This week

This week I will be mostly

• Rooting round the bottom of wardrobes to find presents that I cunningly bought ahead and have now lost.
• Trying to keep patient with old ladies who cannot believe that we don't run a bus to visit the pub on Christmas morning
• Washing the back of my eyes out to try and rid myself of the picture of Sir Alec Ferguson coming down a long staircase at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Awards, while Russell Watson sings "To Dream The Impossible Dream." *Rubs eyes hard* Nope - can still see it.
• Wondering if it is ever acceptable to not wrap presents. Surely more environmentally friendly?
• Getting snotty when Mums on Facebook who have a month of exciting Advent activities for their children are making me weep with inferiority. 
• Trying not to get to upset over Syrian children in that horrific winter and also that video on You Tube of the abandoned puppy running after the car that it had just been chucked out of. As you can see, my priorities are expertly balanced.
• Re above - what is the matter with everybody?
• Re above and the above that - Am having unsavoury fantasies re puppy abandoners, Syrian generals on both sides and big stick with a nail in it. Am aware that this is probably NOT what Jesus would do. Probably.
• Re above and above etc etc. Think I am very tired

Am working on personal  theory that God invented Christmas to save the world and then decided to put it in winter to try and cheer me up a bit. You may feel that this is a little ME-centric and you could be right I suppose. It is working for me at the moment though. As is kids assuring me that twenty and seventeen is too old to be making snowflake cut outs and they would rather watch Die Hard and run informal yet somehow quite aggressive competition to force as many Ferero Rochers into their mouths as possible. Not much like The Waltons. Funnier though.

Ungrateful

So there's this conversation about Christmas presents with my Mum.

Mum    Do you know that Call the Midwife?
Me       Er...yes
Mum    Have you seen it?
Me       Now and again.


I'm sorry, I cannot be doing with Call The Midwife. I know a lot of people love it so I am probably wrong but it does my head in. It's like Downton Abbey with mucus. A monkey, a typewriter and as many stereotypes as you can fit into a brown paper bag and you are away.

A mad nun
A serene nun
A salt of the earth slightly sweary nun
A good looking young doctor
A tart with a heart midwife
A beautiful midwife with a dark secret/ broken heart or both. (Don't worry - she will love again)
A slightly dowdy midwife/nun who will come into her own later.
Miranda Hart who gets to fall off her bike a lot.

And Sunday night TV is your oyster.

Mum    Well, I got the DVD you for Christmas. Series 2
Me       Er  Ok. 
Mum    You'll love it
Me       Do you like it?
Mum    Never watched it. Don't think I would like it.

I am thinking bad thoughts. I am a bad person.

Christmas Present

Outside of Hark The Herald Angels - nothing, I repeat nothing puts me in the mood for Christmas like this. People in America - you are very blessed to have this every year. Prepare to be blown off your tootsies. No need to thank me. You are more than welcome.

I Am

God said to Moses, “I-AM-WHO-I-AM. Tell the People of Israel, ‘I-AM sent me to you Exodus 3 (The Message)

So, we are doing Exodus in church at the moment right. We come across this that God says to Moses. This is just after the Burning Bush incident that was done so well in the new TV version of The Bible. (To be honest, I've seen it done better with a flannel- board.) However, back to this astonishing statement. It stopped me in my tracks when I heard it. I have to confess something here. (It's ok. I have already confessed to God and he's good with it. He likes me.) For a tiny-teeny nano second, the song line "I am what I am" flitted into my head, complete with jazz hands. This is, obviously, a bad thing. It is not, however, unconnected. Imagine being so happy and content with yourself. Imagine being the finished product so you could say. "I am who I am" Obviously God can say it because he is God and, therefore, the finished product - if indeed he was ever started - following at the back?
Some people might be so comfortable with their progress as a member of the human race, that they may feel that they are near enough complete when it comes to being a decent person so they are quite happy to er  shout out - "I am what I am." I am not one of these people. But I am accepted, as I am. Even though God knows me completely.
There is, I think, a tension between accepting who you are and realising that you still have a way to go. It is, in the words of Yul Brynner in The King and I, "a puzzlement". Getting hold of this may be one of the great secrets to life.

I am completely known by God. All my ins, outs, positives, negatives. He has seen it all. Even the things about me that I bury so deep that I am barely aware that they exist. Then, even having scanned me top to bottom with his intergalactic, Star Trek-like scanner and seen all of it, he then accepts me totally. Known, that's what I am.

I know that God doesn't leave it there. I know that he has to lead, guide, teach, try, push and pull for the rest of my life. A lot of the time, I am not going to fancy it much but God will carry on drawing me forward and up.

I need to get that, when I drag my sorry bones into bed in the evening. I am known, secure and safe. God knows it all. He is not afraid of what he might find in me someday. He has already seen it. And it is ok. 

New Every Morning

I have had mini blog shaped crisis of faith (Do I continue with this blogging business?) which has kept me away for a couple of weeks, apologies. Anyway God used a couple of people to give me a swift kick up the how's your father and I am here again. I think there is an awful lot of nonsense talked about God has told me to tell you this or that but when a couple of people you barely know say something that completely hits the spot, when they are not really trying really trying to be all spiritual, then you have to take notice I think. 
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, first thing wake ups. (I do realise that I hadn't actually got round to WRITING anything about early mornings yet but I was thinking about it and am about to do so. Be patient.)
One of my favourite writers is Caitlin Moran as I think I may have said. I probably disagree with about 50% of her opinions (and passionately agree with many of them) but she is so clever and warm hearted , that I seek her out wherever she has left prose to read. This includes Twitter. (Do not follow unless you are a broadminded sort of chap.) Anyway, I found this  as an excerpt from her writing day on The Stylist Magazine

There has only been one time in my life, ever, that I’ve woken up and thought ‘YAY! HURRAH! I HAVE WOKEN! I FEEL A TREMBLING REVERENCE FOR LIFE!’ – the morning I went youth-hostelling to Wales, when I was 11. I woke up very perky that day. I was super-excited. I jumped out of my top bunk shouting ‘PUPPY POWER!’ Every other day of my life before or since, however, I have woken up going ‘UGH this is too early. This is GHASTLY. This system is bust.’ Even if it’s 2pm.

Early mornings are a weird time for everyone. I saw some research recently that said that one of the functions of sleep is to sort of wash out all the thoughts we have had during the day, including the destructive and negative ones. If sleep is interrupted or we don't get enough, then the process is incomplete and we can wake with all this negative nonsense wooshing round, even if we aren't normally inclined to depression. 
When I was ill, a few years ago, I would wake every morning and within five seconds, I would remember cancer and dip. This went on for years, long after I became well.
What changed it was God. A sensible God. (I think we underrate how full of common sense God is) I learnt to plug into him. Make contact with him asap. "Hullo God. Morning." You might even try a piece of scripture. (I can't find my slippers in the morning, never mind quote scripture) When I find him, he finds me back and things are better. We are not meant to fight our way through any of this alone.

On a more negative note, I would be a bit dishonest if I didn't give you my thoughts on *shouts into echo chamber* THE BIBLE. This is Channel 5's showing of the epic series from America. First of all, I have to say how good it is that something slightly Christian has made it to TV at all. I also have to point out that the American culture is perhaps more different from the British culture than we realise and this has an impact on the finished product. However, I'm sorry, I'm disappointed. Questions, so many questions.

Why does Pharaoh's son have a gold head?
Why are all the baddies (Egyptian royal family, slave drivers, the entire population of Sodom) British?
Where did Joshua get his teeth done?
What had made Mrs Lot such a miserable crow?
Why is Jesus wearing a wig? (I know Jesus often wears a wig in TV adaptations but I was hoping, you know?)

But the thing that I liked least was the characterisation of Noah, Abraham and Moses. Here they were spiritual super heroes, off away with the angels half the time. The Bible spends a lot of time pointing our that Noah liked a drink and it got him into trouble, Abraham pimped out his wife and Moses was a coward who sent his brother into the front line against Pharaoh. And still they were loved by God and used for great things. I missed it. The depth, the ups and downs, the redeeming love. I shall be getting the BBC Nativity DVD out and watching that. For my money, a bit closer to real life. Still I suppose that if it stirs debate about God, it can't be a bad thing. And, as you probably know, I am quite a shallow person who is probably missing the whole point. But I will watch some more. Apparently, some woman from Eastenders will be playing Delilah. (More British baddies...grrr)

Also, who knew angels were so...well.....hot?

Stream of Consciousness

Right, dead busy, sorry. No planning or anything about this today. Well YES it is usually planned meticulously actually. So just musing and reviewing (posh way of saying if I liked something or not. However, I do have exceptionally good taste so you can trust me.)

To the piccys this week to see Philomena. It was a three tissue movie about how nuns in Ireland made "fallen women" sell their children. (All proceeds to the nunnery - not to the women, you will be surprised to learn.) Dame Dench was wonderful and Steve Coogan was excellent as well. I was a bit surprised to find out how many laughs there were. Also, it wasn't just the usual one dimensional, "If Christians can behave like this, then there is therefore obviously no God" drivel that you usually get. There are some Dick Dasterdly level wicked nuns and I couldn't help thinking that things were probably a bit more complicated than they were presented. However, it was (and still is) a horror story about man's inhumanity to man and highly recommended.

Also to the theatre to see People by Alan Bennett. This could have been made a bit awkward as the two seats next to us were filled at the last minute by someone I know slightly from work. Nothing

wrong with him - very nice person. However, he was with his lovely lady-friend and I was with Head of House and you are thinking - Do we want to spend half time together chatting and trying to be interesting or just split up and run off to separate corners of the same room? In the end, we went for the latter as we had an appointment with a pre-order of gin at the bar and I think that was for the best. The play wasn't my favourite Alan Bennett ever - I am not sure what the National Trust have done to upset him - however, it was still head and shoulders above half the stuff that is out there at the moment and his way with words makes me think that I am playing at it.

Read as promised Pen Wilcock's Breath of Peace and loved it. I love the way that she has built these characters so that when the plot starts to develop the way that it does , you think that this is exactly how they will behave. If you haven't read The Hawk and The Dove series, may I respectfully recommend that you check it out. If you know what is good for you.

OK, that's it. Back to de-cluttering. Am trying to get house something like normal as Christmas approaches and we have to make room for people to sleep here who don't normally do so. Including, apparently, my mother. This is bizarre because she now only lives five minutes up the road. Conversation as follows

Me.    Mum, will you be ok to sleep in the back room on Christmas night so we won't be getting you back too late?

Mum   Oh yes, I will be fine for one or two or even four nights.

Oh dear. 

The Roots of Happiness

Daily Mail

Hello newspapers of the world.My name is Katherine Wales. You take photos of me all the time. This week, you were all charming enough to print lots of photos of me showing my grey roots and pointing out that I might be letting myself go a bit since the birth of baby George. Some papers even had helpful hints about how to keep on top of this terrible problem.
Let me just tell you a little bit about the way we roll at the moment here at Wales Towers. I have a baby boy. An astonishing, loud, demanding baby boy. And you never did see anything more beautiful - ever. He is our obsession. He has changed everything. I love his chubby arms and legs and the way they look like they have elastic bands on his wrists and ankles . I love the way his head smells and how his head goes a bit wobbly when I pick him up. I spend hours with him in my arms, just holding him close to me - just because I want to. In fact, because I almost feel it is impossible to do anything else.
My chap feels the same as me. Whenever we can, we bring him into bed with us in the mornings and we lie there and play with him. The chap likes to blow bubbles on his belly. It makes both of them laugh like drains. I like to secretly bite my baby's bottom. My mum told me I would want to and I do. If we are feeling really silly, we get my eyeliner and draw a little monocle on him or put a paper hat on him. Because, God willing, he will one day be king, but for now he is ours - mine - and we can just play at it. He is exhausting, frustrating,  scary and fifteen types of wonderful.
So by all means point out my roots. Send me helpful advice. Suggest ways that I can improve myself for the consumption of the masses. It's just that I think you may have confused me with someone who gives a monkeys. 

Not just bouncy

So last Sunday night, we are at church and singing this song, I'm usually a bit allergic to songs that invite God round and tell him he's welcome and offer him Victoria sandwich and a cup of tea. As if you would. As if. Still this is alright.

I remember once that a girl told me that she never sang songs about inviting the Holy Spirit to meetings and asking him to overwhelm us and fill us and things - just in case the Holy Spirit took up the invite. She told me that the last thing she wanted was the meeting to be all full of "happenings" and people falling over and  BOOM - Benny Hinn's your uncle. You get the idea. Because of this, she didn't really bother much with the Holy Spirit. 

Now that's an opinion you may or may not agree with. If I'm brutally honest, I have to say that I have been in meetings when I can hear Mrs Sketchley's voice rising an octave and I know we are going to be there an extra half an hour because that seems the polite thing to do, although really most people would be happier if we just put it to bed and went home. However, I think it is also essential to give the Holy Spirit some elbow room in our meetings and supply an atmosphere which allows receptive listening to anything God is trying to say.

I think what is even more important is that this approach to the Holy Spirit sells him a bit short. It's all about much more than bouncy, singy meetings. Being overwhelmed by the Spirit is about much more than Sunday at Seven and lying down. I think that we need to be overwhelmed to function as any kind of half decent Christian. Left to my own devices, I will never be kind enough, or love enough or have enough self-control. Yet they are fruits of the Spirit and only with enough Spirit in me, will I begin to show them. So even if you struggle with what someone with a stern face once called the "new performance culture around the Holy Spirit" Christians need the Holy Spirit - on Mondays, when work is making you entertain axe-murderer fantasies, On Wednesdays, when that woman won't get off the phone and on Thursday night when sleep won't come because you are so worried. Without the  intervention of the Spirit - even in the most undramatic way - I know I have no chance of living the God filled life.

Galatians 5:22-24
But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.

Bullied

Just a brief rant, I have books to read and Rachel Riley and Pasha to worry about on Strictly so I can't stop. BUT, can I just say to M & S and Boots with your three for two Christmas offers and Argos with your Christmassy aliens that look a bit like little sperms and Aldi with your Christmas themed emails etc etc......

I will do Christmas when I am good and ready. If I were a betting woman, I would say that would probably be around December time - if only to fall in with hundreds of years of tradition. I am not afraid that things will run out. I see no reason to stuff my freezer at this stage. If the apocalypse happens between now and December and there are no sprouts in the shops, we will eat chips or cute little sausages on sticks. We will live. 

We all have a vague idea about Christmas presents but I see no reason to panic buy. The world is full of enough electrical gadgets to choke a pig so I doubt that we will run out. I love Christmas. I am a Christian. For me, Christmas celebrates that extraordinary time when God's amazing rescue plan began to form into a living human and I am very glad about that. But you are ruining it! I am sick of how pushy and steam-rollery you are about it. The decorations are up in the shops. By the beginning of December, we will either be completely sick of them or not even noticing them.

When the time is right I will be singing carols, watching "Nativity!" ( Things are really COOL in Nazareth - sing along) and  looking uncertainly into a box of tangled Christmas lights with the best of them. BUT NOT YET. STOP BULLYING ME. Thank you. 

By the way.  Tom Hanks. Captain Philips. Fantastic. Very tense. Left teeth marks in the seat in front but still fantastic. 

Now I need to go and nurse my dog through his annual firework induced nervous breakdown. Goodbye.

Pool

Near the Sheep Gate in Jerusalem there was a pool, in Hebrew called Bethesda, with five alcoves. Hundreds of sick people—blind, crippled, paralyzed—were in these alcoves. One man had been an invalid there for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him stretched out by the pool and knew how long he had been there, he said, “Do you want to get well?”

The sick man said, “Sir, when the water is stirred, I don’t have anybody to put me in the pool. By the time I get there, somebody else is already in.”

Jesus said, “Get up, take your bedroll, start walking.” The man was healed on the spot. He picked up his bedroll and walked off.

So thinking about this right. Just thinking. Don't feel the need to build a church round it or anything. For thirty-eight years you live paralyzed in this horrible place, surrounded by filth, sickness, moans and groans. You are alone, no-one to support you. You see your whole life ebbing away and there seems to be nothing you can do. You are tantalisingly close to the solution. If someone would just give you a hand into the pool. The pool is where it's at. You can almost touch the pool - only almost. Then you see Jesus. Jesus with his international galactic eye for the lost and the hopeless has zoomed in on you. Jesus knows what you need. He'll give you a leg up into the pool.

As usual, he doesn't do what you want straight away. He has a question. He asks if you want to get well. Well duh! But the question has focused your mind. Do you really want to see the change? How much? Your mind goes back to the pool. To the thing that you think will rescue you. You explain the situation. Tell him about the thirty eight years and how alone you are. But he doesn't give you a leg up. At least not one that you can see. And he doesn't seem that bothered with the pool. Doesn't he know about the pool? You thought everyone knew about the pool. Jesus says, you do it. Do it. You. No pool. So what are you going to do now? Get all upset about the lack of your special pool-shaped solution? Thirty eight years you have been going through this. Haven't you earned the pool?Or you could just do as he asks. Take a chance. So you respond. You DO something. And Jesus responds and you get up. You find you can. You couldn't before but now you can.

How much of it is up to us? To DO something. To respond the way Jesus asks rather than the way we have decided will make things right. Is something new needed? How much do we really want it? Like I said, just thinking.

Out and About

Theatre Royal Plymouth

On Friday, despite the threat of impending wind and rain based doom over the South West of England,  HOH and I ventured out to the ballet. We went to see Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, partly because we wanted to and partly because I didn't want to be the last person in the western world to go.
I have seen a bit of Bourne, I took FOW2 to The Nutcracker (which she could have taken or left to be honest.) HOH and I also went to see his version of Joseph Losey's The Servant - Play Without Words, which was fan yourself hot actually and I'm glad I didn't go with my nana.
Anyway, this Swan Lake was a sort of cross between a Grimm fairy tale, an astonishing feat of beautiful dance and er .. A Bronski Beat video. As you probably know, the "Big Thing" about Bourne's Swan Lake is that the swans are played by blokes rather than girlies. This has obvious repercussions when the Queen's son falls in love with the lead swan. I trust you are following my meaning here. 
My first mistake was not checking out the story before I went. I am too mean to pay £3.50 for a programme advertising lots of shops in Plymouth that I already know about so I went in completely ignorant. By the time I reached the interval - so many questions.
Who is he?
Is that his mother?
Why is he chasing the swans?
Is in love with a swan? Is that allowed?
Does he want a swan as a pet?
Wouldn't the Queen have something to say about that? Doesn't she own all the swans in England or something? 
When does Natalie Portman come on?

We had also managed to find ourselves sat next to a group of understudies on one side of us - all taut limbs, straight backs and spontaneous applause every five minutes - and a very charming old man on the other side who was struggling manfully with a cough and had to keep putting sucky sweets in his mouth. I tell you, the whole event could have been fraught with tension.

I have to report though that it was quite wonderful. Such amazing physicality, and beauty and humour and wonderful music which they managed to keep the spirit of despite moving so far away from what I suppose is the "Classic" version of the story. The scene in a club called "Swanks" where people managed to to do sixties dancing to a Tchaikovsky score was inspired and the startling finale make you leave the theatre feeling that you had been in the presence of something special. 

I came home and read the story and it all made a bit more sense - as much as any story about people being turned into swans ever makes sense - and although I did realise that the was also an agenda at play - I couldn't be bothered with that. I stood up at the end and clapped. All the theatre and me and the annoyingly lovely understudies. They were all very tall. I've seen Billy Elliot. I thought you couldn't dance the ballet if you were too tall. Another mystery that my lack of culture means I will never be able to solve.