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.
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.
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.)
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.
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.
