns.

This past weekend Berkshire Agricultural College opened for their lambing weekend.  They've been doing it for years, and for years I have planned to take the kids, then forgotten and scolded myself for having to wait another year for a countryside style day out.  This year I remembered and Saturday morning I packed four kids and a big picnic in the car and headed off towards Burchetts Green.  It was a gloriously sunny day and I was so thankful to God for giving us such beautiful weather.  The open day was 100% outdoors and would have been a disaster had it rained.  Such was the beauty of the early summer day the children enjoyed running around in T-shirts, eating ice-creams and picnicing by the side of the small fenced off show area where falconry and sheepdog shows were put on for small crowd entertainment.

It was also a thrill to enjoy a day where as a parent I didn't feel ripped off or pressured to spend lots of money.  The majority of stalls that offered raffles, tombolas and lucky dips were virtually free, merely asking for a donation in the discreetly placed bucket by the side of the table.  Some stalls offered five goes for £1.00 which is a stark contrast to most places where you pay £1.00 per go per person and come away disappointed.  The marquee behind the sheepdog area offered free face painting and the children queued up happy to wait their turn at having their faces transformed.  A simple table nearby with five paint trays and a white tablecloth where the children could paint their hands and make prints, then write their names by the side.  Small tractors for little people to ride alongside the path for a few pence in the bucket.

Animals were on show all around the college grounds, sheep were sheared, lambs bounced alongside their mothers, pot bellied pigs snuffled around snorting contentedly whilst wallowing in the cool mud.  Shire horses pulling wagons along the grass and even a ferret racing area where Sam won 20p for backing the winner!  Free tractor rides around the perimeter of neighbouring fields overlooking acres of farmland, free of modern day invasion, releasing your mind to the imagery of the pages from Tess and other Hardy novels.

Leaving the grounds we visited the Farmers Market.  Delicious smells wafted through the air of homebaked pies, hog roasts, bacon butties and rows upon rows of home made fudge and turkish delight, to tempt us as we headed back towards the car.

Six hours of fun and fresh air, four happy, but very tired kids and one happy Mum.  All for the bargain price of a tenner per car to get in.  It's definitely in the diary for next year.

When Jesus Speaks

The children were discussing in the car today how they knew Jesus was speaking to them.  Have you noticed how I have a lot of these sorts of discussions in the car?  I suppose it's the only time I can keep them all confined to one place long enough to talk - other than the dinner table.

They talked about having feelings, ideas popping in their heads and conscience.  But I liked Eleanor's explanation.  It has a valid train of thought, considering it's from a six year old.

"Jesus talks to my heart, my heart talks to my brain, then my brain talks to me.  That's how I know".

13 Years Ago Today

Improvisation

Today, the children abandoned modern games consules and resorted to good old fashioned 'play', by building bunkers and dens in the lounge.  Safely hidden in their trenches they then bombed each other with the plastic balls from the old ball pit Andy dug out from the garage during a weekend tidy out.

Pillows became sand bags, teddy bears were guards on duty and boxes formed walls.

My only role in all this was to randomly shout out 'gas attack', whereby the children dived under blankets to escape the effect of the fumes.

The standard of PPE wasn't enough for Bombardier Eleanor who then deserted her post, went AWOL and came back with five flannels, a box of pegs and a request for a gas-mask to be made.  Clearly she understands the troops dire need for better equipment in the line of duty.