This one is for me

Mostly dear readers of mine, I write a bit for me and a bit for you. I try and take into account what you might like to hear and scribble accordingly. This one, however, is more for me this week. I kind of know it but wanted to write it down because it will do me good to see it. Feel free to ignore.

A long reading - bit and pieces from Exodus. You can read it in more coherent form in the Bible

Sooo, the Children of Israel are on the run from Egypt, because Pharaoh had decided to let them go and then changed his mind, as you do when you are an all powerful despot I suppose. (Just a word of advice - bad move)

They moved on from Succoth and then camped at Etham at the edge of the wilderness. God went ahead of them in a Pillar of Cloud during the day to guide them on the way, and at night in a Pillar of Fire to give them light;this way they could travel by day and night. The Pillar of Cloud by Day and the Pillar of Fire by night never left the people.
God spoke to Moses "Tell the Israelites to turn around and make camp at Pi Hahiroth, between Migdol and the sea. Camp on the shore of the sea opposite Baal Zephon." And that's what happened.

Just to note here that the children of Israel who are not particularly noted for their unquestioning obedience to God are, for once doing exactly what they are told. They followed the Pillar exactly as God commanded and suddenly find that the whole thing goes massively pear shaped as they look behind to see lots of Egyptian shaped armies making a bee line for them. They are trapped. They are on the shore of the sea and the lie of the land means that they cannot go left or right - not to mention the fact that they are quite obviously NOT an army - they are a band of refugees who are not equipped for any sort of fighting at all. They have, to all intents and purposes, followed God into a trap. They then revert immediately to type and begin moaning and groaning and wishing they were dead etc. Moses - again to type - makes a big pronouncement about God while also telling then to back off.

"Don't be afraid. Stand firm and watch God do his work of salvation for you today. take a good look at the Egyptians for you're never going to see them again. God will fight the battle for you.
And you? You keep your mouths shut!"

The rest is history as they say. The very Pillar of Fire/Cloud that had proved so treacherous to Israel, turned on the Egyptians and they ended up sleeping with the fishes as Italian type people are sometimes heard to say.

So what to learn?
Not all messes are of my making. Sometimes I am being as obedient as I am ever going to get in this lifetime and it still ends up a big pile of poop.
It seems that God actually leads us into horrible places, where there is apparently no escape.
But, if I believe in God is it realistic believing in a God who
a) Ain't that keen on me
b) Is too wishy-washy to actually do anything to help me.
And anyway, all the evidence at my disposal points to a) and b) being a pile of piffle.

There is, of course, always the possibility that God leads us/me into these places to show us
a) How much he loves us by...
b) being God and doing something stupendous and rescuing us.

All I need to do is hand it over, carry on doing what I am told and believe.

Mark 9
I believe. Help me with my doubts

Things Old Christians Remember (Last Time)

I think this will probably be the last time I post on this because I am struggling to think of things now. There are of course a few bits and pieces.
Faith Teas - this was deliberately unplanned because it was an exercise in faith after all and God would make sure that we all brought different things. He didn't.
Street Witness / Theatre/ Door to Door To this day I cannot believe that I stood on Bolton Precinct doing the "I am the Devil" sketch or that I knocked on complete strangers' doors asking them if they wanted to be a friend of Jesus. I don't suppose it is the concept I dislike (although I have no time personally for uninvited people who knock on my door during Pointless) so much as how absolutely useless I was at it. I would be sick with nerves all day before and not much better after. I was a rubbish actor which is weird because I have done some speaking and enjoyed that. There used to be a sort of unspoken blackmail that said only the most spiritual people could do these things. Ha! My favourite ever door to door night was when I was paired with the man who was eventually to be Head of House and we went to the newsagents, bought a big bag of Maltesers and spent the evening sitting on a wall debating the best Woody Allen film ever made.
Sinners Bucket. HOH wanted me to write about this although I didn't ever see it. You were supposed to bring things like records, cigarettes, alcohol and other wrong things and leave them in a bucket at the front of the church. HOH says he would just like to say thank you to whoever it was in 1986 who brought the Marvin Gaye album because he had been looking for it for months. (This is possibly an urban myth. Possibly)
Washing up after the Sunday night meeting. I know lots of people will still do this now but it is one of my fondest church memories. Various members of the youth group would wash up after the coffee had been served on a Sunday night. We all got on really well and had a whale of a time. I laughed until snot came down my nose. Serving isn't always sacrifice to be frank.

Thank you for all your responses to these posts. It has been really lovely to remember all this and although much has changed for the better, there is very little in my Christian past that I would alter. Except possibly to utterly refuse to do the "I am the Devil" sketch.

Perceptions

Matthew 6:30
“If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you?

As usual, here in the South West, the tourists have gone, the children are back at school and the Indian summer begins. We were visited by some northern folk this week who have been saying how lucky they were with the weather. I think not. This week is always sunny. Odd but true. We went out for tea which is a rare treat and sat outside by the harbour. All very lovely and I enjoyed my meal very much. It was only after it arrived that I realised that I had ordered exactly the same meal (chicken in cream sauce) that I had eaten for tea the day before. I am so predictable.

FOW2 has started 6th form this week and has had to go back to homework so that means less chance of walking into the house at 5pm to find her watching some ridiculous programme on channel Zog or something. For the uninitiated, there is usually a woman interviewing some poor girl or stalking that woman from Steps about either their weight/looks/talent (or lack of it) or reduced family circumstances. There then follows 40 minutes in which a so called "expert" signs her up for plastic surgery or a diet of cauliflower and tissues soaked in orange juice. After six weeks of this when the victim is too woozy to complain, they usually get some fashionista  in, who has the air of someone who cannot believe that they are getting away with this. This expert then dresses them up in clothes that would make your cat laugh, tells them that they are beautiful and launches the poor girl out into an unsuspecting world. No wonder our perceptions of ourselves are all over the place.
This week HOH and I had to go to hospital for me to be re-measured for a new prosthesis. (Or Boob in a Box as we like to call it.) Since my skirmish with breast cancer all those years ago I have a kind of pathological distaste for being messed around with physically, especially by people I hardly know. No touchy unless I say so is my motto. Because of this, I have put off re-measuring for far too long and the aforementioned false booble is now looking very much worse for wear. We turned up to hospital. HOH is always my wing-man on these trips. He takes no nonsense - especially from bossy medical people. (Probably because it takes one to know one) So I went in for the fitting and was introduced to a very nice lady called Mandy who asked to have a look at my rubber booble. There was a moments embarrassment as I tried to surreptitiously remove a bit of sticking plaster that I was using to cover up a bit of it that had split but she pretended not to notice so that was ok. Unfortunately, as it was so old, we couldn't see what size it was. before you go for a fitting you are supposed to go and get your bra size professionally decided on at M&S or somewhere. Well that was never going to happen (see reasoning above) so I just read out my bra size from my own bra. The size for this bra came from my own very loose calculations which assumed that I had put on quite a bit of weight and was veering towards hefferdom. Mandy frowned a bit and did a bit of complicated measuring. then produced a bra and prosthesis for me. It fitted perfectly and lo and behold when I turned sideways - I had a rack! Mandy gently broke it to me that (a) my back size is four inches smaller than I had given her and (b) My boob size is 3 sizes bigger! It's a win-win!

So you are wondering, after all this unpleasantness why I am sharing this with you. It's because once again I find out that I always fall into the same trap.Too many times I assume the worst about myself - not just physically as here but spiritually and as a person. If in doubt, it is sometimes so easy to look at ourselves and veer towards the negative and shrink into ourselves. I am aware of how imperfect I am before God but he looks at me (and you mate) and points at us and says "Ooh she's lovely she is. Lovely enough to rescue and love and encourage and do great things with." We simply have to get hold of this and get confident enough to harvest fields, change worlds, challenge injustice and throw our shoulders back admiring our lovely contours.

Elbow Room

Hullo. Man, I've been ill. Only a cold but good grief - a shocker. Thank you so much for your encouraging remarks and wishes. Kept trying to get past it but body absolutely refused. Legs went from under me in shower (unattractive), kept falling asleep all the time and then finding myself crying a bit. I am known for this at Hargreaves Towers. I am very rarely ill but when I am, I lose my sense of perspective and can get a bit depressed. (You probably can't hear everyone I have ever met shouting A BIT?) I have unstinting respect for those who cope with ongoing illnesses. Watching lots of Paralympic stuff this week like most people, I am obviously and quite properly awestruck at the things I am seeing. However, I have to tell you that I am equally impressed by people with debilitating life conditions who get up, get going every morning and manage to function with a reasonable amount of positivity. This level of stick-ability is as least as admirable to me as a washboard stomach.
Anyway, think I am on the right side of it now. My arms and legs still feel like lead and I am prone to the occasional bout of sudden coughing which makes the little dog peg into the garden with horror but am definitely getting there.
The offspring have returned from camp with the usual interesting suitcases. Sometimes, when I feel a bit intimidated by the thought of heaven, I look at how the kids are when they return from these things and think it might well be fine (Don't tell me you don't get a bit scared by Heaven sometimes. Especially when people say it will be like one long Sunday service.)
One brilliant story. One of the younger kids is Romanian and his grasp of English isn't perfect. However FOW1 was happy to help him when he came up and asked
"Excuse me. Where is the toilet?"
That was fine, except that was day four!!?! What had been happening up until then? Don't think about it. I'm trying not to.
I have been rooting around my Bible a bit as usual. (When I'm ill I like to look up - "This is sickness is not unto Death." - #encouragement) I just wanted to tell you this. It has helped and challenged me. I did tell you that I was working on the concept of thankfulness after reading Ann Voskamp's book. One of the things thankfulness does for me is that it puts pauses in my life. It stops me going off on one. I know someone (not me for once) who, when bad things happen sort of howls "Oh noooo God why are you doing this to me?" as a sort of immediate response. In a way that is a natural response but it jumps too quickly to complaint mode for me and if I start complaining I am liable never to stop. I am trying to train myself to pause, so that when things happen, I take a breath, then think.

1. Is it likely that God wants to kill me?
2. If not is it more likely that God is on my side?
3. What are my evidences in my life when God had most certainly been on my side?
4. Say thanks for these evidences
5. Take logical next step which means that same God will invoke same process of listening and intervening, spurred on by his inexplicable love for me and pray sensibly and thankfully rather than in hysterically whingey voice.

What I think that this can do is provide God with elbow room. I know that he is God and doesn't need elbow room -don't write to the Baptist Union. I mean elbow room to work with me. A pause for him to ask me a question, to point something out or even to re-position things. I'm not saying that all things then immediately fall into place but it seems to be saving me a lot of worry. Rather than thinking "Well what if this is disastrous and God doesn't help?" I am trying to move to "Before you panic too much, remember what God has done for you. He may well be happy to do even more."

On a sadder note. Hal David has died. So many lovely lyrics to chose from. This is just about my favourite piece though it'a close run thing. "The moment I wake up. before I put on my make-up. I say a little prayer for you." Just perfect. HOH and I argue about whether we sing lead or backing on this when we join in when no one is listening. I always sing backing which shows how humble I am. He sings Aretha's part. You can draw your own conclusions about his humility.

Anyway, have to go. Back to work tomorrow. Time and Tide and the Ring and Ride bus wait for no-one. (Well the bus does obviously otherwise no-one could get on and off it but you get my drift.)

Miserable Crow

Can I just apologise? I know I haven't said anything yet but I find it saves time. The photo is my nose. My piggin' nose. The nose it is a block-ed. The eyes they are a-running. The throat it is a-killing. I have a cold and it makes me a miserable crow. I hate having a cold. I hate being ill. I suppose no one likes being ill (although thinking about the way some people carry on when they are ill - I suspect they secretly enjoy it) See. There I am, being horrible. Get used to it. There may be a lot of it in this blob er.. blog.

I'm just annoyed that's all. I had such plans for the weekend. Kids are off at youth camp. HOH at work. I get two days to myself to do housework and potter about. I had a lovely blog in my head about something God had shown me in the Bible. Do a bit of baking. Maybe meander off to church this evening. Pah! Yesterday I barely had enough energy to mope about and today, when left to my own devices I fell asleep. Rubbish! And to make matters worse. Tomorrow is Bank Holiday. HOH has the day off from the hospital. He never gets Bank Holidays. Never! He has tomorrow. The kids are away, we have the day to ourselves and I AM ILL. ('scuse capitals) 

And to make matters even worse I have been on the Twitter account of one of those women who are Super Christians  You know the sort. They are making every second count for the Kingdom. They are permanently productive. Never tired. Full time ministry, kids, husband not an ounce of fat on her. Bet she doesn't fall asleep for a whole afternoon.

And to make matters even more worse (I know, I know) I am not at Greenbelt again and all Christianity seems to be there and it looks dead interesting - if a little muddy - and last year we talked about going and we haven't and it's making me annoyed.

And, as if I haven't suffered enough, I intended to do some writing this weekend and I tried a bit but it was rubbish so I stopped. 

Anyway, before you all run from the room screaming. I finished reading One Thousand Gifts by Anne Voskamp this week. To be totally honest, I enjoyed the concept more than the book really and I thought that before I started being horrible. She is so lovely and thoughtful and gracious and I struggled to get on her wavelength, which is entirely my fault, I am sure. Part of the idea of the book is that you start to notice everyday blessings in your life and so develop a natural culture of gratitude. I flung another sodden tissue to the ground and decided to give it a go. After 15 minutes, I had come up with two and one of those was, "I suppose I'm not dead yet" so it didn't go too well initially. So, I had a brew and some chocolate. (Kate. Can I just say your cold cure "A Mars Bar and hot coffee" does not work at all. Haven't had a Mars Bar in years. More comforting than a Lem-Sip though, I can tell you) I tried again and did better. I am nowhere near the thousand mark but thought I would share a couple.

First gratitude point. Watched Parade's End. Of course, was in no way influenced by the presence of Mr Cumberbatch. I was very taken by it though. First thing is how much beauty was on show. The houses, the landscapes, Rebecca Hall was wonderful and stole every scene she was in. Adelaide Clemens as Valentine was, quite simply, luminous.   There was more comedy than I expected. The scene on the golf course was great and Roger Allam's Colonel, who at one point got out of a car in full military regalia for no reason at all as far as I could see, was brilliant.

The language is as dense as fog and I needed to pay attention. Sometimes I wasn't entirely sure what was going on (No idea why Anne-Marie Duff was snogging The Cumberbatch's companion twenty seconds after meeting him for instance) I do have a feeling though that it will be ever so slightly wonderful.

Second gratitude point. Fruit of Womb Two got the results she needed for sixth form. Probably wrong to boast but she did very well indeed. As you can see - her brother is thrilled for her. They are very close.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I am not an idiot and I do know that I have a lot to be thankful for. If you can find it in your heart to come back again next time when normal service should have been resumed, I will be eternally grateful. 

Things Old Christians Remember (3)

Etsy.com

The hat. Now memories are very subjective and mine are very much my own about this. But when I was a lass, hats in church were more or less compulsory. There were always a few brave souls who were willing to tell you about how they had been freed from this tyranny but I was only 14 and no-one was listening to me.

Allaboutyou.com

I hated it though. I really did. Firstly because my suspicion was that for some women it was not so much covering their glory as showing what a big hat they had.
Secondly, and if I am honest, more importantly for me, they interfered in the Farrah Flick that I was cultivating - big time. It was a pain spending hours with a dryer and curling tongs and then giving yourself lung disease with hair lacquer only for it to go all flat under a hat - and it made my head itch. So I asked my Mum to knit me a hat. A head covering if you will. So she took up her knitting needles and after much deliberation produced a hat. It was a small woolly skull cap. It fitted on the back of my head, allowing the Farrah Flick to flick unencumbered and yet, I was still wearing a hat. People will say with some justification that this went against the spirit of the hat wearing rules. But it was still a hat. Definitely a hat. It was soooo small though. In fact, I was reminded about this when I saw this photo. It was about this small, I think.

So when I see my daughter going to church, sometimes voluntarily putting on a nice beret. It can cross my mind to lecture her about the change in women's place in the church. Then I think about the hat I wore and think that i should keep my mouth shut.

Back to Life etc etc

We are back from our holidays and a good time was had by all, except possibly our bank account. I do love Center Parcs, as I believe I may have said before but £45 for a takeaway for four is a little steep n'est pas? However, we enjoyed ourselves and the weather was lovely. We all think that this will be the last time we would do this type of a holiday as a family. The kids are a bit old for it now. (I personally am WAY too old for the bikes. My more delicate parts may never recover. Can I say that? Will look it up)
Still. it was very lovely. Fave bits included: walking out for an early morning coffee with Head of House before anyone was up, going for manicure with daughter which was administered by a lovely girl who was straight out of a Victoria Wood sketch, going bowling on the night Mo Farrah won his gold medal leaving the whole bowling alley in uproar and sitting out, late at night, swaddled in blankets, playing 15 addictions. (This is where you go round the table and everyone had to come up with 15 things they really, really like. Excellent game.) These are times that stay forever.
Then we moved on to the three day relations visit. Quite tiring - being nice for three whole days but all went well I think. We went to the Trafford Centre, which was like the third circle of hell for me but I suppose it takes all sorts. It certainly attracts all sorts. There are people that you can smell the money on as they waft into the champagne bar at Selfridges. (Fair play though. If I had champagne at 11am, I would probably fall asleep at the bar within 20 minutes) There are also some scary people who have tattoos and multiple piercings as well as the Olympic Rings shaved into their heads. Their husbands are quite intimidating too. These people usually have more Selfridges bags than the minted people. Isn't life interesting? Maybe I have changed and gone a bit Plymouth and seasidy. I don't know but it was certainly hard work in there. Judge not lest ye be judged and all that! Many thanks to all who put us up (and put up with us) and fed us and made brews for us. Apologies to all those we didn't get around to. Especially because we didn't manage to visit our old church this time.

So now we're back. From outer space etc etc. The house looks like we have just moved in. The ironing is frightening. I need to get stuff ready for work. It is very important that I spend Saturday catching up on everything I need to do. Soooo, we thought blow all that and we went to Flavour fest. Flavour fest is Plymouth's annual food festival. Ignoring the torrential rain (you know that could be Plymouth's motto this year - they could out it on a shield or a statue of Francis Drake or something. Believe it has not been much better elsewhere.) As I was saying - ignoring the torrential rain HOH and I wandered round the lovely food market buying stuff we wouldn't ever usually shell out for. Please find a photo of our haul above. This includes: cheese scones, fruit scones, salmon and rocket fish cakes, crab cakes, potted mackerel, pork pies and home made piccalilli  Unfortunately, the cheese straw didn't make it to the photo as HOH was peckish.I didn't partake in the food that I fancied most because I have been brought up not to eat in the street as it is common apparently. This means that I had to walk away from a battered mackerel barm with tartar sauce. When St Peter calls my name and I am waiting for them to put the duvet cover on my heavenly bed. Hopefully, I will be handed a battered mackerel barm cake to munch on while I wait. Heavenly indeed.
Now I really do have to go and get some work done. Kids are off to Youth Camp on Saturday. FOW 1 is going as a leader this time. He is not that kindly disposed to young teenagers as a rule, so that should be interesting. Pray for him. Well pray for them actually.
Anyway. back in the saddle. Rest was much needed. If we need a rest, we should take it. Constant tiredness makes me ineffective, miserable and a general pain. God rested and Jesus recommended it. Must be good then.

Jesus said, "Come off by yourselves; lets take a break and get a little rest"

Things Old Christians Remember (2)

Flannel Boards (Source Etsy.com)
When I taught Sunday School the preferred method was the flannel board. Well to be completely honest - it was what you used if you hadn't prepared anything. It was a sort of fuzzy felt stick-on Bible story. I could never get the hang of it. Everyone in the stories was always turned slightly sideways for some reason and at least one figure would never stay stuck on. I had quite a struggle with John the Baptist I seem to remember. Then I could never get the perspective right, so Noah was always bigger than the ark he was going to fit all his family and all the animals on, which probably confused quite a few littlies. You had to be careful if you were using them with older children. I remember an unfortunate incident at Sunshine Corner with what we used to call "unchurched kids". I had turned my back for a second, only to find that Mary Magdalene and an un-named disciple had been moved into an "interesting" position. Pretty soon I felt the need to be a bit more creative - although not always entirely successfully. (My attempt to illustrate turning water into wine by using water and carefully hidden cochineal in the bottom of a jar worked a little too well. Younger members of the church were very impressed and rumours began among the children that I may have had special powers) I wouldn't be surprised to learn that flannel boards have come a long way and are very successfully used now by teachers with more flair than I ever had. However, reading about Summer Clubs and Church camps on the excellent Tracing Rainbows Blog and also seeing what goes on for children at my own church makes me want to wag a finger and say "You don't know you're born."

Lets squeeze this lemon!

Pinching my title from the GREAT Siobhan in "Twenty Twelve". It would seem churlish not to write about the Olympics after so much good stuff. For me the best bits so far are
a) Anything won on water - particularly the white water canoeing. As someone who is scared of water, I have full admiration for anyone who has enough presence of  mind to keep paddling at great speed when the temptation must surely be to burst into tears and cry "I don't like it!" until someone comes and rescues you.
b) All the cycling medals. It's really fast isn't it? And high up!
c) Mo Farrah. That's a really long way to run without a sit-down.
d) Andy Murray. To come back so soon to the place where you had lost and then win so well was such a great thing.
e) Gymnastics - that looks like it could hurt quite a lot.

Lots of other things have been great - the beauty of the stadium at night, Ian Thorpe, lovely Becky Adlington, Radio 5 Live's cycling coverage (outstanding Simon Brotherton), singing God Save The Queen, just saying the words "pommel horse" - the list goes on.
One of the strongest themes that I have picked up from the post event interviews with the athletes was the constant appearance of the words "sacrifice" and "discipline". People saying that everything they had given up or all the hard work that they had done was worth it. It's all a bit old fashioned maybe and a bit negative but it does seem that all this glory doesn't seem to come without sorting yourself out. Like my old mother used to say (or would do if I asked - I'm sure) "Nothing comes of Nothing. " (Actually just realised that's Shakespeare. King Lear. Look it up. hah!) If we are looking to achieve anything of worth then it seems that regular "keeping going" and not giving up is the order of the day.

On a slightly sadder note Bob Babbitt died last week. HOH and son have been in mourning for seven days. You may not know the name but you will almost certainly have heard his work. He was the bass player on zillions of Motown hits including - Signed Sealed Delivered, Tears of a Clown and Ball of Confusion. He suffered I think sometimes by playing at the same time as James Jamerson who was routinely called "The Greatest Bass Player of All Time." Yet Babbitt's attitude was lovely - eyes filling up with tears when he talked about how wonderful Jamerson was to him and how he was his mentor. Even though Jamerson's problems with drink and drugs must have made him a nightmare sometimes. Lovely man. Great talent.

I have to go now - I have a birthday cake to finish. FOW1 is nineteen today! Nineteen! Both Hargreaves Towers males have had birthdays this week. Expensive times. HOH had a new turntable. (Still plays vinyl. Says it sounds better) FOW1 had some kind of pedal for his bass that makes what I have called "wow-wow" noises  This has produced much derision. I am not respected in my own home. Still - at least they are cheap dates. Head of House and myself had civilised breakfast overlooking Plymouth Sound last week - see above (nice round here innit?) and FOW1 went out with chums yesterday so tonight we are staying in, eating Chinese and watching Th'Olympics. It is not my job to entertain everyone you know! Even you lot! Have a great week.

Things Old Christians Remember (1)

Before the days of Songpro there was the OHP. But before the technical wizardry of the OHP and its operators, (who were highly skilled people who had learned not to put the acetate on back to front at least seven times out of ten) there was the Redemption Hymnal and its partner - the yellow chorus book.  The big skill we all developed was singing the verse reading from the hymn book and then whipping it under your arm for the jiggy chorus so we could clap. We knew how to funky it up

Branagh Bond Bean

Source:The Independent

Like 27 million other in the UK, we were glued to the Olympic Opening Ceremony on Friday. Most of the comments seem to be in favour of the event except for a few strange people who seem to be offended by references to the NHS. If all 27 million viewers of this event in this country were lined up and everyone who had benefited from the NHS in some form or another was asked to put their hands up there would be very few people without their hands in the air don't you think?
I thought I might share a sort of Twitter like running commentary of the event as it played out Chez Hargreaves Towers. It's quite long but, rest assured, not as long as the athletes parade.

Family are settling down and introductory film begins. FOW2 whoops - "It's Benedict Cumberbatch!" Even though there is no sign of Martin Freeman the evening is looking very promising already.

Frank Turner entertains the crowd much to the delight of FOW 2. I am concerned that she may be peaking too soon.

The stadium looks magnificent with animals and children and peasants and things. A short film plays with every British cultural reference you could think of, backed by an equally cool soundtrack. As I suspected, it seems it was always a good idea to put someone from the North West of England in charge of this.

The largest bell in Europe is rung by a mod who turns out to be Bradley Wiggins. HOH informs us that Mr Wiggins lives just outside Wigan. rest of family struggle to understand relevance of this to anything at all really. Wiggo (as he is winningly nicknamed) leaves as quickly as possible looking like a man who would rather be back on his bike.

A young boy sings Jerusalem. I burst into tears.

Rather handsome man in very high top hat, strolls through what is now turning into a bleak industrial landscape. He puffs his chest out and begins to recite from "The Tempest" It's Kenneth Branagh! (He looks a lot better than he did when I last saw him. He was playing Wallander and appeared to be wiping his armpit with a lace curtain) Now he is Brunell, the great engineer. And he's reciting Shakespeare! Without looking at the words in his book once! FOW2 is fanning herself gently.

There are now too many cultural references to count - Suffragettes, Windrush, Sergeant Pepper, Chelsea Pensioners, Jarrow Crusade. The whole thing is looking like a sort of test film to be shown to people applying for British Citizenship. How many of these very British things can you name? FOW 1 has to be dissuaded from singing "The Red Flag" As Golden Olympic Rings are hoisted into the air I can feel my bottom lip wobbling. A pattern is definitely emerging here.

Then Daniel Craig - in Bond mode takes the Queen of England to the stadium in a helicopter from which she appears to parachute into her seat. Am astonished. Do the cartoon thing of polishing my glasses and checking the screen. She NEVER does anything like this. NEVER. Did Gin O Clock help? Who knows but well done your Maj.

National Anthem is sung by deaf choir of children who sign it beautifully. I burst into tears again.


A lovely tribute to the NHS is now the centre of lots of great moments. These include dancing doctors and nurses (real ones mind you), Voldemort, The Child Catcher, beautiful JK Rowling reading from Peter Pan and children bouncing on their beds as flying Mary Poppinses chase away the monsters. As Good Christian Men rejoice plays I fill up again. Children point at me and laugh. HOH passes me loo roll to deal with copious tears.Family are also questioning the wisdom of FOW1 putting "Stick that in your cake hole Mitt Romney!"  on Facebook. He ignores us, does it anyway and gets 142 "likes"

Rowan Atkinson is then very funny as Mr Bean, which is a sentence I never thought I would write.

There is then a sort of "yoof" section which is a great excuse for us to show the world that British people have written all the greatest pop songs EVER and remind then that Bowie, the Beatles, The Stones, The Sex Pistols, Amy Winehouse et all are well-you guessed it-BRITISH. Hah! As offspring are arguing about relative merits of above we get to see Tim Berners-Lee, the inventor of the world wide web. And British people are your actual geniuses as well! Am now getting quite jingoistic and enquire from children about how to send direct message to Mitt Romney. Children sensibly inform me that they have no idea and quietly move my phone away from me.

David Beckham. Suit. Torch. Speedboat. Enough said.

A tribute to those no longer with us as thousands of beloved family photos flash on screen. Emily Sande sings Abide With Me while beautiful dancers dance their beautiful dance. Beautiful hymn. Beautifully sung. HOH takes loo roll from me as we both sniffle.

Athletes parade. Lasts forever. Pour wine. Eat nuts. Amuse ourselves by trying to spot imaginary countries marching in - Narnia, Tatooine, Allezoop. Mood is also lightened by spotting German dignitary apparently Nazi saluting their team. Does not look like high five to me. Spot Charles and Camilla in fits of giggles. Feel this is not unrelated. GB team come in. High level cheering. Spot Tom Daley. Cry again.

Arctic Monkeys play. FOW2 has to lie on the floor.

Beautiful Olympic cauldron  is lit by young luscious unknown athletes. Brilliant! Am only slightly disappointed that it is not  Harry Potter shouting "LUMOS"

Paul McCartney rocks "Hey Jude" Am fearing for FOW2's health now.

And that is it. My favourite quote is from Danny Boyle. "I don't believe in God but I believe in the people who do. This is their show, they really are the best of us." And when I see how much of our heritage and history rests on the people of God, I can feel big dobby tears welling up again.

Microscope

I sit down to do this sometimes and I begin to panic. This has been a "meh" week. Nothing to tell you I don't think apart from apparently finding a dead dog in the back garden. (Morecambe is very keen on lying in the sun) But, one of the advantages of doing this is that I have to say to myself - "Think again - you have to write something. Forsooth, your people cannot survive without you!" (Ha! If only. I have been watching too much Shakespeare probably)

Sooo although, I know that basically, all I did was go to work and the like - didn't even finish reading a book - I am bringing you highlights from a boring person's week.

1. We booked our holiday. We are going retro this year with Center Parcs after the offspring requested it. We are aware that they may not want to come with us many more times. If you haven't been to Center Parcs recently, it is now practically a million pounds a minute so we are combining it with a trip up northern parts to impose ourselves on various relatives and friends. Center Parcs now offers a tree-house experience (I think there is a staircase but the prospect of me getting into a tree-house, possibly by rope ladder, kept my family laughing for what seemed like several hours - rude) The tree house option is about £2700 for a weekend. You can do New York for that! It was also sold out. (Not that we were considering it.)

2. Fruit of Womb 2 made it safely back from a "gig" in Exeter. Some band called "Howler" or "Moaner" or something. Don't think they have troubled the upper reaches of what used to be called "The Hit Parade". Still, she seemed to enjoy it and they signed a record for her so that was very nice.

3. Have made it up two levels on LEGO Batman. I don't think this is suitable for 3 year olds. It seems very difficult to me. It took me twenty minutes to get Batman out of the Batmobile at one point and then I couldn't find my way back to the Batcave. These LEGO people are fiends.

4. Head of House and I had a nice conversation with someone we hadn't seen for a while. For complicated reasons, it could have been quite difficult. It wasn't. God is very good at this sort of thing.

5. Morecambe is now up to date with his injections. It was traumatic of course - as you know he hates the vet. He did have 20mg of tranquilizer but his adrenalin levels were so high it made no difference. Still, once they had wrapped a blanket around his head and wrestled him to the ground, they managed to get the job done. Although his nerves meant that he had quite a trumpy bottom during the procedure. (Morecambe - not the vet.) HOH said he hoped no one lit a match. I wasn't there of course. I'm a much too sensitive soul for all that kind of thing.

6. Friday night was a rare Friday when everyone was home. Telly was rubbish so we switched it off and while having a drink and munching crisps we sat around and chatted and had an excellent time. Topics ranged from Bob Dylan to Youth Group Charades (Apparently FOW1 remembers spending 45 minutes trying to guess who one of the group had seen outside. The answer was "A Tree Goddess." - it's a long story.) It wasn't exactly an intellectual evening but I enjoyed it.

These are the tiny stitches in the embroidery of my life. They may not tear up any trees or get me interviewed by Fearne Cotton but they make me who I am. When I squint my eyes and look at this embroidery very closely, I think it looks very lovely indeed and I am very grateful.

PS. Family did go to Batman movie this week. It was about half an hour too long but to be honest - in view of this weekend's events in America, I don't really feel like reviewing it much anyway.

Everyone needs a yes sometimes

John The Baptist eh? What was he like? If a hero can be someone you admire but in no way want to copy then John the Baptist is one of my heroes. If I was offered the chance to be Nora Ephron - I may have been tempted for a moment. However, John the Baptist is a different proposition. Single minded, strong and a cutting edge in human form. To be given the job the prepare the way for the Son of God - fancy it anyone? Oh and it won't be like preparing the way for the Olympics like "Twenty Twelve" - all mocha lattes and meetings with Seb Coe. (if you are not following the BBC's brilliant Twenty Twelve - you do not have the true Jubylimpic spirit and are missing out. I am always thinking of you  first as you know and have put a little clip in to help you. I am too good to you.)
No this would mean giving up everything that you and I would call life - partner, family, friends, career and comfort with one purpose - just one - no work life balance here matey. No PR firm to big him up. In fact he began his ministry by retreating into the desert only for people to move heaven and earth to find him and to listen. It is, I think, an encouraging testament to the work he was doing for God that he managed to make it all happen without (a) social networking (b) a book deal or (c) a stadium tour. (Sometimes, when you see preachers nearly always being called by God on to bigger and brighter congregations - do you ever wonder about them going in exactly the opposite direction to John? Is it just me?)
It probably is just me. I am rubbish at self promotion and would love it if I could just send out dispatches from the desert. I'm probably just jealous of people who are good at getting out there. Anyway, back to John The Baptist rather than my meanderings. He was uncompromising, efficient, and single hearted. This was a man who had a calling from the womb - literally. When Jesus was looking for a man to baptise him - there was only one man to go to. Whatever it is that a man needs to be a follower of Christ - John had it in spades.
And yet we see him in Matthew 11. He is in prison. He is about to be the victim of a sordid game of sexual politics which will see him beheaded solely for his integrity. He knows that Jesus is out there and that his ministry has begun. He also knows that if that is so then his is drawing to an end. His whole life has been lived with this in mind. John the Super-Christian should now sit back and sigh and wait for his end. But he doesn't.
Matthew 11
When John, who was in prison, heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to ask him, "Are you the one who is to come or should we expect someone else?"

 But he is John - he must get the game? He has seen God move in an extraordinary way in his life. He has baptised Jesus and seen a unique manifestation of God when he did so. Is this a doubt? Is he scared about what will happen to him? Whatever the reason for the question, Jesus' reaction is well - Jesus like. He doesn't lecture him - "Well John - with all the stuff you have seen and grown up with - I am surprised you even had to ask. Good grief - call yourself a man of faith..." etc.
He tells John's followers - paraphrasing - God loves me and he lets me - "Go and tell him all that I'm doing - healing the sick, raising the dead, helping the poor. The evidence is there. All is as planned. It is ok." Then, when they go, Jesus doesn't say "Well that was disappointing. I was expecting a bit more from John I must say." He says just the opposite.
"Truly I tell you, among those born of women, there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist."


I think everyone needs to hear a "yes" sometimes. No matter how strong your faith. How much you do for God. However long you have been a Christian. However faithful you have been. Sometimes things happen and you wonder and you worry and you doubt. And you need to ask. Is it still ok? Are things how I have always believed them to be? Am I still secure with you God? Although we know the answer really. I think our kind, sensitive God  is just waiting to give you the affirmation that you need. Sometimes we need to hear a "yes" It's ok to ask. He won't bite. It's supposed to be a relationship you know.

A Week Part Two

Continuing yesterday's thoughts. This bit is more religious but it is good stuff I think so you pays your money and you takes your choice. As I think I said in Part One, I was watching a docudrama about the time just after the Resurrection. Docudramas are not always necessarily a "good thing" I think. However, this was ok as Tom Cruise was not playing Jesus nor was Brad Pitt playing Peter and no one had a Hollywood root perm.
I was watching as Peter and the other Jewish followers tentatively stepped out into what was called "The Way" as they began to live as if the Kingdom of God was already here. At first it was all sweetness and light as they were considered slightly funny but then things began to change. The Bible isn't specific about what turned people against them. Some scholars think it was the Day of Pentecost. Some, the forces unleashed by the death of Stephen. Some think it was because they were so popular that powerful people began to feel threatened but the tide of public opinion certainly seemed to turn.
I think that I am sometimes guilty of "Hollywooding" Biblical christian persecution. I think I subconsciously think that because Stephen went to his death seemingly serenely, that it wasn't so bad really. Watching a representation of the reality makes you wake up a bit. Most people didn't go quietly to the horror of a stoning. They struck out and fought and dug their feet into the ground in a futile attempt to stop it as they were dragged outside the city walls. People lived in fear of a night-time knock on the door which would lead to a short trial and a condemnation. The threat of a crucifixion for both men and women was a constant terror, as the Romans intended it to be, and the small community scattered, leaving just the original disciples.
I wondered what that must have felt like, to see your dreams of this Christian kingdom shattered so completely. There must have been doubts creeping in. Now you may say that you never doubt but if you do say that, I fear you may be a cad and a charlatan *takes off glove and hits you gently on the cheek to demand satisfaction* I doubt about 20 times a day - before breakfast. But even in this most catastrophic of situations the disciples would see that God wan't going to change what was happening but that what was happening seemed to be part of the plan. Firstly, when the church was scattered, they didn't leave the gospel behind. They took it with them. They settled into lives and continued to live in "The Way" And the most important message in history had found a way to push out of its boundaries.
Then, the church receives one of those decision cards back and it has been filled in. You know the kind of thing. Left on the end of pews for children to doodle on and we get the shock of our lives when a genuine one has actually been completed.
"I am very interested in learning more about your church with a view to joining it.....signed ..Saul of Tarsus."
Arrrgh! Are you joking God? Our biggest persecutor? The man who has taken all our troubles to a new level of horror almost single handed? Yet this was the man who God would use to take the church to the next level of love and productivity. He was their biggest problem but would become their biggest earthly asset.
Now I'm never too sure about the school of thought that says that God sends horrible things to make us strong. However, in "this ever changing world in which we're living" (Acknowledgement :Scientifically Proven Best Beatle) where all sorts of powers and pressures and principalities are at work, life IS full of horrible things. Things that make you doubt that there is a way out of this.
It is very encouraging, therefore, to see that God can miraculously use the very disasters that are smacking us over the head to change our circumstances. Please get what I am saying here. God doesn't always take the things that trouble us away, and I don't just mean that they pass and then we feel stronger because we managed to live through it - although there is some value in that certainly. I mean that he actually changes things - using all the things that are happening to us - good or bad. And maybe - just maybe, we will look back on something insurmountable that is going on at the moment and realise that, not only did God miraculously intervene but he did so using the very thing that was causing the problem. *Wanders off pondering the massiveness of  God.*

Ephesians 3
God can do anything you know-far more than you could ever guess or imagine or request in your wildest dreams.

A Week

Really busy week. Work - blah. Cracked Tooth - blah. Dentist - blah. Lots to say and hope the blog isn't too long. It occurs to me that I might make this a bit easier by blogging a bit more often but don't want to overstay my welcome so will think about it. We all survived the Prom. The weather was awful which didn't help the balcony shot at FOW2's friend's house.

They spent a lovely day hot-tubbing (is that a word?) and being pampered. Then all the mums arrived and made their lives a misery for an hour by fussing and panicking. Some mums were a bit uber-organised which made me feel like a bad mother (again) because I just sort of turned up, gave her a kiss and said "have a good time" and "be careful with that dress because I'm going to Ebay it" She looked beautiful and grown up which was both lovely and a bit sad if you know what I mean.
Head of House and FOW 1 spent the weekend in York sorting out move to student house for next university year. Did I mention that he had changed his course from Politics to Archaeology?  Can't remember. Lots of reasons. Boring, Very disillusioned with the kind of people who did a politics course (some of them anyway) and also because, as his new Archaeology teacher said "I have no idea why you ever opted for Politics. You have stellar marks in History. whatever possessed you?" He wanted to make a difference I think but has decided that Politics is not the way to do it.
Just as an aside and in a non party political way. The only politicky person he saw that he at all impressed by (and he saw quite a few) was David Milliband. He was the one politician who, when asked a question that he didn't know the answer to replied, "I don't know the answer to that but I will try and find out for you." No ballooning. Just an honest answer. Something to be learnt there maybe?
Anyway, as I was saying,  family males were away for the weekend so I was in charge and people were panicking on Spotlight News because of the weather forecast. Floods everywhere apparently. Danger of Death. First time ever that Devon had a "RED" weather alert. They were so worked up that it knocked the story of "Extra Large Flower Grows in Salcombe" off the top of the news. Then FOW2 went down with a bad cold so she was going to be no help. Couldn't sleep on Saturday morning because I was so busy listening for the Four Weathermen of the Apocalypse coming galloping up Glyn Road. How was I going to get Morecambe into a helicopter when we were winched to safety without him biting Prince William?
Found myself watching some Christian TV. Spent twenty minutes being begged for money then watching some young people with interesting hair doing worship. At one point they appeared to be shaking their fists at me. Oh Yeah? Well come and have a go then!
I luuurve Young People. I live with two of them and because of that I am running into lots of them all the time. (For some reason nearly all of them tell my kids - "I love your Mum - she is so funny and Northern!". Why does no-one ever say "She's so deep and spiritual" or "She reminds me so much of Nigella Lawson"? Answer to that obvious I suppose.) All young people are a bit annoying obviously but I think they deserve better than this one size fits all approach. It reminded me why I hardly ever bother with this kind of stuff. I'm not alone apparently. It's a shame because I know there is good stuff on there - I see preachers' names and I know they will be good. It's just that there is so much same old - same old. For me anyway. I do not claim to be the fount of all media knowledge.
So I found this channel which was running a sort of docudrama of the time just after Jesus' resurrection. I don't even think it was overtly Christian because it kept going on about a "vision" of Jesus doing this and a "vision" of Jesus appearing here. It really hit home for me in a few ways though. The thing is, I have spent so much time rattling on about nothing in particular that I don't really have time to write about it. So, I will probably do another post tomorrow. Please call back if you can. have just realised that this is 100th post. Sorry it is not more epic. Must be more disciplined. Must not witter.

Tar

Have taken far too much time watching the football. I have managed to fall out of the small routine that I have in the evenings and I am doing my own head in. It surprises me how it only takes a little disruption - like watching 22 men play the beautiful game and it being available nearly every night - to throw me off my little but still quite important evening routines. These are the routines that ensure that I get stuff done such as making sure everything is ready for work next morning so I don't find myself frantically ironing a work shirt on the kitchen counter while trying to make my lunch sandwich and avoiding getting mayonnaise on said shirt. These are the routines that get writing written, dogs walked, menus planned and families nagged. They are annoying but they are important and I have to remind myself that I am a grown up now and need to buck up. Goodness knows what my life would have been like if I had lived during the time of say.."Lark Rise To Candleford" (the book not the wishy-washy TV series.) In those days every waking moment seemed to be devoted to work to stay alive. My family would have wasted down to nothing years before now. Anyway, the football is nearly finished now so back on the wagon as they say.
The title of this blog is part of the phrase "Tarring everybody with the same brush." I don't know if it is just a northern phrase and I'm sure it's roots are quite unsavory but it was the only thing I can think of. Look, if you want literary depth try Shakespeare or Jilly Cooper or something.
I had been thinking about it while reading all the stuff about bankers. It is terrible to me how these people could bring us to the point of financial meltdown by using techniques that were both immoral and, it now seems, illegal. In another age we would have dragged these people to stocks or possibly guillotines. I am not recommending this as a punishment but  the lack of accountability is almost as shocking as the things that have been done. However, I was earwigging in a queue this week and heard of someone going into a bank and having a go at the girl behind the counter which concluded with a phrase along the lines of  "you ******* cheating bankers are all the same!"
I worked in a bank for fifteen years. I have many friends who work in banks. These are nice, normal people who would no more illegally fix an interest rate than they would boil their own heads. Many of them will be able to tell you stories about the time they were called to meetings to be told that the old culture of service, relationship and good stewardship were now to be ditched in favour of sales and oh yes.. selling. I remember people with thirty years of service being told that if they didn't like it then they needed to find somewhere else to work. These decisions had been made by people as alien to them as something bursting out of John Hurt's belly - yet they all go under the title of "bankers". And not everyone who works in banking sales is a twonk. Some people are though - and some are not. It's an individual thing.
Christians suffer the same problem. If you say you are a Christian, people sometimes see you as a right wing, gay bashing, crusade approving, cheek sucking in, generally disapproving kind of person or as a pathetic softy who uses Christianity as a crutch and won't face up to the realities of life. I wouldn't say that I am either but you might disagree. Then again, you may know a Christian who is like the description above and have therefore decided that this is how all Christians are. Some people judge all Christians by a bad thing that was done to them by a Christian once. Is that not like judging all Mexicans by a bad thing that was done by a Mexican once? I may be a Christian chump. It doesn't mean that my Christian friend is. Some Christians are as bad. She's not spiritual enough because I saw her in the pub. He's too into his own holy hole to be of any use to the church. You know the sort of thing. Being judgy is a tricky business. By tarring everyone with the same brush you might be missing out on good people and a different point of view. The banking crisis is a sad state of affairs with many innocent victims. Lots of them may have the words "bank clerk" in their job description. Be kind.

Phillipians 4 The Message
You'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious - the best, not the worse.

Salt

Last week Head of House made our tea. This is not an unusual event. He often shares in cookery duties because he is a man - not an idiot. On this occasion he served up spaghetti bolognese, again not unusual. This is a meal well within outstanding capabilities. However, this week there was a problem. No one wanted to say anything at first because you don't want to appear ungrateful but it was sooo salty. In the end, the coughing and the buckets of water we were consuming sort of gave the game away. HOH was the first to say - "Is this salty? Or is it me?" Relief! "Well yes actually - it is - a bit. Not a lot. Just, well, a bit" All very British.
It turns out that Nigella - for it is she - always salts her pasta liberally because she feels that it should taste as "salty as the Mediterranean" or some such blah. This confirms my thesis that Nigella should never be allowed to teach cookery to chaps because they either do not concentrate on anything she is saying as they are so busy staring glassily or they follow her advice, slavishly without question - even if it means everyone in the family develops type 2 diabetes in the space of an afternoon.
I am aware that Biblically, salt is often seen as a good thing and I am certainly NOT contradicting the Bible. None of your heresy here indeed no! But salt isn't always a good thing and those of us who spent an evening this week putting our fingers down our throats and making retching noises will attest to this. (HOH I am not going on and on about this. I am making a very deep spiritual point here. I am aware that anyone can make a mistake. Let's ask ourselves whether you were that gracious when I forgot to move the dog pooh from under the back step. You know it is a rule in here to look before you walk.)
I was reading in Ezekiel this week about a vision about a river that flowed into the sea. Unusually, when this river flows, it turns salt water into freshwater. Wherever it touches (and only where it actually touches) the land becomes habitable, plantable (if you know what I mean) lush and green.

Wherever the river flows, life will flourish...because the river is turning the salt sea into fresh water. Where the river flows, life abounds. The swamps and the marshes won't become fresh - they'll stay salty. But the river itself on both banks will grow fruit trees of all kinds. Their leaves won't wither and the fruit won't fail."

I have left a bit of scripture out here which I think means certain death but you can read it in Ezekiel 47. Its very good.
This week, I spoke to a lady at length on the phone. I don't speak to her that often and can't claim to know her that well but I have to be honest - it was a bit of a trial. She doesn't seem to like anything or anyone. Everyone has it in for her, everyone has an agenda, no one cares. It was the kind of conversation that makes you metaphorically put your duvet over your head and wait until it goes away. It made me think of the salt thing because I sort of felt that was how a slug must feel when my Mum is out and about in the garden with the salt cellar. My challenge, which - spoiler - I failed miserably, was, I think, to try and take the salt out of the way she felt and leave her happier and more balanced about life and her friends. It was much easier and in a way more natural to let her way of thinking infect me and end up believing that most people are indeed ratbags and go and shout at the football, which is more or less what happened
So, how to overcome when you are in the middle of general horribleness? When nastiness is intimidating the living daylights out of you and it's difficult to fight back. When you are behaving like a piece of work yourself and seem powerless to stop it. Don't ask me - it's well outside my skill set. The difference, of course is God. The God who can turn us around and make us what we are not. Who makes the impossible possible. The promise is there but delivery only comes with asking. I think we are meant to ask and often. Only with God and through God, I think the moral is.

Quick Call

This is a little itsy bitsy blog. Just to check in really. Spent the weekend feeling a bit ill with a full on headachy thing. My old mother says that sometimes when you feel ill, its a warning that you are overdoing it/stressed/pooped or all of the above and that feeling a bit off is your body's way of prioritising you taking a rest. So that's what I am doing.
This means this weekend I had to give up on

• Big cook in and freezing stuff (have actually thrown some food away aaaagh!)
• Trying new chocolate cake recipe   (Lin, if you are reading this, the reason I am trying new recipe for chocolate cake is because you keep forgetting to bring me yours!)
• Church and the return of our beloved pastor
• A trip to the cinema to watch the Danny Boyle's stage production of Frankenstein as above (Much looked forward to)
• My blog

Still, thems the breaks I'm afraid. I am putting this sorry carcass first for a couple of days. Normal service resumed next week. DV *Lies down and puts another Mentalist DVD in the machine*

Beautiful or useful....

......or loved.
I am trying to deal with a character flaw. Trying and failing. Apparently, one of the things that is preventing me surging forward into being a mighty woman of God is my inability to streamline my life. Specifically, my struggle with clutter. I have had a book on this from the library. There are a lot of these books about. These books promise me that they will show me the great secret to sorting my life out. Having read a good few of these books, my first reaction is to wonder which chumps give these people publishing deals. In every single one of them we discover that the great secret to de cluttering my life is to - wait for it - throw things out! Insight bordering on the supernatural there I think you'll find.
I have to make clear here that I am not one of those people you see on the telly who live in six feet of filth and have to have counselling before throwing out a newspaper with a headline showing the Hindenburg on fire. These are people who are not well. I am not mentally ill - or certainly not in a way that manifests itself this way. Whether it is balanced behaviour to get up early on Saturday morning to watch four back to back episodes of The Mentalist you will need to judge for yourselves. (By the way - box set - great birthday present family of mine)
So, we know it isn't as bad as it could be but could it be better? Could I sail through life unencumbered by stuff. I do admire those who seek to live life more simply. Thinkers and peaceable people who have managed to pare back their lives. I am not one of these people. It's just that so much of my life is tied up in things. Witness the shelf in our bedroom. (s'cuse dust) It's full not just of things but memories.
Candlesticks - bought on a lovely, in and out of shops, kind of day in Modbury when we had just moved South West.
The Angel Statue - given to me by the cast of a play I directed in my old church. Pleasant surprise - thought they hated me.
Jo Malone Candle - Christmas Present from Mum and Brother. Would never spend that sort of dosh on a candle for me. Gets lit on high days and holidays only.
Family Photos - No explanation necessary
Kissing Pigs - Bought on first ever trip to York as married couple. Not high art I know. Ask me if I care.
Perfume Bottle - Gift from HOH. None of your business.
Red Candle Sticks - Usually brought down for Christmas Table.
Teddy Bear - Pinched from present bundle we made up for friends' baby. Look, we bought the baby clothes from GAP - it's enough for anyone.
Teddy Bear is wearing necklace Fruit of Womb 1 brought back from school trip to Germany. Can't say I actually wore it but the thought and everything.

In terms of money, there's nothing too valuable there. The memories are the greatest value possible. Call me a sentimental old bessie but I would rather deal with a bit of a dust trap that makes me happy than a streamlined empty space that leaves me more time to take over the world or whatever it is I am supposed to be doing. You are not supposed to have anything in your house that isn't beautiful or useful. What about stuff you love? I'm building relationship, family, friendship here. I realised long ago that I wasn't able to build an efficient palace that would get me into Minimalist Weekly. Fortunately, that never did float my boat.

Present yourselves as building stones for the construction of a sanctuary vibrant with life, in which you'll serve as holy priests offering Christ-approved lives up to God.
1 Peter 2

Send One Victorious

Ok so, miles behind today. People in Plymouth are grimly determined to get into the Jubilympic Spirit and risking life and limb to put up their bunting even in the teeth of a gale.(see neighbour above.)
Have approximately 20 minutes to write this as have just prepared large Jubilympic Lunch (Chicken pie, potatoes and roasted carrots followed by home made strawberry semi - freddo since you ask)
I have just watched Her Maj watching what must have seemed like a million boats go by as she smiled and waved and refused to sit down. I hope she had at least slipped her shoes off and got her slippers on.
If you don't live in this country, you may well have no idea how big a deal the Diamond Jubilee is here so, as it is a criminal offence in Great Britain to write about anything else at the moment - you can have my thought about what the Jubilee means to me.

1. Two Days Off Work. Hurrah for the Monarchy! (Except for Head of House, he's been quite tetchy about not having any time off, which I think is quite selfish. Anyway, I would have thought it would be a privilege to spend the day in hospital serving old people who remember the Coronation etc. Apparently not.)
2. It's a chance to think about how quickly time passes. It really doesn't seem two minutes since the Silver Jubilee. We had a street party and everything then. There has been no interest in having something like that here. There are some very good reasons for that. We are on quite a busy road/It has rained all day/Half of our road is made up of students who probably have no wish to socialise with us after HOH broke up their party at 3am with threats to call the police and other shouty things which probably should not come out of a mature Christian's mouth. I do remember the Silver Jubilee well though. My offspring give me respect because they are impressed that I remember that the Sex Pistols really hit the big time that year. There is probably no need to tell them that I wasn't exactly thrilled at their arrival. *Me, watching Sex Pistols "Did he just spit then? Seriously? Dirty Pig!"* 
3. Even though, in my heart of hearts, I am not sure that a Monarchy is something a grown up country should be having in this day and age, I bow to no one in my respect for her Maj. She stands for values like constancy, commitment, duty and doing the right thing. Sometimes people say that she has lived through everything. Well she probably hasn't actually. She hasn't lived through poverty or debt. She hasn't been made redundant or worried about how to pay the mortgage. But, with the highly favourable life that she has been blessed with, she has still chosen the harder way and committed herself to her country with an admirable sure footedness. Maybe the only time she faltered was at the death of Diana. (You need to realise that I think that "The Queen" with Helen Mirren was actually a documentary) Even then, time has shown that she was ok and it was everyone else that went mad. 
4. She may well be that last "Christian" monarch we ever have. I know that is a bit sweeping and it is one of those things that we don't notice until she is gone but (and again - I have no evidence for this whatsoever) I wonder how much influence she has exerted on those around her and how much her faith has helped her to hold the line under all sorts of pressure.
5. I don't live in a perfect country and who knows where it is heading but The Jubilee makes me think that this country is ok really. It could be worse. Which is a very British thing to think.

Anyway, tomorrow is the concert thingy led by Sir Gary Of Barlowton as he is surely soon to be. Don't know if I will watch it. Am still traumatised by sight of the Princes "getting down" at the last jamboree they organised. There are some things that the Royal family should never allow themselves to do in public. 

Listen, I really have to go now. I have been late for church the last three Sunday nights running which is not acceptable, not big, not clever and certainly not stiff upper lip British behaviour.Rushing Now....

Education, education, education

We continue to shout our praise even when we're hemmed in with troubles, because we know how troubles can develop passionate patience in us, and how that patience in turn forges the tempered steel of virtue, keeping us alert for whatever God will do next. In alert expectancy such as this, we're never left feeling shortchanged. 
Romans 5


I have sacrificed my afternoon for you to come in out of the glorious Devon sunshine and write this. Although, to be honest, I think I was just getting to that stage where someone was about to say - "You look a bit red" and you realise that your skin feels a bit sting-y. It's a bit weird here because the heat and a cloudless sky are accompanied by a near gale force breeze. (Hence the photo above - Californian Poppies - not blurry but blowy)
We are all in full GCSE mode still. Anyone with offspring will know that exams are not just confined to the person taking them. Everyone else in the family is either helping revision, or being supportive or trying to make sure everyone is happy or worrying or all of the above.
Like most sane people, I am a great believer in education. Education is how people learn things. Some things may prove to be more useful than others. But, whether it's being taught why Sylvia Plath didn't just cheer up a bit and have a Magnum in the garden, or what difference it makes to you that two men digging a hole in Whitby take an hour to do it if they use bigger spades, education is a "good thing", I think we all agree.(That's a statement - not a question - Fruit of Womb Two!)
Education though, takes many different forms. I saw some in action this week when I was walking to work. A dad was walking his little girl to school and she was unhappy. Very unhappy. She toddled along behind him, lunch box in one hand, school case in the other, sobbing her little heart out. She did not want to walk. Her dad then turned round and quietly said, "Act your age, you need to walk, it's not very far." He then took her case and her lunch box from her and pressed on to school with a very vocal little person following behind. She was such a little chicken, I wondered why he didn't just scoop her up and carry her - if only for a quiet life.
He was right though, she needed to learn. He was prepared to do everything to help her - taking away her bags  - but he wouldn't do it for her. I suppose loads of you are ahead of me now, but I did think how often I have thrown up sulky prayers which go along the lines of  "You are God - You can therefore do anything. So why are you not getting me out of this mess?" Sometimes, just to add insult to injury, I will add. "You say you are supposed to love me. hah" Slightly embarrassed but it's true.
I do know though, that the idea is that I am supposed to learn from God. I am supposed to mature and to grow into someone who looks as though they have spent time with someone who is better than them and whose wisdom and goodness is having an impact. This will not happen if I get lifted out of every crisis, many of which are of my own making, like some kind of spiritual episode of the A Team. This is not to say that God doesn't intervene miraculously, and that we are not to ask for that. When I was very ill a few years ago, a "well meaning" Christian person informed me that God was not our "all bases rescuer" I had two things to say to that - fairly graciously actually.
a) That's very easy for you to say as you are not the one with the life threatening diagnosis
b) I think he is just that - my all bases rescuer. Just not always the way I would want him to be.

It's all a learning process and sometimes it's painful. We still have to go though things - lots of things. There are times when, although I suspect that nothing would make God happier than scooping us up and carrying us through life; the wisdom of God means that all he does is take our Marvel Avengers lunchbox from us, so that the load is a bit lighter and encourage us from the sidelines.

This made me think about Tim Vine gently satirising the "Footprints" poem. (he is a Christian and it is therefore allowed) You know the bit when the Christian asks - "Why Lord, when things were most difficult are there only one set of footprints?" and Jesus answers
"My beloved child, when you look back and see one set of footprints, it is then I should tell you that at that point I had decided that it might be more fun to hop!"

Have a good week. One last thing - if you haven't voted for Sherlock at the BAFTAS, I will not be very pleased. You know who you are. PS Will actually also accept a vote for Great British Bake off.