Homemade Sal

Extravagance

2011-11-13T11:00:00.000-08:00

About eighteen months ago, I went along to a worship and ministry evening at a great church in Maidenhead. During the evening, I received a prophetic painting of a set of knitting needles and a ball of yarn. The painter told me that she felt that God was unravelling me!! The previous roles in ministry that I had held were changing. God wanted to unravel me, and then re-wind me, so that I could be knitted into a new garment. How exciting is that?!?! The painter had no idea that I was a knitter as we'd not met before!!

Later that evening, I was prayed for and anointed with oil, in preparation for the new ministries that God had in store for me. It felt really significant, and I came home full of excitement. You see, for years I have wanted to preach. I've shared my personal story both privately and in public, and I have always enjoyed public speaking. At university, I did a Theatre degree and I was a secondary school teacher for a period of time, so speaking to large groups of people is something I've always found easy and lots of fun. Plus, I often felt that my casual chats with friends turned into sermons, as so often I had really strong feelings about things and felt unable to keep them to myself!!!

So, I waited. I waited for opportunities. I waited for God to tell me what to preach about. I waited for training. I waited for encouragement. I waited for an invitation to speak. I waited....

I've had a few opportunities to preach. I have loved every minute of it. My amazing husband, Dave has been preaching for years, and so he has passed on lots of great advice and wisdom that, in turn, had been shared with him. The best piece of wisdom he passed on came from his friend and former mentor, David Brown, who told him that before we can preach a sermon, the Holy Spirit must first preach it to us.

Great advice. Such wisdom. So much sense!! So, with that in mind, I'd love to share with you something that God is preaching to me about at the moment.

This week, God has called me to change the way I worship Him. Last Sunday, I stood at the back of church , singing, watching my kids run about, and watching other peoples' kids doing the same!!! I watched the church worship, and then I turned to my beautiful friend, Wendy. Wendy is a pleasure to know. She is a delight to spend time with, and she loves Jesus passionately.

As I watched her worship, I noticed a difference between her and the rest of our church. Despite her tiny frame, understated clothes, and incredibly gentle and shy personality, Wendy is extravagant, when it comes to worship. In fact, when it comes to Jesus, she is extravagant, full-stop. She loves to read her bible. She loves to pray. She loves to worship. She loves to introduce others to Jesus and to His church. She cannot stand attention and is not at all into public speaking, but she worships God loudly, whole-heartedly, with her whole body, and without inhibition.

Wendy has four young children and a husband, who often plays in the worship team, and yet she is somehow able to focus on Jesus in worship, listen to what the Holy Spirit is saying, and respond with every fibre of her being. To me, she embodies the verse, "Let everything within me praise Him!" I had to share my feelings with Wendy, that God delights in her extravagance greatly!!!

I was reminded of the woman, in the bible, who broke a precious and valuable jar of perfume, over the feet of Jesus, and then wiped His feet with her hair. I suddenly understood what that woman did, and why it pleased Jesus so much. It was her extravagance. She gave Him everything she had, including any ounce of pride that may have remained within her. She risked making a fool of herself. She risked rejection. She risked ridicule. She risked it all. She surrendered it all.

Being extravagant is not about showing off. It's not about being the centre of attention. It's about our hearts, and it's about rising it all.

How many times have I sung the words, "I surrender all", with my arms in the air, but my mind on the opinions of others? Have I surrendered all? Really? How many times have I held back, fearing that I might look silly?

During this week, God has confirmed in me another calling on my life. This calling involved my husband too. We feel that God has called us to extravagance when it comes to giving. Let me be clear. We are not giving more money that other people. In fact, we're most likely giving less. But, God is calling us to be extravagant in our faith, when it comes to giving and trusting God for His provision. We have seen God's amazing, miraculous provision in our lives very recently. It has amazed us and blessed us. It has built our faith. But it had always come after we have stepped out in faith with our money. When we have given to Gift Days at our church, we have handed over money that has been specifically put aside for other things - holidays, cars, carpets. Every single time, we have still been able to have those things...and more!!! A once-in-a-lifetime anniversary trip to New York City. A Honda CRV, big enough for our whole family, in perfect condition. A free Blue-Ray DVD player, better than our current DVD player!! £1000 in cash, as a gift, from a friend who felt God prompt her to give it to our family. Car repairs paid for outright. Boxes of groceries left on our doorstep. Cheques handed over. Cash handed over. A brand new Citroen Zsara Picasso, just before I gave birth to our second child. A coffee bought by a friend. Brunch from my friend. A day in a lovely health spa. A week's holiday. A deposit for a house. A new pair of shoes. A romantic night out for Dave and I.

I was always taught that the money we receive is not ours, it belongs to God. He has given us money to see what we will do with it.

With the money that God has given us, Dave and I we have bought random bags of cookies, DIY supplies that have remained unused in our shed, clothes that didn't fit properly, shoes that I've worn once, cushions that get thrown off the bed anyway, expensive (and popular) toys that broke within minutes of being given to our kids, haircuts that no-one notices, a surround-sound system that never got connected to out TV, another mascara, dinners that we didn't finish and countless other things. We've also managed to obtain silly loans and an overdraft. Not exactly great use of God's gift. We feel cross with ourselves. Who are we to misuse God's money so very badly?

So, we have decided to make a change. We will be extravagant in our giving and extravagant in our faith. We will be self-controlled and disciplined with our spending, of both God's money and God's time.

When God gave us Jesus, He gave the most precious thing He had. He gave extravagantly. When Jesus gave His life for us, He gave up the most precious relationship available - a relationship with God. He gave extravagantly.When we worship, we can choose to hold something back, or be extravagant. When we give our tithes and offerings, we can hold some back for "a rainy day", or trust our Lord and Saviour to shelter us from the rain!!! We can live lives limited by our weaknesses, lack of faith and inhibitions. Or, we can be radical. We can be extravagant, just like God has been with us.

Is it really too much for us to give it all back...extravagantly? Doesn't He deserve it?

God's Call

2011-09-18T11:45:00.000-07:00

An amazing thing is happening. God is calling me. I know for loads of my readers who are not Christians this may sound really odd, but it is really real for me at the moment. The phone did not ring. I did not get the "You've Got Mail" sound on my mobile. Nobody rang my doorbell. But all I can think about is one thing only, and how I really want to be a part of it, serving God, loving people, building relationships. And one morning, I heard an audible voice wake me up...but more of that later!!!

The day before my birthday, which is the 16th August, Dave told me of a new project. My reaction was, "oh...right."- Such was my knowledge of THAT PROJECT. The next day, we watched a film. The main character uttered the words, "I know what I have to do to. I have to..." THAT PROJECT, again. Repeatedly, we engaged in conversations where THAT PROJECT was brought up by the other party.

THAT PROJECT is not something I have experience in. It is not something I have heard much about. It is not something that I have always wanted to do. It is not a safe bet, an easy ride or a project of my dreams, and yet I am dreaming about THAT PROJECT, almost nightly. THAT PROJECT. THAT PROJECT.

One morning, I was woken up by a loud voice saying, "Start big!" It was loud, excited, clear and strong. It made me jump out of bed! NOTHING makes me jump out of bed!!! Bed is one of my favourite places. But, that voice did make me jump up, wake up and feel ready. I feel ready to follow Jesus, whatever He wants me to do.

So, we are praying. We are waiting. God knows what we need to make the next step. He knows the obstacles we will overcome. He knows our own weaknesses. He knows my insaitable need for adventure. He knows how carried away I can get. He knows whether we'll do it or not.

Right now, I'm sat in my hallway, typing this post. Only He knows at I'll be doing tomorrow!!!
So I ask you to pray. Pray for us. We want to hear God and He knows what we need...please pray...and then I can tell you all the details!!!

How Long?

2011-08-17T09:03:00.001-07:00

How long has it been since I last wrote? Too long, is my answer as I LOVE to do this and I feel fidgety if I don't write... There's no real reason, other than life getting in the way - school runs, coffee with girlfriends, making stuff (pin cushions for leaving teachers, bridesmaid dresses for my brother's wedding, jam for the winter after foraging sessions with the kids, an amazing veggie patch that has given out strawberries, carrots, broccoli, courgettes, peas, bean, corn....awesome), family holidays, school holidays...It's all just "stuff". Important stuff, sure, but it's the same stuff that distracts me from precious time I should be spending with Jesus and time I should be spending just "being", breathing, watching, thinking, writing, praying....

If I look back, I have often asked the question, "how long?" As we returned from a recent holiday to Kent, we stopped for an urgent skinny hazelnut latte....I stood in a slow, long queue, waiting to be served. A kind and smiley barista calmly and carefully took his time with each order, making sure the foam was of a high quality, that the espresso was smooth and not too strong or weak, gently, but firmly placing the lid onto each cup, ensuring a pleasurable coffee for each customer. What fantastic service, all with a smile. And yet, it was not fast enough for me. When I finally received my coffee, faking a smile, thanking him through gritted teeth, I grumbled to my poor, long-suffering husband as we left the service station, stating the wait to be the longest I had EVER experienced for a coffee, and asking him to remind me to avoid this coffee shop in future. The coffee, incidentally, was delicious and was demolished in minutes.

I am just terrible at waiting. Waiting seems so unnecessary. It seems like needless torture. It seems like a cruel joke that God plays on us to show us that He is really in charge and there's nothing we can do about it.

A month or so ago, I was invited to speak at a church in Surrey. And I spoke on Waiting. At the time, we were waiting for money to buy a car. Ours had broken and we therefore were relying on lifts from friends, local buses and our feet!! I had been waiting for healing from depression for about three years. I had been waiting for a diagnosis for our son, who has found the school environment pretty tough since he got there!! We had waited for a new job for Dave after redundancy. I had watched friends wait for healing from cancer, other friends wait for a baby. I had waited for a new ministry to unfold for me. For such a long time I have longed to speak, to preach to share what God is telling me, and how He is changing and teaching me. I had prayed, I had been prayed for and I had been anointed with oil!! By a real-life pastor!!! (And I had been waiting for my husband to fix the cupboard door under the stairs....)

I spoke about how God wants to use us as we wait. He has an urgent use for our gifts and strengths while we wait. He has a place for each of us to serve while we wait. He wants to use our waiting to teach us patience, yes, but He will also change us while we wait. He takes us through periods of waiting, not just to make us appreciate the time when He finally answers our questions or when He blesses us with what we have longed for, but also so that we can learn how to trust Him, believe in Him and become more like Him.

At the moment, I am waiting. I am waiting for God to show us where to go, what to do and when to do it. I have a history of impatience and it seems that I also have a history of forgetfulness. Because, in my life, I have often waited. I have not collapsed under the pressure or been disappointed with God's intervention. An intervention, I might add, that has always come, in His time.

You see, God did not give us money for a new car. He gave us a car. A generous family in our amazing church passed on their Honda CRV - big enough for our three kids and us, in great condition, with a full MOT and service.

God has delivered me from the hold that depression had over my life. I am still careful to rest, medicate myself and look out for the signs, but I am no longer bound by the fear of a breakdown.

We have a clear and correct diagnosis for our son - Autistic Spectrum Disorder. He understand his feelings now and, although we are still on a journey, we feel better able to understand him and guide him well.

Dave got a new job, and there was not a day when we went without food, treats and fun.

We have known four people who have been given the all-clear of cancer - one I only learned of today!!! Cancer has killed some, but we have seen restoration in the lives of their husbands, wives and children, and we have been greatly comforted by the sure and certain knowledge of their eternal life with Jesus!!

We have seen a number of miracle babies born after long waits, and also we have seen orphaned and abandoned children blessed with new, loving, adoptive parents.

More opportunities and invitations to speak have emerged, and I have loved every minute, feeling so very encouraged and blessed, by sharing in other people's journey with Jesus.

God has not let me down. He has not ignored me. He has answered and He has blessed me. The cupboard door for under the stairs is still not fixed.....but I can wait!

2011-04-16T07:15:00.000-07:00

Check out my latest article.... www.heyuguys.co.uk/2011/04/15/so-my-husband-is-a-film-nerd-confessions-of-a-cine-widow/ Let me know what you think!!!

New York

2011-02-18T10:33:00.000-08:00

Dave and I recently took a trip to New York. I know!! New York!!! We got in a real aeroplane, flew a long way away, and then landed in the United States of America and went to New York!!! It was completely amazing, seeing sights we've seen on TV and in films, eating a hotdog on the street, bought from a vendor on the street, seeing an NYPD cop on a horse on the pavement, riding in yellow taxi - the real deal. It was amazing. I could go on and on for pages about everything that we did and saw, but I'm going to keep it brief...
Thursday...
Leave the UK at 8pm
Land 8 hours later in Newark, New Jersey.
Meet our gorgeous friends, the Nicksons, and drive to their house in Summit, NJ.
Chat, eat paninis, pass out.

Friday...
Early morning brekkie at home.
Run for train.
Miss train.
Pop over to Manhattan Bagel for coffee.
Train to New York City.
Get very excited when seeing Empire State Building from train.
Walk from Penn Station to Times Square.
Do lots of filming with my brother's flip cam.
Toys R US, Hershey's Store, Build a Bear Workshop.
Walk up 7th Avenue to FAO Schwartz
See the BIG piano (you know the one?)
See edge of Central Park.
Hail yellow cab to Ground Zero.
Ground Zero under construction, but visit preview memorial. Very moving.
Walk back through Greenwich Village.
Stop for yum deli sandwich and burger.
See and stand outside the Huxtable Residence - I have an addiction to the Cosby Show!!!
Walk back to Penn to get train.
Nearly die of exhaustion on train.
Arrive back in Summit to meet the youth from the Nickson's new church.
Dinner with Dave & Roey at fab restaurant. Yum food.
Go home. Pass out again.

Saturday...
Drive into NYC.
Eat amazing Eggs Benedict at Pershing Square Cafe, opposite Grand Central Station
Walk to Rockefeller
NBC Studios tour...fab...especially Sam Nickson's weatherman debut...AMAZING
Macy's
Starbucks
Home for lovely dinner...clever Roey.
Chilling in front of TV.
Ridiculously early and unsociable bedtime for me...sorry guys.

Sunday...
Lie in...lovely
Buffet breakfast in Morristown, NJ, with Sam & Dave - great conversation, yummy food.
Church @ Liquid - a fantastic and inspiring church...we get all excited about our calling and what God wants OUR church to be like!!!!!
Buffet lunch in Morristown with Dave, Roey & Sam - again great conversation, yummy food.
Home to chill.
Pop to Walmart and grab some beers for....
The Superbowl!!!! Party with munchies, drinks and great company - a lovely Teo, The Ropers, The Nicksons and the Adamsons. None of us notice Christina Aguliera's mistakes, but we LOVE the Black Eyed Peas' half-time entertainment!!!
Chilled evening.

Monday...
Train into NYC
Yellow cab to...
Ice skating in Central Park
Lunch at Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. - AMAZING coconut shrimps...
Subway to Staten Island Ferry.
Starbucks....short of 53 cents, and a lady gives me a dollar. We chat, we laugh...great to be told I don't look like a tourist!!!
Ferry to Staten Island - great views of Manhattan skyline and Statue of Liberty...I recall lines from "Clueless" ("And may I remind you, that it does not say RSVP on the Statue of Liberty!") (we didn't get close enough for me to check) and imagine I am Melanie Griffiths in "Working Girl" on my way to work (big hair, power suit, trainers, Carly Simon singing "Jerusalem" in the background.)
Subway back to Penn.
Train back to Summit.
Panini kindly and expertly made by Roey.
Hugs, kisses, messages filmed for Roo.
Car ride to Newark.
Hugs, kisses, more filming.
Flight leaves 2 hours late.
Home in England by 11.30am.

Wow - what an adventure - I'm sure I've forgotten loads. But, there's one thing I can't forget, and that is the servant heart of so many people we met in America. It was summed up in one phrase; "You're welcome". We had so much to thank people for; directions, food, quick service, information, smiles. Those people were happy to serve us. "You're welcome". I've started to say it to my children when they say "thank you", but I still cannot quite say it in the same way. Because, it's not just a phrase, it's an attitude.

Our trip to New York was amazing, a once-in-a-lifetime trip. We were blessed to spend time with our precious friends, the Nicksons, to whom we owe so much. We loved going to Liquid Church - a great place that will always have had a huge impact on us. And we were set an amazing example of being a servant by that great waiter in Greenwich Village, that friendly train guard at Penn, the smiley shop assistant in the Build a Bear Workshop, the hundreds of police officers, the awesome servers in Bubba Gump, the leaders and members of Liquid, the lovely, polite young neighbour of our friends.

I really hope that when I serve others, that they will know that I love to serve them, and that they are truly welcome.

PS - photos to follow!!!

2011-01-12T05:48:00.000-08:00

With this first post of 2011, I thought I'd keep it real and blog about something homemade!!! So...

A while ago I saw a great film, "Stranger Than Fiction". Whilst it is a story about about living your life to the fullest, and seizing opportunities while you can, and while it asks the question, "If you knew that this was your last day on Earth, what would you do?", I was not moved to go travelling or to tell my loved-ones that they were...well,...loved.

I was, however, motivated to create a new Roper Family Tradition. Regular readers of my blog will know that there are many Roper Family Traditions, and that I am a BIG fan of them!!!

In one scene of "Stranger Than Fiction", a tired (and burdened) accountant is firmly told sit down in front of a glass of cold milk and a plate of homemade cookies. This instruction comes from a young woman, who runs a local bakery. Not only does she give this instruction, but she creates the environment for it, by making the cookies herself. She talks to the man about her childhood and how, whenever she felt sad, broken-hearted or burdened, her mother would sit her down, in the same way. She speaks about how eating the cookie, and drinking the cold milk, would somehow restore her weary heart, comforting and nourishing her, both body and soul.

I love to watch the scene where the accountant sits, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast, at a small table, all by himself, silently eating the warm cookie, and slowly sipping the cold milk. As the camera pans out, the viewer is left with a sense that this man is experiencing a mother's love, comfort and cherishing for the very first time.

After watching that film, I found myself obsessed with cookie recipes. I wanted to provide that safe, loving, warm, restoring environment for my children. So, although it is not very English, I began to make cookies and milk a new Roper Family Tradition.

The following is a recipe that Seth and I created this afternoon. It is adapted from another recipe that I found in one of my fantastic cookbooks, and added to, to satisfy my insatiable need for chocolate!! Enjoy...

Seth & Sal's Peanut Butter & Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Ingredients

1 and a 1/4 cups of plain flour

1/2 tsp bicarb

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 cup of soft butter

1 cup of caster sugar

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla extract

1 and a 1/2 cups of crunchy peanut butter

200g bar of dark chocolate (bashed into chunks)

Pre-heat the oven to Gas Mark 4.

Combine all the ingredients (except the chocolate) in a food processor.

Pulse in the chocolate chunks.

Roll into walnut-size balls and flatted on your palm.

Lay (well-spaced) on a greased baking tray.

Bake for 12-15 mins or until slightly browned.

Leave to cool on tray for one minute only.

Lift with fish slice onto cooling rack.

Serve, along with a glass of cold milk, to dishevelled children after school, at the table and wait for the short-lived silence.

Snowy Days

2010-12-19T08:40:00.000-08:00

Pretty predictable, I know, but I decided to blog about the snow. I love it. I love the way that it changes out landscape, the way that it falls so silently and causes such chaos. Well, it causes chaos in England!! I love playing in the snow with my kids. I love making snowmen, igloos and sledging. I am not a fan of snowball fights (I'm a bit of a girl like that) but any hilarity in the snow, followed by a mug of hot chocolate is a good thing, as far as I'm concerned.

I grew up in a great church, where the pastor prayed for snow every Christmas. I joined him in his heartfelt genuine prayers, which have not been answered...until this year!!! I think that this will be the first White Christmas I have ever seen, and to say that I am excited would be an understatement!! I am so excited to see the line of snow balancing on the top of the wall outside, as I look through my bay window, which is studded with the reflection of little golden tree lights. As I wrap presents, sip my tea, and watch Christmas films, I seem to be glimpsing out every five minutes, just to make sure that the snow hasn't thawed, or just in case it has started to snow again!

I know that snow causes lots of problems. I know that it stops emergency vehicles from getting to people in need of help. I know that the cold weather causes even bigger problems for those with no heating and those with chronic painful conditions. I know that getting from A to B becomes a big issue. This morning, I read that the economy may be headed for another downturn due to a lack of shoppers. I understand the difficulty for those trying to get to work, school, hospitals and family. I cannot even begin to imagine a night on the streets in the snow.

But, bearing in mind all of the problems that the snow causes, I am still grateful for what it does. I makes us to stop. It lets us remain inside, with family. It gives us the opportunity to play together. It forces us to "make do" with our available supplies of food. It causes us to consider those who we cannot get to, and therefore how much we value those friends and family. It encourages us to empathise with those who may be without heat, a roof, a family.

This afternoon, Dave, the kids and I went out to a nearby park to go sledging. As I looked out on the park, the railway that runs alongside it, the duck pond at the edge and the trees which enclose it, I found myself asking God what he wanted to say to me in the midst of this unusual weather. As I walked, I noticed how quiet everything was. I could here the water rushing under a drain cover. I could here the individual voices of the children, including mine, who were playing. It was very, very peaceful - quite a contrast from my "normal life".

It made me thankful as I considered that chaos to us, is a plan from God. As life goes on hold after various surprises in life, both good and bad, God is never surprised and uses the times for his Glory and for our good. God wants us to stop. He wants us to rest on certain experiences. He doesn't want everything to "fly by". He sometimes wants us to take time to play, laugh, sleep, grieve, think, listen, snuggle, watch. Our natural reaction to chaos is to kick against it. We try to get to where we want to go, even if it isn't safe. But, God has us where we are for a reason. He doesn't make mistakes and he never leaves us. With that in mind, shouldn't we take surprises and chaos and use them to our advantage? We need to submit to chaos sometimes. It's there for a reason.

Advent

2010-11-23T05:53:00.000-08:00

As Christmas nears, I find myself living a life of busyness and creativity. I am far too busy to sit and look, sit and moan, or sit and think. At the moment, my blogging seems to reflect that! I have been mainly sharing ideas, recipes and creative projects with you, and I'm afraid that this post will be no different.

Only this morning, Seth was asking me how many "sleeps" there are until the end of November. This is because, he is waiting for that day, as on that morning, he will be putting on his school uniform, ready for his first visit to his new primary school. As we counted the days until the 30th, we discovered that he only had seven sleeps left. It was shortly after this calculation that it dawned on me that I have only eight sleeps left until the beginning of Advent - without a doubt my favourite time of the year!!!

And so, this afternoon, I have been preparing our Advent Calendar. A few years ago, I was a part of an amazing team, who ran a Mums and Toddlers group called Sparklers - it was the best toddler group in the land!!! We loved it. The team was solid, and we loved each other and the families that we served. We'd often have Mum's Nights, and the one that I particularly relished was the Christmas Craft Evening. It was always held at the end of November and we'd have a great time. Candles everywhere, mulled wine bubbling away, Christmassy music being played, a bit of entertainment, a bit of a talk and lots of different "stations" to move around. The stations would usually be things like, wire decoration-making, How to Wrap a Pressie, mince pies, glass painting, Make a Table Centre, sewing a tree decoration, and so on. I LOVED it!!!

One year, a lady named Helen, who is a great mum, wife and daughter of God, stood up and spoke (something she wasn't keen on!) She told us about her Advent Calendar. She had a calendar with little pockets in. She told us that her children would find something in each pocket, each day. She handed out pieces of paper with Bible verses for each day, and ideas for special Christmas jobs to do each day also. Excitedly, I took my handouts home and assembled our advent calendar, which had previously only housed Galaxy Minstrels.

Since then our Advent Calendar has always presented our children with three treats on each day of the Advent period. As they pop their little fingers into the appropriate pocket for that day, they find a Bible verse, a Christmas job and a little chocolate each. Each day, their different Christmas job moves more and more into the Christmas Mood. One day, they might be making some shortbread, the next day delivering to friends to wish them a Merry Christmas. Another day, they might be snuggled up in the front the fire watching "Santa Claus - The Movie", whilst another they might sit together in their rooms, reading old Christmas books. We also make the school Christmas celebrations a part of our Advent activities, and so we mark the Tree Decorating Ceremony, as well as the School Nativity Play. Our church is very busy around Christmas time, and whilst Dave and I rehearse for various performances, the children are instructed, by the calendar, to "Write your Christmas cards!". You see, although the Advent calendar is only a small calendar, and although the delving into each pocket takes seconds, this new kind of Advent Calendar has changed our Advent completely.

As I listen to the radio, and I hear children call in to tell of what picture they have found behind the door of their calendar, I often wonder what impact a picture of a bell, a present or a fairy have those children. I then think of my kids, learning more of the real story of Christmas, having the enjoyment and excitement of making shortbread to deliver to friends, watching a favourite Christmas film, reading an old Christmas book, writing their Christmas cards and going on our annual "Pyjama Ride". The impact of their Advent Calendar is endless, and creates memories at every turn.

My kids still ask for shop-bought, chocolate-filled Doctor Who, Hello Kitty and Ben 10 Advent Calendars. But as I remind them of our special calendar, the expressions on their faces change to those of pure excitement, at the prospect of all the adventures, activities and surprises that our calendar brings.

So, whether you grab a fabric calendar with pockets, a wooden calendar with drawers or 24 odd socks, pinned up around the house, how about making Advent a really special time in your family? Enjoy more time together and less time stressing. Enjoy the simple pleasures of this mid- winter festival, and do less spending. And even if you can't find the energy to sort out every day, grab your family, watch a Christmas film (National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation always works a treat), read The Grinch and eat some mince pies. It's so worth it.

Indy's Birthday Party

2010-11-14T09:44:00.000-08:00

Well, the 5th November saw us celebrate another birthday in the life of our daughter, Indy. It was her 7th birthday, and it was great fun. I have never had enough money to hold a party at a restaurant, or at a local soft-play centre, or even in a hired hall. I have not had enough money to hire an entertainer, or to have party bags full-to-the-brim of personalised gifts, pre-packed by a lovely company. Even our own wedding was largely homemade and low-budget.

As a child, before my birthday parties, my dad made annual trips into the woods near our house to "find" young trees to chop down and turn into poles for hanging crepe paper streamers, that would hang across our back garden with multi-coloured balloons. Dad would usually make a mix-tape of whatever songs were fashionable at the time, as well as Stevie Wonder's "Happy Birthday" the "Theme from Fame" and Olivia Newton-John's "Let's Get Physical" (and yes, I really did think it was all about exercise!!) He would also put together games of all sorts, that generally involved getting very messy, very giggly, and being rewarded with little prizes from the local toy shop. I remember one year, maybe my 9th birthday, he had devised a treasure hunt around the garden, that involved working out all sorts of riddles and puzzles. So much fun!!! My mum always made an amazing birthday cake - an owl, a teddy bear, a country cottage, a record player - and created quite an outstanding spread of sausage rolls, dinky sandwiches with various fillings, Party Ring biscuits, hula hoops, Twiglets and Iced Gems. Jelly and ice cream in abundance always followed, and fizzy drinks like limeade and cherryade, which we only had for parties, would be poured until over-flowing. Mum put together great party bags with pencils, party blowers, tiny packs of pencils and those plastic moving snakes. Of course, everyone went home with a slice of Mum's amazing cake, and when they had left, Mum and Dad marvelled at all of the lovely presents that my friends had brought for me.

I have followed in my parents' footsteps with my own children's parties - all homemade (by necessity) and full of food, games and fun. Indy's party this year was no different!! I thought that you might be interested in what we did, as, in my researching for ideas and hints, I discovered a few blogs that featured a "How to..." for their parties. So, here we go...

Indy asked for a chocolate party. As we talked about it more, it developed into a "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" Party. It was going to be fairly low-key, as I try to remained de-stressed as the dark nights close in, and my depression often starts to rear it's ugly head. However, as soon as Roo, my 10 year-old son came up with the idea of Golden Tickets for the invites, it spiralled wildly out of control!!!! We decided to put the tickets inside chocolate bars, and as the only appropriate chocolate bars (wrapped in foil and then in a paper sleeve) were Nestle, which I tend to avoid, I found myself buying huge Cadbury's Dairy Milk bars which I then broke into small slabs, ready for wrapping. I used gold wrapping paper for the foil and made my own sleeves which I designed on the computer. I was just delighted with them, especially when I saw the guests' faces, and heard their squeals of delight, as they opened them on the playground one morning!!!

So, we then began to plan the party in detail. We decorated the house with paper bunting made using old scrap-booking papers and colourful balloons. As the children waited outside with their parents, they ate squirrel and star-shaped gingerbread biscuits. Roo dressed up as Willy Wonka, welcoming the guests and collecting their tickets on arrival. Dave had made a big contract, which the children signed, just like in the old Willy Wonka film with Gene Wilder.

As we were clearly unable to make our whole house edible, in the living room, I created an Edible Garden, which included a gingerbread house, green coconut grass, edible rice paper flowers, brown sugar soil, an edible veggie patch made with dried cranberries, rainbow drops, sprinkles and red fizzy laces. The kids silently stared at the Edible Garden, mouths and eyes wide, before being told that they could eat the whole thing!!! They then proceeded to really go for it!!!

"Willy Wonka" then led them into the dining room, where they helped themselves to the Lolly Tree, met an Oompa Loompa (my future sister-in-law, Heather) who was "spinning" fine strawberry laces on my spinning wheel, and ate of her wares. They had a game of Pass the Parcel, where little Emily won the prize of a tube of Jelly Tots, and then made their way outside.

"Willy Wonka" led them into the Tunnel of Delights (the side path to our back garden) which had been decorated with candles, fairy lights and ribbons, upon which hung mini chocolate bars, sweets, lollies, chews, candy canes and more laces.

They popped their treasure into little plastic cups, labelled with small bunting triangles with their names on, and then walked through into the house to be greeted with a basket full of marshmallows and a flowing chocolate fountain!!!

After this, they sat in a circle to play The Chocolate Game - you know, the one with a die, over sized coat, scarf, gloves and hat and chocolate bar to be chopped up with a knife and fork? - even the shy kids got stuck in!!! We re-grouped with a party tea of funky sandwiches, mini choccie cupcakes, crisps of all shapes and Fizzy Lifting Drinks (the essential cherryade, limeade and orangeade.)

The children gathered in the living room to watch Indy open her presents, and then sat down in front of the old version of "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory", whilst they waited for their parents' to arrive. I couldn't resist pouring the full jars of sweets into their little hands and laps, just at the point that the shop keeper in the film does the same thing, as he sings, "The Candy Man". It made an complete mess of my living room carpet, but the kids loved it.

As they left, full of sugar, pupils fully-dilated, I couldn't help but feel that we'd done a good job. A homemade party is definitely a lot of work (my first diagnosis of depression was after a homemade party three years ago!!) but it is so much cheaper and really satisfying. And I think that the kids who came will remember it for a long time.

2010-10-21T09:09:00.000-07:00

I'll be honest (regular readers will know this is pretty usual for me!!) It has been a tough old week.

Mondays are never really a problem for me. They are always rather full, but I actually look forward to them, as a moment of calm and solitude, after what is usually a busy and chaotic weekend. This Monday was the same: wake up; shower; make packed lunches; shepherd kids out of the back door and to the car, climbing over buckets, scooters, bikes and mud pies; drive to school; pray with the kids; say "Goodbye, I love you, God bless you!" to Roo; go into school with Indy and Seth; set up for the weekly Mum's Coffee Morning; say "Goodbye, I love you, God bless you!" to Indy when the bell goes, and she wanders round to her classroom; wait for mums to arrive, while Seth attempts to write his name on the white board with a permanent marker (quickly to be replaced with a white-board marker); greet the mums; make drinks for them; drink coffee; avoid the chocolate biscuits; eat chocolate biscuits; realise what the time is; rush off, dragging Seth by his coat; throw him into the car; drive to nursery; drop him off five minutes late; apologise for being late; say "Goodbye, I love you, God bless you" to Seth; get back in the car; drive back to school; go back to Mum's Coffee Morning; tell funny stories about children's references to family secrets in public; say goodbye to mums; tidy up; rush off; drive to Women's Bible Study; arrive ten minutes late; park badly; apologise for lateness; tell funny stories about children's references to family secrets in public; drink more coffee; read Bible; discuss with other women; realise what the time is; rush out to car; drive back to nursery; collect Seth, along with soggy painting with bits of pasta falling off; drive home; eat lunch. That's my usual Monday morning.

This Monday was different. After dropping Seth at nursery and then returning to school, our wonderful headteacher, Mrs Gellatly asked me to come into her office, for a chat. We talked about Roo, and an incident on Friday, where he had shouted at a Lunchtime Controller. She was very kind and almost apologetic when she suggested that he take a break from school lunchtimes. She felt that he needed some time out, to calm down.

You see, a few months ago, Roo was diagnosed with Aspergers Syndrome. Aspergers Syndrome is an ASD - Autistic Spectrum Disorder. Every day we are learning more about what it means. More specifically, every day we are learning about what it means for Roo.

Roo needs a break from lunchtimes at school, because he sometimes finds social situations difficult to cope with. Lunchtimes, on a playground with 209 other children is hard for Roo. He has no structure to his lunchtime. He sees many different groups of people. He watches them whizz around, running, shouting, laughing, skipping, interacting with each other and burning off their energy. He hears their shouts, laughs, screams, cries, rhymes and stories. Everything is too busy, too noisy, too hectic, and he becomes very frightened. Fear manifests itself in many different ways - bravado, angry outbursts, crying, hiding, lashing out. Roo needs a break from these feelings, which are caused by school lunchtimes.

There are many social situations in which Roo copes really well. He loves meeting new people and he loves spending time with older children, teenagers and adults. He enjoys formal occasions like weddings, and has no problems at all with going out for meals and on day trips. He loves the cinema and theatre, and most people would not even notice that Roo is any different to any "normal" child.

But living with Roo is a different matter. Today is INSET Day, which means no school, and no usual routine. He finds any change to his routine very upsetting, and often becomes manic or angry. He seems to be "up for a ruck" most of the time. He has one-sided conversations with us, where he lacks the awareness of our boredom, after he has spoken about something for a very long time, and we have not responded. Roo is obsessed with Doctor Who. He used to be obsessed with vacuum cleaners and dragons. Roo often seems unable to understand his own feelings, particularly when he is anxious. This makes it hard to communicate with him at times. And he flies off the handle at the slightest inconvenience to his day.

So, I have started to read. A lot. I have started using my creativity to help him. I have made him Daily Kit Lists, which are the size of business cards, and are attached to his bag, by a keyring. I have devised routine lists, for weekends and school holidays - Roo has always found these days unsettling, and taken his anxiety out on us. I have tried to engage my other children in understanding and helping Roo, as we all help each other in our different areas of need.

Lunchtimes this week have been hectic - an extra two journeys to and from school - but it has been good to learn more about what Roo needs. Sometimes, our children get poorly. When this happens, they need time to recuperate. It is the same for kids with Aspergers. Sometimes, they need a break. They need some time away from the chaos and busyness of school. In that time, they need some peace, their home and a cosy hug from their mum. So, that's what we did, and for now, it seems to have helped.

After the half term holidays, Roo's lunchtimes will be different. Lunch in the canteen, reading or playing a game with friends in the library, a short run around and then back to the classroom for the afternoon. Hopefully this routine will help Roo to cope better with lunchtimes.

As I have said, everyday we are learning more and I'll let you know what more we learn.

It is said that Sir Isaac Newton, Thomas Jefferson and Hans Christian Andersen all had Aspergers. Those of you who have met Roo will know that he is hard to forget - such a big character, so friendly and so very intelligent. For those of you who haven't had the privilege of meeting him yet, remember the name - Reuben Roper - you heard it here first!!!

A recipe

2010-10-21T06:11:00.000-07:00

I don't often do this, but my blog title demands such an entry. Here is a recipe for my latest invention. Inspired by a Nigella recipe and my brother, Benji's recent veggie growing success with his gorgeous girlie, Heather, I decided to make this. It is a cross between Banana Bread, Carrot Cake and something you might eat as part of a detox.....Eaten whilst warm, sitting in front of the fire, watching scarved and hatted passers-by stare longing through the window, makes this cake even more beautiful. Yum yum yum.....

Sal's Courgette Loaf Cake

2 desert apples, grated

same weight in raw courgette, grated

100g raisins/sultanas

2 eggs, beaten

125g butter, melted

150g brown sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

175g plain flour

2tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp bicarb

1. Mix apple, courgette, raisins, eggs, sugar, butter and cinnamon together in a large bowl.

2. Combine flour, baking powder and bicarb in a smaller bowl and then add, a third-at-a-time to the wet ingredients.

3. Stir until fully combined and pour into a greased and lined loaf tin.

4. Bake @ Gas 3 for 60 - 70 minutes.

5. Leave to cool in the tin.

Oh. My. Goodness

As you can see from the photo, it won't last long...

Are you an includer?

2010-09-08T06:41:00.000-07:00

Isn't it easy to feel lonely? As I stand on the school playground, waiting for my two eldest children to come out, I often look around and see groups of gathered mums and dads, chatting, laughing, listening, smiling. Sometimes, as I look on, I feel lonely. I then step back, and look out. I see individuals stood, waiting, all by themselves. They look lonely. In the same way, as my youngest child, Seth runs about with his little friends who are yet to start "Big School", I see the odd child stood alone at the side, or sitting on the ground, playing in the dirt, all by themselves.

There have been many, many occasions when my children have told me that, either at nursery or at school, they had "no-one to play with today". In fact, our school has a Buddy Bench, where lonely children can go to sit. The other children can then go over to the bench, and invite that child to play with them. What a great idea! Except when a child places them selves on the Buddy Bench, and then rejects another child's offer of company!!!

Loneliness is a terrible affliction. In his job as a Private Clients Solicitor, my husband, Dave often meets with elderly and bereaved people, in preparing Wills, Trusts and Probate for either themselves or their relatives. He often makes visits to hospitals, hospices and nursing homes, where he meets with people in varying stages of sickness or dementia. Many of the people who Dave meets and helps are lonely people. He sees men whose wives have died. He meets ladies whose children have grown up and left home. He meets very tired and sad people who are watching the "love of their life" dying.

This kind of loneliness is not something I can relate to. My children are young and remain at home. My husband and I are, thankfully, healthy and happy together. My parents live near-by and I am hugely blessed and grateful to be a part of a friendly and loving church community. Having said that, I have felt lonely. I have seen photos on Facebook of events that I've not been invited to. I have been involved in conversations where I do not understand the private joke that everyone else is laughing at.

I once delivered a birthday present to an old friend. When she answered the door, she seemed shocked to see me. She reticently invited me into her home, where a table laden with yummy food had been set. In a rush and with a red face, she explained that her church small group was meeting, and that she had offered to host for the evening. I smiled and made my excuses, knowing full-well that she was having a party, and that I was not invited. Later on that week, I discovered that most of my friends had attended her birthday party. I didn't feel cross, I just felt lonely.

Recently, I have felt a little lonely, but I have chosen to remember some great advice given to me - The way that I feel about something is not necessarily a true reflection of the way things are.

Therefore, my loneliness is a feeling and not an actuality.

Not only are my feelings not always to be relied upon, but neither is my perspective. As I look into the centre of my social sphere, I am unable to see the people outside, looking in. You see, there are always people further from the centre than me.

I often hear that people feel lonely. Either they are feeling the lack of invitations to Sunday lunch, or they wonder why no small groups are relevant to them. They see groups of friends holidaying together, or families joining other families for afternoon outings. As they look on, they find themselves excluded and feeling lonely. As a single mummy, I had to force myself to call my friends, go along to social events and organise my own. I learnt to get past my pride, and involve and invite myself. I thankfully had a some great friends, who were includers.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like, if we were all includers. If we took a moment to look outside of our social circle and see who was on the edge, how many new friends would we make and many lonely people would feel a part of something. If the lonely people included other in their lives, surely they would be too busy to feel lonely?

Maybe I'm just being naive, but it seems to me, that if we stopped moaning and starting inviting, maybe we'd never feel lonely again. When I include others, I feel far less lonely!! Let's get out of own our heads, get past our pride and invite someone over. Phone someone tomorrow, and arrange to meet for coffee. Leave behind your fear and feelings and look for the person on the edge - the person who needs to be included - and include them.

Change your life, and become an includer!

Disapproval

2010-08-21T05:36:00.000-07:00

It is not my place to judge. In fact, not only is it not my place, but as far as the Bible is concerned, it is sinful of me to judge, or be judgemental.
This week, I had a "cyber-chat" with an old friend. Upon reading my blog and seeing my Facebook comments, he could clearly see that my faith in God, and my involvement in church, has significantly grown since we were close friends, during Sixth Form. He has always been very unimpressed with organised religion, and has never made a secret of his suspicions and concerns. But he used a really interesting phrase this week that has remained with me.

"I deeply disapprove of any church stuff."

Those words have been ringing in my head ever since I read them. Deeply disapprove. What do I "deeply disapprove" of? Is there anything that concerns me that much? And if there is, why do I not feel as free as my friend, to express it? Am I giving in to political correctness? Do I actually feel that strongly about anything?

Well, actually, there is something that I deeply disapprove of...I deeply, deeply disapprove of a life with out Jesus. In every part of my heart, soul and mind, I am grieving for those of you who do not have Jesus in your lives. I deeply disapprove of loneliness, and the pressure to survive without any help. I deeply disapprove of a life spent trying to "do the right thing", all the while wasting time on meaningless good deeds, when all you need is the grace and forgiveness of God. I deeply disapprove of a life lived in the lie that everything will be okay, and that "what goes around comes around". I deeply disapprove of a life without the freedom to understand who you really are in Jesus - a loved, cherished and precious child of a loving, all-powerful God. I deeply disapprove of the drab acceptance that we are here by chance, that our amazing minds, bodies and souls are not planned carefully and created for a purpose. I deeply disapprove of a life without the knowledge of true love, a love that spans the ages, is everlasting, completely unconditional and sacrificial. And I deeply disapprove of a lack of hope that God has an amazing plan for our lives and that this life and all that we see, is only the beginning.

I do not disapprove of anyone's choices, lifestyles or beliefs. But I deeply disapprove of you all missing out on the most important thing in all of existence. I desperately long for my precious, wonderful friends to live their lives to the full. The only way to do this is with Jesus. It has nothing to do with relationships, marriage, kids, travel, success, work, finances, holidays, status, promotion, fame, beauty, possessions, or even health. There is only one answer, and only one way.

One Way - Jesus.

Newday!!!!!!! Woo hoo!!!!

2010-08-07T11:18:00.001-07:00

"Mummy!!! How many sleeps 'til Newday?"
"Only four!! Woooooooooooooooo hooooooooooooooo!!"

There are somethings that I find even more exciting than my kids do. Newday is one of them. Preparation for Newday is just as exciting as being there. Writing lists. Ticking things off that list. Shopping for shampoo, shower gel and packets of tissues. Making sure that I have a full First Aid kit (even though one will be fully available.) Packing my Bible, notebook and pen. ensuring that I have the right clothes - clothes for sun and clothes for rain. Wellies. Flip flops. Pieces of carpet for wiping feet on. Tent. Tent pegs. Ground sheet. Battery operated lantern. cash for milkshakes, coffee, chips and the bookshop.

What is Newday? Sorry, I got a bit carried away. You see, when it comes to Newday, I do get carried away. Well, Newday is the new Stoneleigh, and Stoneleigh was the new New Generation, and New Generation was the new More Than Conquerors, and More Than Conquerors was the new Downs. I think the Downs was preceded by something, but that was before my time.

All these are (and this is the bit I hate, as no words can describe how amazing they are/were, and the following words definitely do not do them justice) Christian Summer Camps, Gatherings, Festivals, Events. The Downs and Stoneleigh were for all ages, whereas the others, including Newday, are for young people only (obviously with Youth Leaders also...and their kids.)

Basically, we pack up a coach with young people, our kid, bags of unnecessary clothing and equipment, sweets, drinks (non-alcoholic, of course) and excitement. We head up to the Norfolk Showground, where we meet our catering team - a brave bunch from our lovely church, who arrive a day early, pitch our tents for us and prepare for a hard-slog week of cooking for about a million of us, making it feel like home. We pour off the coach, thanking our driving with hip-hip-hoorays and dive into our tents to blow up our airbeds and set ourselves up. At this point, I become rather nostalgic, so please excuse me....

...I remember when, as a teenager, my mum, dad, little brother and I made our way up to Stoneleigh - such exciting times. Ben and I LOVED the journey. We knew it fairly well, and we never tired of it. We didn't even mind that it took a while to drive up there - it was all part of the experience. As we approached the gate, squeals of excitement emitted from the backseat of my dad's car. Upon being welcomed by the registration team, we handed them our forms in exchange for badges, handbooks and a black bin liner...ahh I can smell the campsite now!!! Stoneleigh agricultural ground had a special, unique smell of its own... We'd drive around to our church's allocated site and wave as we saw our friends. Mum and Dad would put the tent up - one year they didn't realise that it had been put up inside out until three days into the week!!!

I'd find my friends, Lucy, Lyndsey, Ilona, Jo, Jayne and Amy and we'd go off, "scouting for boys". Obviously it wasn't all about boys....not that I didn't do fairly well on that front...We'd also find our venue for meetings and then check out the bookshop and food stalls - it was a sign of a good year if we found a Hog Roast van!!

Stoneleigh meant late nights and early rises, to get a hot shower. It meant time with my friends, without my parents worrying where I was. It meant dinners made by my mum on a camping stove of tinned chilli, boil-in-the-bag rice and the occasional cooked brekkie. Tinned potatoes and chicken in white wine sauce from a tin. Stoneleigh meant new books, maybe a new Bible and a new hoodie. Long walks and lazy afternoons by the river. It also meant new developments in my relationship with God, empowering talks where I learnt how to worship God with abandon, and hilariously clear instruction on dating and sex - we ALWAYS went to that talk!!!

As Stoneleigh came to an end, we all really grieved our precious time with each other and with God. We returned to school feeling focused and strong, ready to face the world and the though of not having Stoneleigh felt so scary.

Newday followed, inviting young people to enjoy a week away with out their parents - they'd gone one better!!! By the time it stared, I was too old to go to Newday. Even if I had been the right age, I had gone in my own direction, away from church and away from Jesus.

And so, when the opportunity came for Dave and I and our kids to join the youth at Newday last year, I was hugely excited. You see, I am (thankfully) no longer scouting for boys, or worrying about cool clothes. Neither am I enjoying the easy, run-around-and-do-my-own-thing element of Newday. But I do get to see others doing it. I enjoy great times with the youth - milkshakes with the girls, laying around on sleeping bags chatting to people, eating together in a big marquee, late night hot chocolate and cake, queuing for showers, listening-in to hilarious conversations during our patrol after lights-out and most of all, seeing these cheeky, normal, hormonal, sometimes stroppy kids sold out in worship to Jesus. Last year, I watched tears fall silently down one big brother's face, as his younger brother stepped forward to move into a deeper relationship with God. I saw a quiet and shy young man receive baptism in the Holy Spirit. I witnessed boys praying for their friends, as they became young men together. I heard girls prophesy over one another, and pray for healing. I saw lives changed, hearts broken and the re-building process beginning. I am looking forward to seeing what God will do in the young people this year.

So, as I pack my big stacka-box with raincoats (just in case), plasters and air fresheners - have you ever smelt inside a tent where five 14 year-olds are staying? - I am so excited. I am counting down the hours...

Have a look at the website...are you coming next year?

Wednesdays @ Sally's

2010-07-16T09:59:00.000-07:00

About five years ago, I regularly welcomed a group of giggly, noisy, hormonal girls into my house most Wednesday nights. They'd arrive like a whirlwind, all talking at once, laughing far too loudly, shouting to be heard over each other, miraculously being able to talk and listen to each other similtaneously. I'd watch them as they removed their shoes, by flicking them off with their toes, piling their coats up on the banister at the bottom of the stairs, and unwrapping themselves of reams and reams of woolly scarves (one would always be left behind.)

I'd take drinks orders - tea, "fat" Coke, water - and let them pour into the living room, where they'd usually devour a few cakes or biscuits. From the kitchen, I could hear coos and "ahhhs" as they welcomed each other with big hugs, and high-pitched squeals as they exchanged stories about their days at school.

Once drinks were made, I'd return to join them in the living room, where I'd attempt (usually unsuccessfully) to calm and quiet the rabble that was "my youth girlies".

We'd started meeting together after the girls asked if I could help them to spend more time together, and with God. At the time, I had two kids, a gracious, releasing husband (who remains gracious and releasing!!) and a cosy house, so it was easy to make it a regular night, at our home. And so, Wednesdays Nights were born.

Usually, I'd prepare either a Bible study, or a question, or theme to discuss. The girls would then talk...and talk some more. Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they cried. They seemed to grow closer and I started to get to know them more.

Ellie, Grace, Emily, Angharad, Laura, Emma and Phily. Lovely girls, all so different. Ellie - just like me, The Drama Queen - full of ideas, full of passion. Grace - The Natural Carer, she'll always look after others first. Emily - The Strong, clever, funny, always does well, with whatever she puts her hand to. Angharad - The Giggler, known as Annie, smiley, cute, everyone's friend. Laura - The Grown Up, hugely mature and endlessly loving. Emma - The Artist, observant, reserved, deeply emotional. Phily - The Baby of the Group - amazingly prophetic, full of potential.

I fell deeply in love with these girls. They had hoodies printed. "God's Girls" on the front, their names on the back, clearly communicating to the world that they belonged to each other, and to God. When I discovered that I was expecting Seth, my youngest child, I told the girls. They seemed very excited. Our Wednesday nights stopped, as my pregnancy progressed. With various illnesses and complications, it became to difficult to continue. But, when Seth was born, the girls held him, and fussed over my other two children. I remember laughing when Annie held Seth. He had been born 6 weeks early and was consequently very small. Annie was also rather tiny, and so they seemed, somehow, to fit!!

When we decided to follow a pull to a new church congregation, my biggest sadness was saying goodbye to this group of lovely girls. I knew that I'd miss out on their maturing and that I'd not be a part of their journeys through school and on to uni. I felt really sad, but I knew they'd not be far and that I'd see them again. I knew that they each had fantastic parents, and that their walks with God were not at all reliant upon my being around.

A while ago, at a party at my parents' house, I chatted to a few of the girls. It was so wonderful to see them and to enjoy their company again. They were just as full of beans as they'd been a few years before.

Two days ago, Annie suddenly died in a terrible car accident. It seems dream-like writing those words. No words seem to qualify in describing her. The Annie I knew, was just really easy to be around. She smiled, giggled, served, helped and loved. She was unusually close to her mum, Anne. She was a delight to know. Annie was incredbily pretty, but clearly had no idea. She seemed to be without ego. I really liked Annie. Everyone did. She was full of beans - such a cheeky monkey.

I hadn't seen Annie for a few weeks, the last time being, as I sat in the crowd of young people at LIFE, the weekly youth event at Kerith Community Church. Annie was lugging various props, and bits of furniture, on and off the stage. She did it quietly, exchanging cheeky smiles with her friends who were speaking to the gathered guests.

We didn't chat, but the next day she sent me a Facebook message - "I didn't get to talk to you last night. Meet for coffee soon?" We didn't have coffee. I haven't properly seen her for ages, but I miss her. I desperately miss her, and I seem to be crying an awful lot. I have cried on the playground, and cried with one of Annie's best friends. I've cried as I've read comments left for her on Facebook and I've cried in the car. I am so very sad. Mainly, I am sad for her family, Anne, Bill, Jonathan and Nick. I am praying for them, asking God to somehow (as only He can) give them all that they need to continue and thrive.

But also, as I remember those noisy Wednesday nights, I am so glad to have shared in the lives of those beautiful, precious girls. I am so glad that for a short time, they let me into their world, their funny, noisy, full-of-beans, crazy world. I still love them all so very much, Annie included, and that will never change. My prayer for all of these girls, is that they will return to a life of laughter, sharing funny stories of their days, and "Fat" Coke. It will never, ever be the same without Annie, but it will be richer for her having been there in the first place.

Oh to be in England!

2010-07-04T09:17:00.000-07:00

I love the Summer. I truly thrive in warm sunshine and a gentle breeze. I love hanging my washing out on the line, knowing that it will dry quickly, smelling clean and cosy. I have been abroad during the Summer, but I can honestly say that I prefer an English Summer to the others that I have experienced.

This Summer, it has been exciting in England. With the World Cup looming, flags were hung outside people's windows and on their cars. Wimbledon brought on Murray Madness, as it did, Hopeful Henman Histrionics a few years ago. I've listened to a few radio discussions about national pride and the displaying of our national flag. I've heard people's disapproving comments, claiming flag owners and displayers are "chavy" or racist. I remember walking past various pubs during the 1998 World Cup, when I was at university, hearing chants of "En-ger-land!" and thinking how rowdy and "yobbish" it all was. What a snob I was!!

I am a massive fan of the TV adaptation of "The Darling Buds of May". I love hearing Pop Larkin, played by David Jason, as he explains the wonders of The Garden of England (Kent) to his new friend, Mr Charlton. "Can you imagine, Charlie my old man, a life without strawberries? No cream teas, no strawberries and cream? What about the plums, apples and cherries? No crumble? No lovely pies?" Summer in England wouldn't be the same without these things. In fact, England itself would not be the same.

After a few weeks of real Summer, I have noticed more and more of the things I love about England...

I love carnivals and village fairs.

I love cider, and apple pie with custard.

I love country gardens, and a jug of Pimms.

I love fish 'n' chips and the English seaside.

I love chickens and ducks in pretty country gardens, and picnics in the woods.

I love tombolas and maypole dancing.

I actually really love Morris dancers and thatched cottages.

I love old castles and Royal events. I love red London buses, and black London cabs.

I love the Queen's honours list and old, English showbiz stars.

I love Shakespeare and Chaucer.

I love beautifully-fragranced rose bushes and mighty oak trees.

I love the history and myth of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.

I love foxes and badgers, blue tits and pigeons.

I love homemade jam and round ladies with rosey cheeks.

I love the sunshine, the snow, the rain and the wind.

I love the range of amazing accents of England and the different cultures I see every day.

I love the voice of Dame Vera Lynn, telling us we'll meet again, and the amazing photos of rationed street parties after World War Two.

There is so much more that I love about England. For all our complaints. For all of our English reserve, I love this country. I am a proud English girl and I love to explore our traditions and history and share them with other nations. I hope that we will soon develop a pride in our Englishness. A pride that causes us to include others in our celebration of all that it means to be English - victory, resourcefulness, community.

But in the meantime, I'll just hope, dream...and enjoy the gentle breeze and warm sunshine, as it drys my washing.

My new sister

2010-06-30T13:33:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, whilst on holiday, I picked up my mobile phone to find that I had missed 11 calls from the same number - my brother, Benji's. I think I knew straight away why he was calling, but I made no comment to Dave or the kids. I just called Benji's number, and he immediately answered. I knew, again, by the sound of his voice, why he had called. So as he told me his news, I was not shocked.

You see, this news has been coming for a while. To be honest, I have known that this news would come for a couple of years now. I have prayed that it would. I have looked forward to it. It is probably the best news I've heard in ages.

Benji and his girlfriend, Heather had been sharing a cream tea on a sunny Sunday morning, by Exeter Cathedral, when Benji decided that he would ask the most important question of his life. When he asked Heather to marry him, she said "yes".

My future sister-in-law, Heather, is probably the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She is tall and slim, with lovely light brown, wavy hair, and big pretty eyes. Heather is funny, smiley and happy. She is gentle and clever. She loves Jesus, and she loves my brother. She has a good relationship with her parents and three siblings, and everyone that meets her is thoroughly impressed by her. She is a head-turner and a heart-warmer, and I love her so very much.

I remember when Benji first met Heather. He and Dave had been to the casting auditions of a church theatre production. They returned "full-of-beans", waxing lyrical about this beautiful girl who might be playing the role of Mary, in a modern-day version of the Christmas Story. They spoke about how pretty she was, and how friendly she seemed. Benji was clearly very impressed, and in the few weeks that followed, I teased and hassled him about when he was going to ask her out!!

I remember that a couple of months later, for Indy's fancy dress birthday party, Heather turned up, dressed as a mermaid. Not only did she look completely lovely, but she clearly was ready for a great time, dressed in bluey-greeny clothes, sparkly make-up and massive flippers!!! I remember thinking how brilliant she was, and how she clearly was not at all interested in impressing anyone, but only in having loads of fun.

Time has passed, and I have seen Benji and Heather grow together, and fall in love. To see my little brother in such a fantastically strong, God-centred and fun-filled relationship has filled me with joy and peace.

Last year, I had the great privilege of spending time with Heather at a Christian women's conference, Cherish. She supported me, cried with me and laughed with me. She encouraged me as I faced some struggles, and made me love her even more.

There's something else that I admire in Heather. She is an adventurer...and independent adventurer. She travels to Finland, all alone, to study for five months. She seeks God independently, and she stands out from the crowd, being herself without fear. All of this she does, with gentleness and humility. I love that.

I have just been looking for a knitting pattern for a delicate wedding shawl for Heather. I don't expect her to wear it, but I really want to make it for her, because I love her. My children love her, my husband loves her, my parents love her and my brother loves her. We love her because she adds something special to our family. She brings humour, creativity, godliness and and peace. And, she completes my brother.

Of all of the women that could have been in my brother's life, Heather is the best. She is more than I could have asked for, for my lovely, precious brother.

I hope that she reads this.

Heather, my treasured new sister. I love you so very much. I look forward to sharing more of our lives with each other. I often boast about my future sister-in-law, and my precious friend. I am so blessed to know you. Please lean on me when you need to. Thank you for saying "yes" to my brother. You really are lovely. You are an answer to prayer. xxx

Productivity and Fruitfulness

2010-06-29T06:34:00.000-07:00

Today, so far, has been a fairly productive day. Productivity has not been a word that has been relevant to me for such a long time, but things are changing.

Today, between school and nursery drop-offs, I had coffee with a really precious friend. After we'd exchanged the usual pleasantries and sat ourselves down, I asked one of those "scary" questions. These questions generally relate to something real. I've never been one for shallow conversation (which I'm sure irritates and troubles some people - I must appear very nosey) but I find asking these questions often releases the most amazing friendships. The following questions come under the "scary question" category...

"How are you?....no, really, how are you?"
"So, what do you really want to do with your life?"
"How's your marriage?"
"Can I pray for you?"
"Have I upset you?"
"Are you ok, finacially?"
"How is your relationship with your boyfriend?" (this is VERY scary when posed to one of our gorgeous young people at church!!)

There are so many more, and, as much as I get scared asking them, I love the effects that these questions have.

I asked my friend a scary question. She answered me truthfully. We talked, we laughed, she cried. While we talked, we picked fruit from trees in her garden. She gave the fruit to me, and I brought it home and turned it into jam. This afternoon, I'll drop her pot of jam over to her.

I love making jam - strawberry, gooseberry, plum, raspberry, blackberry, elderberry...it's all good. It also really simple -

Basic Jam Recipe

1 kilo of fruit
1 kilo of granulated sugar
the juice of 1 lemon

1.Put everyhing in a pan, gently heat until the sugar dissolves, bring to the boil.
2.Using a plate that has been sitting in the freezer for a while, blob a drop of jam onto the plate, let it cool, then push your finger through it. If it wrinkles, it's ready. If not, re-boil for another 5 minutes and test again.
3.Pour the jam into sterilised warm jars, lid on, leave to cool.

Three pots of Cherry Jam later....

Today has not been hugely busy. I did a bit of washing-up (no...we do not have a dishwasher!!)made some jam and chatted with a friend. I'm hoping to go gooseberry picking with the kids after school. It may not have been busy, but it has been productive, fruitful...and full of fruit!!!

It is such a privilege to be used by God to stand alongside a friend in need. As my peers suffer, I want to be instrumental in their healing. I want to encourage them as they move closer to living the abundant life that Jesus offers.

Washing the dishes is HUGE for me. After about 9 years of depression, I am feeling very diffierent. I am able to wash, clean, hanging clothes out, put my kids to bed and enjoy my own company withou feeling guilty. God has, and is still, healing me. What an amazing God!!

And so...today I have been thoroughly productive and fruitful, and I feel very satisfied.

2010-06-21T11:36:00.001-07:00

I'll be honest...I'm really not sure what to write about for this post. A few things are going around in my head that I do need to get out, to process, but I'm not sure that this is the place to do it. If it is the place to do it, then I'm not quite sure how to word it.

I have always been hugely frustrated by those who "speak their mind" with little regard for the ways in which it may affect others.

I am a huge (and unashamed) Big Brother fan. I love it's reality and I'm rather nosey, so being able to watch the interaction between other people, without feeling like I'm spying, is rather lovely. Obviously, Big Brother tends to feature rather dramatic characters and sometimes some "unsavoury behaviour." But I am not afraid of life in all its shades of black, white and grey. I enjoy eviction nights and the interviews with Davina, but I am hugely irritated by those people who, upon being asked if they have any regrets, reply, "D'ya know what, Davina? I was just being myself and speaking my mind."

When I hear these words being uttered, I want to shout, "Well, good for you!!! How clever you are for allowing all of your own characteristics to shine through (even if some of them are pretty rubbish.)? What a hero...." (note the sarcasm?!?!)

You see, we can all "speak as we find." We are all able to verbalise our opinions and feelings concerning others. It is very easy to make statements, whether helpful and uplifting or not, about the lives and habits of others. But, do we need to? Do we have the right? Should we not just shut up and mind our own business?

As a Christian, I am called (according to the Bible, which I believe to be the Word Of God), to "speak the truth in love". It can be difficult to speak the truth, if the truth may cost you your friendship with someone. If we are speaking the truth to another, it may hurt their feelings or cause them great distress. But it may help them to receive a bit of "tough love" by hearing about ways to improve an area of their lives. So, you see, being honest and real is very important. Many people use this verse from the Bible to justify some pretty harsh and rather sharp criticism. But it is the word "love" that needs to rule. It is from a loving heart that such "truth" should come. So, when we feel a need to "speak into each other's lives", let's do it with love in our hearts.

I have been vigorously shaken in my role as a Mum. I have seriously questioned my motivations in the ways I speak to, listen to, and spend time with my children. I have doubted myself beyond any other previous doubts. I have wondered if I deserve my husband, if I take him for granted and if our marriage is lacking in balance. I have worried, cried, lost sleep, and despaired. I have prayed, read my Bible and shared with close friends.

And I have come to a conclusion. The enemy wants me to fail. He wants me to suffer, and to give up on my children, my family and my marriage. I will not. I shall not be overcome by anxiety. I will not receive the enemy's interference. I will trust in the Truth of the Word of God. He has appointed and annointed me, according to His Will. He will never leave me nor forsake me. He will hide me under His wings. I will trust the truths spoken to me, in love, and I will stand against lies in the name of Jesus.

Yep, that's it...said and done...that is what I wanted to say. It has been processed, and I am free. Sometimes, blogging is so much more than a few comments on life.

The Indy Cooking Show

2010-04-21T02:37:00.000-07:00

Thought you'd all like to see the film that my little brother, Benji, made of Indy, my daughter, cooking Gluten Free Chocolate Cupcakes. We didn't get round to filming the "Icing Stage", but we usually make a green-coloured, minty-flavoured butter cream to go on the top. My sons call these cakes "Hulk Cakes". Indy's not so keen on that, as she's far too girly!!!! Maybe I'm biased, but I think she's so cute!!! AND, I love the reality of my kids' relationships with each other, as it is featured towards the end!!!

Rubies

2010-04-16T11:53:00.000-07:00

"A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life." Proverbs 31 verses 10-12

Sometimes it feels like God is really trying to get through to me. When something is mentioned a few times, my ears begin to prick up, like our cats, and I start to pay attention. This week, there is something that keeps coming up....Rubies.

This week, I had the amazing privilege of meeting up with an amazing young woman. As a teacher, she was a regular attender at the Christian Union meetings that I ran. She was always smiling, always friendly. She was very bright, and clearly very thoughtful and sensitive to the needs and feelings of others. Recently, via Facebook, we have been reunited, which has been good, but to meet for coffee this week was just great. We had a good chat and generally caught up. She is now a very successful musician. She is also extremely beautiful, both inside and out. She has continued in her relationship with God and has come to know Him more. She has questioned her faith, lived her life and made great decisions for Jesus. To be honest, I felt so blessed to have been a part of her life as a teenager, and just delighted to know her now.

One of the things that I love about being a Christian is having "intentional" friendships. As a Christian woman, God has called me to many things, one of them is to be a big sister. I'm not talking about the biological type (although being just that to my little brother, Ben, is one of the greatest joys in my life.) In the Bible, in the book of Titus, older women are encouraged to "train" younger women. Surely this is what being a big sister is all about?

My lovely friend and I, had a big sister/little sister chat, whilst enjoying our cuppas. We talked about guys, and about relationships. We talked about marriage, and we talked about love. We discussed what the ideal wife should be like. We talked about the chapter from which the above verses came from. In Proverbs 31 of the Bible, we can read about "The Wife of Noble Character". It is clear that she is more than just a good woman. She is more than a "Yummy Mummy". She is clever and careful, a great business woman. She provides for her children and husband very well. She is a hard worker, and she shows kindness and compassion to those in need.

My friend and I talked about how it seems to be all about what the wife does, but I began to notice the verses about how the wife was treated, viewed and praised by her husband. It was then that I realised that this woman is able to serve so very well, thanks to the praise, encouragement and strengthening of her husband. You see, she would not be able to see her own potential or to live it out, without being treated so well. Her husband reminds her that she is precious to him. He praises her...publicly. He boasts about her to his peers. He is proud to be with her. He releases her to run her own business. He enables her to be productive and to serve outside of the house.

Because of the actions and words of her husband, she is "worth far more than rubies". Because he loves her so well, she makes a massive difference to her children, her friends, her employees, her community. She is not just important to him. To the world, she is "worth far more than rubies".

Rubies are quite interesting. There are two kinds of rubies - natural and cultured. Cultured rubies are made by human hands. They are the result of a chemical process - a beautiful one, but a chemical process none-the-less. Natural rubies occur naturally, and they are extremely rare. In fact, natural rubies are so rare that they are worth far more than diamonds.

Rubies are striking in colour. When I make Raspberry Jam, it's that "Ruby Red" colour that I wait for to know that the jam has reached it's boiling point. Only then can I pour my "Ruby Red" Raspberry Jam into warm, sterilised pots, wait for it to cool and smother all over a piece of crusty white bread....mmmmmm.

Rubies are beautiful, rare and striking. I love rubies.

This week, my mum and dad celebrate their Ruby Wedding Anniversary. They have been married for 40 years. Their marriage has lasted - a rare thing in this "day and age". They have produced two children, and have served God, and their church, together for years. They have many friends, and have survived recessions, unemployment, sickness, grief and great trials. I think that this is beautiful. Their commitment to each other is striking. Other people notice it and are inspired and encouraged, that they can make it in their marriages, too.

So, what is God saying to me? If rubies are rare, beautiful and striking, and I am worth far more than them...am I rare, beautiful and striking? If I follow in my parents footsteps, will my life reflect the beauty of a ruby? If I serve, bless and enjoy...will other people see me as striking? Will I stand out and shine?

I'm not sure...but I am so grateful for a God who creates such beautiful gems...and then tells me that, to Him, I am worth far more. Thank You, Lord.

The "New"

2010-04-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling a bit odd at the moment. I'm feeling a bit on edge...a bit impatient...a bit...well, fidgetty. After making a decision to close one door, I know that another will open.....but what will it be?

You see, I LOVE new adventures. Since the age of 16 my life has been pretty unpredictable and constantly changing. A'Levels, a new school, new relationships, Uni, leaving home, different creative projects, teacher training, a new home town, a new job, a new and unexpected baby, a new husband, a new house, another new baby, another new house, pet rabbits, another new baby, two rabbit funerals, a new kitten, her new kittens, a new church, another new rabbit, a new set of friends, a new business, a TV appearance, another lost rabbit, more kittens, a new cat, new hobbies, new friends, new nurseries and schools......bit mad really, but I thrive on change. I love new stuff. I enjoy new possessions and new places to visit. I find making new friends fun and easy. New is good. New is exciting. New is satisfying. New makes me happy.

So.....here we are...me and Dave, three kids, busy home, car journeys, church activites, vet bills, gas bills, water bills, electricity bills, parents evenings, gardening, cleaning, trips to the rubbish tip, shopping for food, family occasions, meetings, car servicing, car taxing...bla bla bla.

"Me and Dave" is good. We try to spend special time together, including date nights and weekends away. We try to keep things new and exciting in all sorts of ways....hee hee hee. I can tell him (and he is helpful) when I'm feeling "the need for new"!!!

With our kids, I try to keep things pretty fast-moving and fun, as well as times of calm and peace. Random trips to the seaside, silly dinners, theme nights and special time together.

But as for the rest, I just have to get on with the mundane bits of life. I REALLY do not enjoy them. In fact, I avoid them, running for the hills, screaming, "Leave me alone!!" Mundane is boring. Mundane is mind-numbing. Mundane makes me want to shout, hit and scream. Mundane drives me mad. It's so...so... mundane!!

My poor, darling husband has to deal with my constantly itchy feet. "Let's get chickens!! Let's move far away!! Let's go out!! We should decorate that room!! We should buy a B&B!! What about setting up our own business?!" There have been a few times that Dave's come home to find various jobs around the house and garden that I've started - steaming off wall paper, painting furniture, moving shelves around, digging up various plants. He's very patient with me. He often finishes off the jobs that I start, and get bored of. He is kind and loving, and he gently reminds me of reality every now and then.

And you see, that's another problem with loving "new". I get bored very easily and very quickly. I have felt, for a long time, that this is a failure on my part and that, somehow, I would need to correct this fault in my character. Until a conversation with a lovely lady from our previous church, I had felt that that problem was my not finishing things. This wonderful lady explained to me that my starting things was what was important, and that God had given me this passion, boldness and ability in starting new adventures, for His purposes.

So, I have begun to really enjoy starting things. I have come to terms with the fact that I love "new", and that my passion, inspiration and boldness enable others to continue with great things that I start.

So, as one door closes, I am praying for another to continue what I started. I am praying for the humility to pass my adventure onto another, who will take it to greater heights. I am praying, also, for my new adventure...what will it be? I am praying for the patience to wait until my new adventure begins. But, most of all, I am praying that I will find the "new" in the mundane, in the everyday, and that I will enjoy the adventures that already sit at my feet.

2010-03-07T13:59:00.000-08:00

This evening, I had some news. A precious friend is moving away. I've had news like this many times before.

When I was 11, my friend, Lyndsey, moved away. Her family moved away with her dad's job. He was to beceome the pastor of another church, in another town. When Lyndsey and her sister, Jo, left our church and our town, I grieved. I cried before they went, I cried as they went, I cried once they'd gone. I missed the little notes that Lyndsey passed in church. I missed her lovely giggle. I missed her hugs and I missed being around her.

When I was 12, my best friend at school, Ella, moved away. Her parents decided to relocate to the countryside. I deeply grieved. I remember standing in the school hall at break time on the day after she left. I stood alone and looked around, for the first time understanding the phrase, "being alone in a crowd". I missed Ella's house and her music. I missed the times when we made up songs, and went shopping for useless bits of tat. I missed us wearing matching stripey tights and Kicker boots. Before she went, I predicted, "I'll miss your little chicken legs." I missed her...so, so much.

When I was 17, my boyfriend, Azar, moved with his parents to another country. They owned a house in the mountains of Mallorca, and had planned to move their permenantly for some time. At the end of our A'Levels, with a few friends,I drove him to the airport, hugged and kissed him goodbye, cried and watched him walk through the gate. He left. I cried.

As I heard the news of my friend's plans this evening, I immediately hurt. I do not feel pain on my own behalf. I feel pain for one of her children, and for her best friend. I have been crying since. I can feel the pain that these two friends are feeling. I know how frightened they feel. Every now and then, I suddenly feel extremely sad, remembering that they will be separated.

You see, I sat with these girls as they cried together, over an incident of bullying. I have seen them have fun together and laugh until tears run down their faces. I have seen photos of their holidays tgether and I've heard some of their "funny stories". I have had breakfast withthese girls as they discuss their favourite food, which of course is the same. I have seen these girls' friendship and sheer devotion to each other.

My heart breaks for them. I understand the loss that they will feel. I remember the feelings of loss from my own experiences and, to be honest, it still seems to hurt. It hurts right now, as I write. I wish that these lovely girls would not have to suffer in this way. Compared to the suffering of the loss I wrote about in my last entry, this may seem trivial. But, it is not. I know that these girls will cry themselves to sleep tonight, as I did. I know that these girls will deeply mourn and that they will never forget the pain.

My intention, as I made clear to both girls this evening, is to remain close and not leave them. I am committed to showing love, kindness and support to them both. Because, it hurts. They will find new friends, and they will continue to move through all of the stages of friendship. Even in their old age, they will meet other women with whom they will share so much. But, for now...they are cherishing every moment of their time together, and every moment of the most precious friendship that they have ever known.

My Legacy

2010-03-04T09:50:00.000-08:00

Today, I went to a funeral. When I say "I went" what I mean is, I sat outside in the foyer of the church building, looking after a friend's little girl, while my friend attended the aforementionned funeral. However, as I sat outside in the foyer, I had the great privilege of being able to hear the worship - some amazingly stirring and faithful hymns, like How Great Thou Art. I also heard the various shared memories from family and friends. I heard tears and laughter. I heard great stories, both funy and deeply moving. I heard about a life.

I didn't know Karena very well. She and I had attended the same church, at one point. Her family had been a part of the team that had planted a new church, and so just after I arrived, they left. She has prayed with me once. I had heard her speak from the stage quite a few times. She had what is called a Prophetic Gifting. She often "heard" or sensed what God wanted to say at a particular time and she would share it with the gathered church. She had her third baby, shortly before I had my first and so we chatted in creche a few times. I liked her. She seemed very wise and godly. She seemed very calm and together.

I learnt more about her today. Apparently, she was fun, impulsive and adventurous. She was disorganised and funny. She was passionate and loving. Today she was even described as "crazy". She loved her husband, she loved her kids, and she loved Jesus. She read the Bible a lot. She loved God's word. She loved speding time with other women. She loved a good cappuccino. She was creative.

Karena's brave, loving and faithful husband, Craig, spoke about her. He read an entry from her journal. It had been written three months before she had died. She had written a prayer as a part of the entry. She prayed for her children and for her marriage. She prayed that God would strengthen her and Craig. She prayed, most passionately, for her children, and their faith and relationships with God. She was desperate that despite her death and their suffering, her children would remain close to God, fully relying on Him for all their needs.

At the end of the service, people flooded out of the auditorium, many in tears. Craig and Karena's two young daughters emerged, surrounded with younger children who held their hands. The girls smiled and laughed as they spoke with expression and kindness to the little children holding their hands as they went off to explore the building. Craig and Karena's son smiled as two friends approached him, as if he was encouraging them that everything would be okay. I was amazed. I know that children tend to grieve differently to adults and that each person deals with bereavement in their own way. But as we read Craig's blog before Karena died, it was abundantly clear that these children were being parented in a unique way.

We read of video nights with duvets and popcorn, afternoons of board games and reading funny books, and an amazing time, when Karena prayed for, and prophesied over each one of her children, in turn.

As her children emerged from the auditorium, Karena's legacy was obvious. She has a legacy of godliness, gentleness, generosity, kindness, fun, adventure and solid, real faith in God. Undoubtedly, throughout their lives, her children will greatly miss and mourn her. Her loss will be felt strongly in so many places, families and churches. But, together her and Craig have done something outstanding in their children. They have raised them to know Jesus. They have shown them that death is not the end. They have given them hope - a sure and certain hope of being reunited with God and with their mum. What a Legacy. They will remember their mum reading her Bible, looking after other families, having fun with her friends, thanking God for the big and little things, and enjoying her life - every minute of it.

It makes me think...what will my legacy be? What will I leave behind? Who will I impact? What will I change for the better? Will people know The Truth because of me? Will people see good in me and be inspired by it? Will I live out God's plan for my life, without holding anything back?

I've decided to start now. So...here we go...My friends, as you read this blog, I want you remember one thing about me...here it is... I am passionate about showing YOU how much God loves you. He sent His Son to die for YOU. He did this, so that you would be able to LIVE your life to the full, feeling loved, accepted and alive. If you want to know that life, all you have to do, is ask God to change you, from the inside out, and ask Him to help you to learn more about His Son, Jesus. This is the beginning of an amazing journey, that I am on. It is exciting and challenging and adventurous. It is satisfying and fulfilling and strengthening. Please will you do this? Don't wait until I die - just do it right now, where you are sitting, reading this blog entry. I'd much rather share your New Life with you now, than miss out on it.

Today, a lovely friend made request for another blog entry - not sure that this is what you expected!!! But, I am tired of being too scared and worrying about offending people... We all need to be loved with that everlasting, all-encompassing love that only comes from God.

St Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T10:30:00.000-08:00

"Happy Valentine's Day!!!" The hustle and bustle of a Sunday morning began with my three young children singing to us, laden with bowls of milk-soggy Bran Flakes. "I love you, Mummy," said my daughter as she handed mine to me. "Want a kiss!" said my littlest son, with a cheerio stuck to his cheek, his arms outstretched. "We made you breakfast. Hope you like it," said my eldest.

Dave and I turned to each other, going in for a kiss and then remembering the plague of morning breath. No snogs this morning - just a little married "peck"!!! We gave cards and gifts to each other, smiled, snuggled and then Dave dutifully made his way down stairs to inspect the result of the breakfast-making process.

I lay in bed, watching my new Cosby Show DVD - clever husband - watching the Huxtable Family "doing life" together. As I watched Cliff, the father, calling out to his kids and telling them off for mess, noise and arguing, I heard it echoed in my own house by my husband and children. "He pushed me!!!" "I did not!!" "Yes you did!!"

On the way to church this morning, we prayed for the Mackay Family. Karena, "a magnificant wife and exceptional mum" died on Friday night. After a year of battling with cancer, she has now gone to be with her Saviour in Heaven, leaving behind a devoted husband and three lovely children. When we prayed this morning, we asked God to bless them and rest on them, on this, the first Valentines Day without Karena.

At church, Mark preached on God's healing power. I couldn't help but think of Karena and wonder why God had not healed her. I thought of my beautiful friend, who has just been diagnosed with cancer. Dave and I prayed earnesly for her healing, sensing that God had heard and would answer.

I observed new couples holding hands, spoke to long-married couples planning a weekend away, saw my gorgeous single friend shine with kindness and peace, and I watched as my nine-year-old madly-in-love son open a card and gift from his "girlfriend", after handing the same to her.

Valentines Day is a funny old day. For some it brings utmost joy, for others, deep sadness as they are reminded that they do not have a "Valentine", or that they are not someone else's. It produces tremendous revenue for card and flower sellers. I could go on about the whole "commercialism thing", but to be honest, I LOVE red roses, chocolates, balloons, presents and surprises. I am a total sucker for it. As I write, my husband is cooking our Valentine's Day Dinner which we will eat whilst watching a chick flick...bless his patience!!! But what I love even more, are the unplanned moments that Dave and I share. I love laughing with him and our kids. I love those unexpected cuddles that my kids give me. I love the little pictures, cards and noted that the kids leave around for us.

I love my friends and the funny stories they tell me. I love it when my friends let me into their world, with all its twists and turns. I love their vunerability and honesty. I love the opportunity to listen, serve and love.

Every day should be Valentine's Day. I read a bit about St Valentine. The truth is, "he" is actually "them" - a group of martyrs who are celebrated on the same day. One of them is said to have been martyred for conducting marriage ceremonies, another martyred for attempting to share the love of God with an Emperor. So, basically, sharing love was "St Valentine's" crime.

It sounds pretty "hippy", but sharing love is what Valentine's Day is all about. There is much we can do to share love - words, actions, gifts, letters, hugs, kisses and giving our time, but for me, it's the kind of love shown that is important. Love should be unconditional - no matter what I look like, or what I say or do. It should be faithful - unchanging, unrelenting and everlasting. I want a love that is loyal - not half-hearted or unreliable, and a love that is real - honest, open, facing difficulties as well as times of fun, laughter and peace.

I have only ever found one love like this - the love of God. He's waiting. He already loving you, he just needs you to ask. Will this be the best Valentine's Day yet? It's up to you, really. xxx

"Precious"...really?

2010-02-08T05:02:00.000-08:00

I've just returned from a great anniversary weekend away with my lovely husband, Dave. We whisked ourselves away from our home and kids (both being supervised by "The In-Laws") and made our short journey to Winchester. On the way, in the car, we chatted and munched cheesy croissants and sipped lattes...well, I did, anyway...and began to relax. We were unexpectedly able to check in four hours early and then we meandered down to the city centre for a pootle and some lunch. We popped in and out of little shoe shops and home ware stores before heading to a 1950s-style American diner for Hamburger, Frings (fries and onion rings) and a chocolate malt...mmm.

We returned to the hotel for the evening and after some R&R, ate out at a Chinese restaurant for dinner. We walked, talked and laughed, arm-in-arm along the streets of Winchester, the cold wind blowing towards us, yet ignored. We have been truly happy this weekend.

In fact, we are truly happy together most of the time. Like all marriages, we have had times of feeling cross and irritated by each other. There have been moments of conflict and disagreement, as well as times when we have felt isolated from each other. Through these times though, I have been daily reminded by Dave, that he loves me and that I am precious to him. Even though I have not always believed him, I cannot remember a day when Dave did not tell me that I was beautiful, funny or gorgeous. I am a very blessed woman.

Dave loves film, and so our times together have often involved cinema. This weekend was no exception. We went along to the Everyman Cinema in Winchester and sat ourselves down to watch Oscar-nominated film, "Precious".

I knew from the reviews that Dave had shown me, and from the trailers that I had seen, that this was going to be pretty harrowing. I did not realise quite how graphic and disturbing it would be.

"Precious" is based on a true story of a 16-year-old single mother, pregnant with her second child, living with her physically and sexually abusive mother. Her first child and her expected child are both products of rape, Precious' own father being the perpetrator. Her first child, born with Downs Syndrome is, mercifully, living with Precious' grandmother, and is kept from Precious, except for times when Social Services visit, and Precious' mother is asking for more benefit money.

Precious' desperate and determined battle to continue her education, to learn to read and write, and to free herself from her terrible home set-up, is the narrative of the film. I'm not a film critic, and I shan't attempt to tell the story, but I have not stopped thinking about what I saw, how it made me feel and the thoughts and reactions in me that it provoked.

To see Precious and her two small children suffer so horrendously, at the hands of her mother and father made me feel physically sick. I cried and cried, at times sobbing into my scarf. Could it be possible that children are suffering like this right now? Children in our world, in my town? Could any of my students have suffered in this way? Did I miss it? When a girl confided in me that she was suffering at the hands of a family member, did I do enough? When her parents decided not to press charges, should I have pushed things further? Did she continue to suffer? Where is she now? Is she okay?

In the film, when Precious' mother finally admits to the abuse that she had inflicted on her daughter, she is asked how it started. She speaks of her boyfriend's open abuse of their daughter, and of the rejection she felt, with her husband choosing their daughter (and not her) for his own satisfaction. She offers this as an explanation for her anger and subsequent abuse of Precious from the age of 3.

How could a woman allow her baby to be misused and hurt in this way? How could this Woman then go on to hurt that baby even more? Clearly, the mother in this story was very confused and in need of medical help, but she was also a victim - of a man making a choice. This man made a choice to hurt and ruin two "precious" human beings. He chose to satisfy himself, no matter what the cost would be. He killed the hopes and dreams of a mother and her child. He ruined a woman's self-esteem, sanity, and her relationship with her daughter. She, in turn, ruined her daughter's chance of ever feeling "precious".

"No-one has ever loved me," Precious cried as she finally opened up to her class and teacher. As she spoke these words, I cried and cried, knowing full-well that many feel this way. Many have experienced the wounds of verbal, physical, mental and sexual abuse. Many feel that no-one has ever loved them. We are told in the Bible that God loves us. His love for us is so strong, that He has made a way for us to be in relationship with Him. He sacrificed His own son for us.

Recently I read some amazing poetry, raw and honest, written by victim of abuse. The poet asked, "Where were you?" I should think that Precious felt the same - "Where were you, God? When I was frightened and hurting, where were you? Why did you not stop this from happening? When I could not ask for help, where were you? As I gave birth to my first child, on the kitchen floor, with my mother kicking my head, where were you?"

After watching the film, Dave and returned home to our precious children. We hugged them, kissed them, tickled them and told them how wonderful they are. I continued to think about the film, remembering scenes and sections of script. What had I learnt? How did I feel?

"Precious", as I've already mentioned, is based on a true story. These things had actually happened. Where had God been? Despite my strong faith in God and my complete trust in Him, I do not claim to understand Him. I struggle to understand suffering. As a read the blog of a great husband watching his godly wife die, I struggle to see God in it. As one of my most precious friends, a young mother of four handsome boys, receives a cancer diagnosis, I do not understand. As a great daddy is taken away from his loving kids and faithful wife, I just don't get it. I ask, "Where are you God?"

As I look out onto the light snow outside; As I watch my little son climbing inside a toy basket with a cheeky grin on his face; As I turn the heating up to make us even warmer than we already are in our cosy house; As I take my anti-depressant tablets, which I got free on the NHS; as I log on to express myself freely and share my thoughts....I realise, God is Here. He is in my light and my darkness, my day and my night. He is in the Freedom of Recovery and the Mercy of Healing. He is in the Peace of my Imagination and the Chaos of my Creativity. When I have suffered, He has waited for me.

I cannot understand why some suffer and some don't. I know that my times of suffering are insignificant compared to the lives of others. But, I find comfort in God's love.

I know that some reading this blog entry may feel angry at my ignorance. I am really sorry if I have offended anyone. But I feel that God wants many to know, that whilst our earthly parents can let us down and even damage us, we have a Heavenly Father, who loves us, cherishes us and wants to fix the damage. He wants to hold us in His loving arms and never let us go. We just have to grab on, and not let go.

I know that He says that we are all precious to Him, and I have to believe that. I am precious. We are all precious...even you.

Benji, my baby brother

2010-01-10T10:32:00.000-08:00

I think I've mentioned my house before. As I walk up the stairs (about a million times-a-day, carrying a million times my weight in clothes, toys and bags) I am met at the top by a comforting site. The shelf at the top of our stairs (restored by me) is an old dresser top. It is painted cream, and houses special memories - Seth's first shoes, a dried bunch of flowers from Dave to me, a few shells from Swanage Beach, my favourite book as a child, "Milly Molly Mandy Stories", a blue, ceramic clock made for me by a student's mum and lots of photos. Without a doubt, the photo that makes me smile the most is one that I inherited from my Nanny Pocock when she died. On the top shelf, next to the ceramic clock, sits a small gold, oval frame, enclosing a photo of two children: a smiley baby boy, sitting in front of his first birthday presents, with his dark-haired big sister supporting him, sitting behind. The girl is me, the baby, my brother.

I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned my brother on here before. If not, I think I know why. You see, trying to describe my brother is very difficult. I struggle to describe him to anyone for fear of not finding the right words, or people believing what I say. So, this blog entry will be written without fear. It may seem incredulous and it may seem a bit sickly sweet, but I don't care. There are times when we need to speak our heart, and this is one of them. I just hope that it doesn't sounds like an obituary!!!

Benjamin Charles Pocock was born at around 11pm on 5th September 1984. The first I knew of it, was when I was woken up, by my next door neighbour, to find myself in their house...I'd been asleep when my dad had carried me over!!! I came downstairs and was given the phone. I remember hearing my dad's voice, saying, "Sally, you've got a little baby brother!" He was really excited. I had hoped for a sister, but when I saw my little baby brother the next day, I completely fell in love with him. Oh my goodness, right now as I write, I am sobbing!!!! Pull yourself together, woman!!!!

In the hospital shop, I bought Ben a little white rabbit, with a blue outfit on. It had a little blue ribbon sewn into the top of its head in a loop. It was just like Bun Bun, my most precious toy. As I went into the room where my mum was staying, I remember seeing a tiny bundle, wrapped in a white blanket, laying in a plastic cot. Mum picked him up and held his little pink face in her hand, whilst his little bottom rested on her knee. His face looked all squashed and I laughed.

At the age of 7, and having never had a sibling, I was so excited when Mum and Dad told me that they were going to have a baby. I lay on the floor kicking my legs and shouting, "woo hoo" with excitement. This pleasure at having a baby brother has not ever dwindled. I remember his first night home from hospital. He started to cry during the night and I went into his room , to see if he was okay. Mum told me not to worry as he would be crying a lot and it didn't always mean he was upset. Ben's crying never bothered me. He never bothered me.

I remember his first birthday - the first time he crawled!!!! A year old for a first crawl was pretty late, but Ben didn't need to crawl as I brought everything to him!!! Ben's smile was so cute - he had quite a chubby face and so his eyes were quite slitty!!!! So cute!!

As a toddler, Ben was very funny. He was incredibly shy in public. He would often put his hands over his eyes (if I can't see them, then they can't see me) or hide behind Mum's skirt. But at home, Ben was the entertainer. His favourite was to bend over and look through his legs. Occasionally, this would be accompanied by his "funny laugh" - "ohhhhh hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo!!"

Ben was a Wise Man in his pre-school nativity. He walked in, head held high and amazed everyone with his confidence as he passed myrrh to the Baby Jesus.

As Ben started school, he made friends easily - Rodney, Richard and Frank - such funny names for little boys!!! His first teacher, Mrs Cowley adored Ben as he was so easy to teach and such a kind soul. Ben was never in trouble and was very popular. I remember that he even had a little girlfriend, called Katy. Around this age, on one occasion, I was really mean to Ben. I was 12 years old and having a chat in the kitchen with my friend, Katie. Mum had popped over to a neighbour's house and I had been left in charge. Ben had wanted to be with me and Katie in the kitchen and I had closed the door with him out in the hall way. I held the handle of the door so that he could not get in. He cried and pulled the door and eventually, I let go. Well, Ben got a whack on the forehead from the door and fell over with the force of it. I felt terrible. I cried, while Ben just sat there, rubbing his head. I don't remember ever hurting Ben again. He was so precious to me, that I couldn't bear to hurt him.

Ben and I, despite being 7 years apart in age, often played together as kids. Holidays to Swanage were awesome. Trips to the arcade, crabbing off the harbour and dinghying off the shore, rowing about with each other, and building sand castles. I loved playing with Ben, and rarely felt irritated by him or crowded. We did have our own little squabbles: who would get what table mat at Sunday lunch? Who sat on the sofa nearest to the telly? Who got the most squash in their cup? But Ben and I did not argue, did not fight and were not mean to each other.

We had our private jokes, silly made-up songs and shared hilarious memories.

Going to uni was difficult. I really missed Ben. He was 11, and started secondary school whilst I was away. He once was nudged by a bully at school, as they passed each other on the playground. When I heard that this bully had even nudged my brother, I was ready to find him and really hurt him. I was so angry. Ben was perfectly capable of handling himself, but it didn't stop me from wanting to grab that kid by the neck and scare the living daylights out of him.

Another thing that happened to Ben whilst I was away was that he got baptised. Mum sent me an audio recording of his personal story and the actual baptism. Although I was far from God and not attending church, I was so pleased that Ben was going for God. His testimony was strong, and I knew, as Mum had prayed for him every night, that he would be a "mighty man of God".

Ben remained often on my mind. In my final year at uni, I struggled with what I now know as depression, and I generally treated myself really badly. One night at a party, I had taken two ecstasy pills. I had felt a bit odd and so I sat down on a bed, in front of a Salvador Dali painting. At the best and most lucid of times, one of Salvador Dali's paining could confuse you, but with added narcotics, it became very frightening. My heart began to race, and my ears became muffled. I must have looked a bit strange as suddenly, people were gathered around me. At that moment, I thought that I was going to die. I knew that I had taken too many and probably a "dodgy" pill - they're ALL dodgy, but some are "cut" or mixed with other drugs. I immediately thought of my mum, my dad and my brother, knowing that they were my life before, my happy life, my safe life. I vomited pretty heavily and felt better straight away. That night, I slept it off and vowed not to take drugs again.

Not long after uni and teacher training, I moved home and began my first job as a teacher. As you may have previously read, I became unexpectedly pregnant. Ben was in the middle of his GCSE year. I felt ashamed and so I apologised to Ben. What kind of example was I? How on earth could Ben respect someone like me? He'd not let me know he felt ashamed of me as he was too nice a person, but I thought he'd feel it. So, when I said sorry, I expected him to feel disappointed but say "that's ok". Instead, Ben simply said, "you should say sorry to God, not me." I was floored. Such wisdom. Such humility. Such grace. How had he got it all?!?!

Needless to say, Ben was devoted to Roo. When Roo was born, I immediately called him Little Pookey - for a while Ben had been called Pookey (only by me!!) All I wanted for Roo was that he turn out like my brother. In fact, that 's all I want for both of my boys, to this day.

On my wedding day, Ben and I saw each other in the foyer of the church just after Dad and I arrived. I couldn't keep eye contact with him for long. I knew I'd cry. He looked so smart and I knew he'd cry too!! He said Grace at our reception - no-one could have done it better than my little brother. He was awesome.

Ben is an amazing uncle. When Roo was born, he suddenly was known - all the time to our family - as Benji. My children love him. They cheer when they know they're going to see him. They cry when they can't. They play with him, have fun with him and listen to him. They miss him when they are not with him. He is kind, cuddly, loving, firm and accepting of who they are. My husband loves Benji. He really likes him, thinks he's "a really solid guy". Dave says that Benji "is a guy of real quality." My sentiments exactly.

Benji makes good choices. He follows God wherever he takes him. He goes on adventures. He squeezes every exciting element out of life. He leads strongly, he follows humbly and with commitment. He works hard, has loads of friends and takes everything in his stride. He puts up with no rubbish, but is very gentle and kind.

Benji also has the most wonderful girlfriend. As he has grown, I have prayed that he would marry someone beautiful, kind, funny, clever,and godly. Although they are not married yet, Heather has exceeded all of my prayers and hopes for Benji. If it is possible, she makes Benji a better man. She is amazing. They are amazing together. They are silly together and serious together. I love them together. She is my friend, too - encouraging, generous and funny. I love Heather very, very much. I am so pleased that they found each other - another good choice by my little brother!!!

I said at the beginning of this entry that I find it very hard to describe my brother. As I come to the end, I feel unsatisfied. I have not said all I want to say. How can I? How can I describe one of the most precious people I have ever known? Benji simply is my brother, my inspiration, my hopes fulfilled, and my great friend. I trust him, and I really like him. I love him so very much, and although I want him to live a full life with Heather, their children and the travels they plan, I do not ever want to be apart from him. I want them to go wherever God takes them - and feel thoroughly released, but I will forever be waiting for Benji to pop round for a cup of tea and a giggle.

I guess he might read this. If so - we know each other, don't we, Ben? And whilst I've babbled on for ages, I know, that you know...words can't describe how I feel about you, my precious baby brother xxx

Why do I knit?

2010-01-07T09:41:00.000-08:00

This morning, I read that knitting and sewing is becoming a "celebrity favourite". Apparently, it's become trendy. Madonna likes to knit and sew, as do various fashion models.

I'm not famous, but I do knit. As my closest friends will tell you, I carry my knitting wherever I go, and I make time to knit as much as possible. I regularly knit in public and as much as possible, on my own. I am a founding member of "Clickin' Sticks" a knitting group in Camberley. We meet every Wednesday in Starbucks in Camberley, from 7pm and until 8pm (or until they kick us out!!) I often give knitted gifts to my friends, I spend a considerable amount of time on Ravelry.com, which is basically Facebook for knitters!!! I share photos of my knitted projects and (believe it or not) I actually photograph the yarn that I buy, and post photos of that, too!!

I learnt to knit as a child. Although my Nanny Pocock (my Dad's mum) knitted a lot, it was actually my mum who taught me. I remember struggling with her grey, metal needles and acrylic yarn. Mum would cast on for me, and then I'd try to knit the rows. My stitches were so tight that they'd squeak, as I try to move them up and down the needles. I first thing I remember knitting was a red scarf for one of my toys. Occasionally, Mum would do the odd row for me. As I looked back at the scarf, it was obvious which rows were mine, and which were Mum's. My rows were too tight, or too loose. Stitches had been dropped, and then Mum had picked them up. I'd even added extra stitches, which Mum had then dropped on her rows. I made mistakes all over the place, and Mum's knitting not only was perfect, but she corrected my mistakes!!!

As a teenager, I knitted every now and then. The mums in our street, including mine, shared magazines. So, we would regularly get second-hand magazines posted through the door. Woman's Weekly was a favourite for me, as it often had knitting patterns. Around the time that Wallace and Gromit's first adventure was made, the magazine published a knitting pattern for Wallace. I knitted it up as quickly as I could. It was for this pattern, that I learnt to purl. Again, Mum taught me. After finishing Wallace, I ordered a pattern for Gromit, which I knitted as soon as it arrived. Wallace and Gromit were given to my little brother, and have now been passed on to my friend's little boy, who loves them.

Before uni, I knitted a bunny with a chunky jumper, which I gave to a friend's newborn baby. I sewed more than knitted a uni, making my own clothes, sometimes. My uni had a "Soft 3D" department, in which I tried to spend as much time as possible, feeling the fabric and learning how to sew and design, from the lady in charge. I loved it there. It was at that point that I began to wonder if I should have studied Textiles instead if Theatre.

I can't quite remember when I started knitting again, but in the last few years, knitting has become my therapy, my escape, my indulgence and my obsession. I knit all sorts of things - toys, blankets, scarves, hat, mittens, cardigans, pieces of art. I love yarn. It is so varied - different colours, textures, materials, shapes. I love knitting needles - especially ones made by Knitpro and Art Viva - they are so beautiful. I love knitters. We are fascinated with each other's work. We talk, we drink coffee, we snuggle down, we LOVE the Winter, we swap ideas and techniques, and we help each other. I love going to yarn shops. I feel the yarns, feel the needles, chat to other shoppers and I take my time.

Knitting brings colour to my life. It brings peace and relaxation. It brings satisfaction, as I create something and enjoy the reaction of its recipient. It comes with me, wherever I go. It introduces me to new friends. It keeps me warm. It takes me back to my roots, reminding me of my grandmothers and my mum.

Quite frankly, I couldn't care less if knitting is trendy or not. If famous people want to knit, well, good for them. But whatever happens to the status of knitting, I just love it. Every day, I pray that I will be able to continue knitting. I pray against RSI and Arthritis. I thank God that He has give me something wonderful to enjoy.

In my life, I often look back, as I did with my knitting as a child, and I see the "rows" where I've gone wrong, and then the places where God has picked up my dropped stitches, and loosened things when there's too much tension. God removes the useless, pointless things in my life (just like those extra stitches) and gets me back on track. He corrects my mistakes, just as my mum did. I love to read in Psalm 139, verse 13, that God "knitted me together in my mother's womb". It must have taken Him a long time...

...And, I'm pretty sure that He didn't drop any stitches.

2010-01-02T08:35:00.000-08:00

I sometimes wonder whether I am the only person who isn't hugely excited about a New Year. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the holidays and all that it involves, including New Year's Eve. I am not unhappy at the moment, or anxious about what lies ahead, but I do feel that January 1st is "just another day".

I don't have any New Year's Resolutions. I don't have any Big Plans for 2010. I don't feel hugely reflective about last year, and I don't feel hopeful about this year. I feel pretty chilled and, I guess, a little "numb".

You see, I have hopes and plans for the future. I'd like to lose some weight and get fitter. I'd like to move house, so that we can be nearer to our church and our kids' school. I'd like to spend more time with my close girlfriends, and to be a blessing to other women in my life. I'd like to react in a calmer and more positive way to my children. I'd like to see more romance in my marriage. I'd like to be more organised and to remember dates and meetings. I'd like to learn to surf. I'd like to read and study my Bible...regularly!!! I'd like to have a tidier house. I'd like to be more creative...maybe write a book...or a series of books!!!

The fact is, I'd like to do and be, a lot more than now. But, I recognise that there are reasons why this stuff has not happened....yet. Some things are not my priority. Some are out of my reach. I can accept this. I do not need to feel guilty or pressured. I know that as soon as I "commit" to any of these plans or hopes, I want to run a mile in the opposite direction. You see, I find commitment really difficult. I am not close friends with responsibility, commitment or discipline. Does this make me immature? Does it make me lazy? Or is it just a part of my personality?

The truth is, I don't actually know. But, what I do know is that Jesus came to give me "life and life to the full". He came to set me free. I know that when I tell myself to do something or "resolve" to change, I do not feel "free". I feel stuck, limited and pinned-down. When I convince myself to "do better", my feelings cause me to fail.

I have often been involved with things that I find very difficult - leading a cell group, doing a desk job, co-ordinating an event, working with children. I have felt terribly guilty that I have not enjoyed these things. I have told myself that a good, Christian woman should be able to do these things, even if they are not enjoyable. If I am "stretched", even if it hurts, this must be a good thing, as I am learning, trying, working, striving. I know that I am not alone in thinking like this.

A precious friend of mine was recently encouraged to take part in something that she dreaded, found boring and felt uncomfortable with. Her encourager said to her, "It's not about what you want to do...it's about what you should do." I understand that in life, some things do us good. I understand that God is my Father, my Parent and that discipline is part of Parenting. But does my Father want me to feel under pressure and stressed? Does He want me to be useless or useful? I am much more useful when I feel happy. I am much more useful where I know what I'm doing and I actually enjoy it.

So, this year, I hope to take each day as it comes. I hope to enjoy each aspect of every day. I hope to indulge in the things that make me feel satisfied and make me feel alive and free. i hope to write, knit, sew and create. I hope to play, smile and chat. I hope to have a positive effect on the people around me. I hope to make other people feel special. I hope to have real, truthful, productive conversations with people. I hope to make new friends.

I am so thankful for the blessings of last year. Dave was made redundant and got another job. I became part of a lovely knitting group in Camberley. I spent more time with the girls in our youth group, who I desperately love. I began to spend time on my own in coffee shops, knitting and thinking...and often meeting new people. I had a wonderful two-weeks with my beautiful, crazy family in Swanage, Dorset. I camped for a week at Newday with our gorgeous young people. I made two new amazing friends, Susan and Julie. I had a the great privilege of remembering our friend Ian, in Cornwall, where I met his friends, laughed and cried with Ya, his wife and my precious friend and learnt to body board.

But I do not want to look back or forward. I want to just look and appreciate - the trees, the snow, the sunshine, the rain. Yarn, fabric, colour and sparkle. Smiles, laughs, shouts and songs.

I am thankful for a new day, with new possibilities. Another day with my husband and children, making a difference, and enjoying all that God had given me.

Memories of Christmas

2009-12-13T11:23:00.000-08:00

As I decorate my tree, make gift tags, madly knit presents and watch my kids open their advent calendars, I can't help but look back to Christmas Past. As each day passes and I prepare our house, our kitchen and our minds for The Big Day, I realise how much more like my dad I am becoming. This is something that, despite what he may think, makes me very proud.

You see, I know that I can say, without hurting my mum's feelings, that it was Dad who made Christmas in the Pocock house as exciting and special as it was. Let me be clear - Dad made a small contribution to Christmas dinner - he carved. He carved very well, I might add, in fact he still does!!! The turkey was always perfectly cooked by mum, but thinly and precisely carved by Dad. Other than that, Dad made no contribution to dinner. Mum did lots of wrapping (carfeully coached by Dad!!!) Mum did the cleaning, ironing and all of the essentials things needed to keep a household running. But Dad would be totally overwhelmed by the little Christmassy details - the little things that make Christmas special and magic.

For example, Dad always chose the tree very carefully. This hasn't changed. Dad's perfectionism about the Christmas tree often led to us standing in a field, shivering, and usually moaning. Dad always put the lights on the tree. He was careful in this process too, always ensuring that the lights were evenly distributed about the tree, with no dark areas. One legendary story about Christmas, came from Dad's passion for the right lights, in the right position, and ones that actually work. If you've ever seen "Fawlty Towers" and you can imagine how the lead character, Basil, would react to his lights not working, you'd have a very clear picture of how Dad dealt with it....Mum and Dad are unfortunately still guilty of using the most interesting of coloured tinsel...not really my thing...But I know that the tree at their house, has an honesty about it. It is our tree - decorated with ornaments that actually have meaning for our family - a silver angel with "Sally" engraved on it; a silver reindeer with "Benjamin" written on it; baubles made by us and a funny little snowman made of yarn.

Dad now takes great pride in his subtle and pretty outdoor string lights - so lovely!!!

Dad has always made Christmas magical. Father Christmas always used our front doorstep as a feeding station. Every Christmas morning, we'd open the front door to find that he'd left straw and chewed-up, spat-out carrot all over the floor. Sometimes, he'd leave an extra family present outside too - one year, it was a DVD player!!

During Advent, new decorations such as calendars, menorahs and candles would appear - Dad has always loved a bargain!!! A lovely fresh wreath would be hung on the front door and big boxes of chocolates and biscuits would find themselves into the cupboards.

Then would come the most exciting of pre-Christmas traditions - our family trip to see Father Christmas at Selfridges in London. Every year, we made our way up to London, by car. Driving along Knightsbridge, we'd see Harrods and the displays that showed winter, but not Christmas. (At that time, they did not have any Christmas displays, as the owner was Muslim.) We'd park in one of the back roads that Dad knew (he knows all the short-cuts and all the free parking spaces!!!) Making our way up Regent Street, we'd pass Hamley's and occassionally go inside. One year, I recall seeing an enormous pile of Cabbage Patch Dolls. I was desperate for one with ginger hair. That year, Dad drove all over the South of England to find one!! We'd then walk a short journey along Oxford Street, seeing the Christmassy windows and smelling the roasted and candied chestnuts.

Finally, we'd arrive on Bond Street and the Selfridges windows would call us inside. Walking through the perfume and cosmetics department, I'd smell a mixture of my mum and my Nanny Pocock. I'd see pretty ladies with long nails, wrapping little boxes up and putting them in little bag,s and as we'd walk past hangers of silk scarves and suede gloves, I'd feel them on my face.

Queuing to see Father Christmas was never boring. Dad would ask us what we thought Father Christmas was doing, what we were going to ask for, what we thought his house was like, what were the elves doing. He and Mum would have conversations that they thought we could not hear about whether Father Christmas would remember them from when they were children.

When it was our turn, Dad would always have a good chat with Father Christmas. We knew that he was real. We knew it, because Dad showed us in the way he spoke to him. It was all real.

Christmas Eve was unbearably exciting. Dad would wake up in the morning and make these funny "oh-isn't-it-so-exciting" noises. During the day, we had to make sure that our rooms were nice and tidy. He'd go out during the day and return with flowers for Mum - every Christmas Eve. In the evening, we'd hang our sacks - yes, sacks - on our bedroom door handles. Going to sleep was impossible. I remember that one Christmas Eve, I could not sleep. I was sleeping on a fold-out camp bed in Mum and Dad's room as both of my nannies were staying over. I was about three years old. We'd visited London days before, and I'd been bought a foil helium-filled balloon. I spent the night looking up at it, convinced that I could see Father Christmas' reflection in it. Eventually, Mum and Dad came up to bed.

"He'll not come if you don't go to sleep," said Mum. Suddenly the door bell rang. Dad went down to answer the door, whilst I stood, hiding behind the bannister, upstairs with Mum.

"Oh hello, Father Christmas!" said Dad.

"Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!! Is Sally awake?" said a low voice from outside.

"She is!! Would you like to come down and see Father Christmas, Sally?" said Dad

I shook my head. I had what I like to call a "healthy fear" of Father Christmas. I saw a white gloved hand, pass a sack of presents to my Dad, and watched my Dad say "goodbye" to Father Christmas as he closed the front door. Dad quickly ran up the stairs and we looked out of the window, where we saw Father Christmas on his sleigh, with his reindeer, fly off into the night sky.

I clearly remember this. So, whenever anyone dares to claim that Father Christmas is not real, I tell them my story - proof that he is, indeed, very real.

Christmas Day was always the same - a cup of tea; opening the presents from our sacks, in Mum and Dad's room; the rush downstairs to see if Father Christmas had left any mess on the doorstep; a cooked breakfast at the table; getting dressed into our new Christmas clothes; off to church; pick up Nanny Pocock and her sacks of presents for us; home for a cup of tea and a mince pie; finally time to open the presents under the tree!!! This was always really exciting. Mum and Dad would give us a few little presents and then a main one too. These would usually be hidden. We'd have to follow clues around the house. One year, I had to follow a piece of string that travelled around the house and eventually finished at the shed, where I found Dad holding my present - a baby rabbit, that I named Rona.

You see, Dad never held back on making Ben and I feel really loved and special. He sacrificed so much for us. Despite often being out of work, Mum and Dad never neglected to surprise us and bless us. There was always a full sack of presents each, and piles of lovely food. Most of all, the traditions and memories were rich and bountiful - family board games in the afternoon, Nanny Pocock not really understanding the rules, and lots of laughing.

I loved Christmas then and I love it now. Thanks to my lovely dad, it will always be special and I will do all I can to make it such. My only hope is that my children experience Christmas as I did - full of magic, wonder and excitement.

Can I have a word?....

2009-10-19T03:02:00.000-07:00

Man, I hate it when people say that to me. It means that I'm in trouble, and that the aforementioned "word" will be a cross or critical one. I'm just not good with conflict. If I get the feeling that someone is cross with me, I feel very uncomfortable. If someone tells me that they are cross with me, I immediately assume that it is because I have done something wrong. Not for a second, do I consider that maybe their opinion is wrong!!

As a child, I was rarely in trouble at school. I remember that once I took a chip from someone's plate, in a the Junior School Hall at lunchtime. Jennifer Metcalfe was sitting next to me as I leant over to sample one of her chips. She was a bit annoyed and told me that she would tell the Headmaster. About 10 minutes later, Jennifer came out onto the playground with a grin on her face. "I've told Mr Harrington and he is really cross and wants to see you", she said. I immediately panicked and made my way to his office. I felt like I was going to cry as I lifted my fist to knock on his office door. "Come in", he said. I quietly told him that Jennifer Metcalfe had told me that he wanted to see me. I could feel a funny lump emerge in my throat as I held back tears of fear.
"I don't think so, Sally," he said. "Why would I need to see you?" Mr Harrington was a lovely kind and funny man. His face was friendly and he was very smartly dressed.
"Well, I took one of her chips at lunchtime and she told me that you were cross about it," I said. "I think she's having you on, Sally. I've not seen Jennifer today and I'd not be cross about that. Don't you worry." Just the words I needed to hear. A huge sense of relief overwhelmed me.

"Don't you worry." Those three words mean so much to me. I am a worrier. Especially when it comes to the feelings of others. I find great comfort in knowing that I am at peace with others. If another person seem upset with me, I need to know why. I need to know if I can fix it. I need to know exactly what I have done. If there is an opportunity to explain myself about any of my actions, I fully embrace it - to the point of absurdity!!!

This morning, I was challenged on a decision that I have recently made. My challenger gave her opinion of my choice and it was not a positive one. I felt very panicky and immediately tried to cover my tracks with a lie..."well, it all got a bit out of hand". This wasn't the truth. Nothing got out of hand, I made a decision. It was a carefully considered decision, too. I chose to do what I did, at risk of upsetting a friend, because I felt that it was the right thing to do. I had thought about it, cried about it, prayed about it and then made a decision. I do feel that my decision was right. But, that didn't stop me from backing down, hiding my determination with a weak pathetic lie, and feeling more concerned that my challenger didn't like me anymore.

And now, I feel cross with myself. I feel cross that I didn't stand up for myself. I feel cross that I would be so concerned with someone's opinion of me, that I would lie, and therefore do the wrong thing, in order to escape disapproval. I know that I'm not alone in trying to cover my tracks and keep on the "good side" of someone, but I wish that I were a little stronger.

In my role as Youth Leader, I have been required to defend my decisions, challenge the behaviour of both other leaders and young people, and reply graciously to unpleasant comments. I have found all of these things really difficult and, at times, I have wondered whether I'm cut out for this kind of responsibility.

The truth is, I'm not cut out for it. But, I am called to it. Just as I am called to make decisions and act upon them. So, I guess I'll just keep going, and try to keep my focus on the important thing - doing the right thing, and not the popular thing.

The youth of today

2009-10-17T12:48:00.000-07:00

"Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity." 1 Timothy 4-6

I've had a great day today. At 10am, Dave, the kids and I arrived at my friend's house. She had very kindly loaned us her house for the day, with one specific purpose in mind....cleaning. Now, I'd like to make something very clear. I DO NOT LIKE CLEANING. This was not some kind of compulsive cleaning day for me. Dave does most of the housework here...and the work outside of the house!!! Today it was not me or Dave, however ,that was doing the cleaning.

Dave and I have the great privilege of over-seeing the youth group at our church. We are responsible for the programme for the 11-18 year olds. Every week, mainly on a Friday night, we spend time with the young people. They come from all walks of life - single-parent families, wealthy families, children of widows, children of doctors, children of parents fom overseas, children from the church, children from the local estate.

On a Friday night, we sometimes play games and eat doughnuts, and we sometimes worship and pray. Last week, we planned. We planned for today. You see, today needed a plan. My kind friend had released her house to the whole youth group today. We swept, we washed cars, we painted railings, we cleared and cleaned a swimming pool, we scrubbed toliets and bathrooms, ovens and fridges, we dug up weeds and cleaned windows, we sorted clothing and ironed, we put out flowers, we polished, we hoovered...and we ate gorgeous cookies baked by my friend, who generously baked them for us!!!! When I say "we" what I really mean is "they". With the help of a few wonderfully sacrificial leaders, our amazing young people worked their socks off to make my friend's house look, smell, and feel beautiful.

Most of the young people asked for another job at the completion of their previous. They had planned and carried out far more than their tasks. Some left gifts behind for my friend and her children, they brought cleaning equipment and products with them. One gorgeous young man brought flowers as did another lovely leader. Two girls carefully colour-coded a wardrobe full of clothes, whilst another young girl cleared and re-created an outdoor den area all by herself. One of our amazing leaders cleaned all of the windows and a young girl cleaned three bathrooms with her lovely boyfriend who left early to help his friend make a lasagne for a girl he likes!!!!! How sweet!!!

These young people are mostly around the age of 13. They are amazing. They are fun, social, interested in life, intelligent, considerate, hard-working and WILLING TO HELP. Many of them have been involved in this kind of activity before. However, some of them have never had the opportunity to serve other people. They have never been trusted to do something for someone else. Today, we gave them that opportunity. We trusted them. We showed them that they are important enought to serve someone else...they can make a real difference to someone else's life.

Tonight, I spoke to my friend and her children. They are all amazed and overwhelmed by the work of our young people. They HAVE made a difference. They can do it again...and so can other young people, if they are given the opportunity...if they are trusted.

As I go about my daily business, I see young people. I used to work with young people every day, as a secondary school teacher. Often they are not given the respect that they deserve. They are stereotyped as being troubled trouble-makers or grumpy mysterious creatures who cannot communicate. Parents can treat them as children and teachers can treat them as the enemy. This is so damaging, and prevents the development of self-esteem and healthy relationsnhips and mutual respect. However, even more damaging is the way in which many others give young people too much unearned respect - Parents who try to be friends with their teenagers, or try too hard to be accepted by their teenage children. Teenagers are in desperate want of many things, but are in need of few - loving strong parents, who will lead, listen and set an example of how to be a great person. Sometimes they NEED a "no", when they want a "yes".

But they also need a chance - a chance to prove that they can be trusted, that they can do things for themselves, that they can make a difference.

Next time you see a young person, will you smile at them? Will you consider their lives at home? Will you give them a chance? I do hope that you will. They could make all the difference one day...maybe they already are making a difference. Maybe they could teach YOU something.

Autumn Foraging

2009-10-12T12:13:00.000-07:00

I just love Autumn. I love the colours and the sounds - rustly red leaves under my feet. Brown, dried leaves chasing each other across the playground, as I wait for the kids to come out of school. I love Harvest Festival Assemblies at school and pumkins sitting on the shelves in the green grocers.

Although we don't celebrate Halloween as a family, I really love the way pumkins look - bursting with Autumnal juiciness, ready to be carved and turned into a sweet, comforting pies...mmmmm.

On Friday, as we waiting for Indy and Roo to finish their school day, Seth and I collected chestnuts from the woods that surround the school building. He found some and brought them to me. I folded the bottom of my jumper upwards to make a pocket and we hid them there. When Indy came out, we showed the chestnuts to her, and she offered us the use of her bag.

This weekend has been a busy one, with a hectic Youth night on Friday, an early visit to see family in Enfield, preceded by a massive cleaning effort after an early rise. Sunday, we were at church, where I spent the morning with the 10-13 year olds and then we spent Sunday together. With the busyness of the weekend, it was only last night when I remembered our woodland harvest.

I roasted the chestnuts last night, left them to cool and then peeled them. Tonight I slightly candied them and then turned them into a sweet puree. Our house smells lovely. It smells like Regent Street used to, when I visited Father Christmas as a child. I never knew what the smell was...but I liked it. Now I know.

Soon, I'll tell you all about Christmas in the Roper house and how it was for me, as a child, but for now, I want to bask in the cosy, rusty glow of Autumn. I want to let my cheeks get chilly and rosy on a walk with my family. I want to collec more chestnuts and turn them into "Marron Glace". I want to start wearing tights and boots and put my flip flops away. I want to put my heating on in the evenings sweep the leaves off of my front doorstep. I want to look up recipes for cosy soups and stews.

Far too often, I look forward to what's coming next. For a while, I want to look at what's here right now and enjoy each moment. I want to enjoy my kids at the age they're at. I want to appreciate my house before we move. I want to love my husband and have fun being married to him at this particular time. I want to experience this season and all that finds its place here.

My treasures

2009-10-07T04:59:00.000-07:00

We have just put our house on the market. I have really mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I really want to move - either to Crowthorne, where my kids are at school and nursery, or to Camberley, where my church is. We want to reduce driving time and costs and be nearer to friends. On the other hand, I LOVE this house and I will find it very hard to move unless we find somewhere really lovely to move to. Whilst preparing our house for viewings - we have our first on Saturday - I feel like I have fallen in love with our house all over again. I love its nooks and cranies and oddities. I love its creakiness.

To many, this may sound very odd, but my home is very important to me and our house and belongings are very much an expression of who I am, who Dave is and who our children are. This is the house where Seth returned to after being born. It is the house that we built (well, we extended it!!) It is the house that I have always wanted to live in, in terms of style. It is the first house that I have grown veggies in, made a wedding dress in, stripped floorboards in, had fireplaces in. It is a special house.

When we first bought our house, it had been on the market for a long time. I had often driven past, seen the "For Sale" sign and assumed that it was either out of our budget, or too small. Our old house had three bedrooms and we were looking for a bigger house. However, one day, Dave had a brainwave. "let's downsize, and extend!" he said. Suddenly, other houses were in our sights. On a whim, I phoned the estate agents and they told me more about the house - it was in our price range and had only two bedrooms. We booked a viewing and were immediately surprised by it. Although an elderly man had lived in the house for many years - in fact, his wife had bought the house in 1924 - it was in a good state and only needed a bit of decorating.

Within months (by July), we had moved into our Victorian semi-detached 1904 two-bedroomed house. Weeks later, builders began converting our loft into two bedrooms and a bathroom, and by Christmas, both Indy and Roo had their own bedrooms and we had a spare room!!!

We painted walls - well, mainly Dave painted - and laid carpets. We worked hard to create a cosy and traditional feel to the house, whilst still keeping it colourful. We hung pictures, photos and ornaments. Then we had Seth, and filled the spare room!!

Most of the door handles have fabric or wooden hearts hanging on them. Three human-sized pairs of fairy wings are hung around in the house. Crocheted blankets, knitted throws and soft cushions adorn the various soft chairs around our home. Our old floorboards have been stripped and scrubbed. We have baskets everywhere, containing all essential and non-essential items! On the window sills are photos of ourselves and our parents as children, our late grandparents and great-grandparents, our children, their friends, our wedding. Over our fireplace in the lounge, are photos of our children taken by our late friend, Ian, who was an amazing and gifted photographer. Here and there are photos and postcards of Swanage, our favourite place for family holidays.

At the top of our stairs, there is a dresser top that has been painted and hung on the wall. On it, are bits and bobs of historical and familial interest. I call it our "History Shelf". A copy of one of my favourite books as a child, "Milly Molly Mandy Stories" sits there, along with fossils and shells found in Swanage. A photo of my brother and I as children. Another of Dave's dad's parents' wedding day. A pair of Seth's baby shoes, a small teddy that belonged to my mum as a child, a clock made for me by a parent, when I was training to be a teacher, my Holly Hobby doll, a dried bunch of roses given to me by Dave after work one day, a teacup that once belonged to Dave's late nan.

In our bedroom is a wardrobe that came from my grandparents - their's since the
1950s. Also, we have a rocking chair that my mum sat in to feed me when I was a baby.
In our lounge, is an Ashford spinning wheel. I am learning to spin, and this wheel belonged to another spinner for 30 years. In the dining room, I have my mum's 1960s Singer Sewing Machine. I use it all the time. Dave's nan's sewing cabinet sits in a corner of the dining room, with one of her vases on top of it, as well as a photo of my mum and dad whilst on holiday as a young pre-children couple - how relaxed they look!!!

I know that when we go, although the house will not follow us, these "things" will come too - wherever we move to. But I often think of a verse in the Bible, which says, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth...But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven...for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

My "treasures" are not these possessions, but these possessions, reflect my treasures - memories, family, favourite places, values I hold dear, creativity, satisfaction, wisdom.

I love to read the Prayer of Jabez as I walk down the stairs every morning;

"Oh LORD, that you would bless me indeed and
enlarge my territory. Let your hand keep me
from harm, so that I will be free from pain."

That prayer changed my life and the lives of many of my studens when I was a teacher. I prayed it every day and saw many children come to know Jesus. I am glad to see that verse, in its frame, given to me by my friends, Hana and Cat.

You see, sometimes, "things" are not material..they are a part of who we were, who we are, or who we're becoming. As I helped a friend to de-clutter her playroom yesterday, I felt her pain as she decided to give away her children's baby toys. They are more than just "things". They are a reminder of a time that has passed, and will not return. Her children are no longer babies and they no longer need to be rocked to sleep, or swaddled in a blanket. Loved-ones have been lost and will not see her children grow up to be teenagers and adults. Leaving these "things" behind, means moving on to a new life, whithout these loved-ones.

My friend, I want you to know that these "things" leaving you, does not mean that the treasures have gone. Those treasured memories will remain and new ones will be made. Life will never be the same, we all know that. But your treasures are waiting for you in heaven...

Bruised and Scarred

2009-09-28T05:19:00.000-07:00

This morning, in the bath, I made my daily examination of my foot. Three weeks ago, I fell done the stairs and sprained my foot. It remains rather painful and walking is still proving to be a bit difficult. A couple of days after hurting it, a rather interesting bruise appeared along the side of my foot. It was a dark red and purple colour and was rather small. I was a little disappointed at how small it was, in fact, as the pain considerably out-weighed the bruise!!! I love a bit of sympathy...A few days later, another, fainter bruise appeared across the top of my foot - it was a lovely canary yellow and rather big - I got quite a bit of sympathy for that one!!

As I examined my foot this morning, I saw other, newer bruises that had appeared on my shins. I can't quite recall how they came about, but as I touched them, they felt a little tender. I really do love a good bruise. I love the way it changes colour. At the age of 14, I had two wisdon teeth removed under general aneasthetic. I awoke with swollen cheeeks which quickly became very bruised. Initially that lovely deep red and purple, and then the greeny-yellowy hew that moves across and makes it look really bad...fantastic!!

Bruises get so much attention from others. My dear friend, Wendy experienced this when her youngest son, Theo, fell over and bashed his forehead, whilst on holiday in Seattle. A large bump appeared on his head, followed by two blacks eyes which caused people on the street to gasp as they walked by! Poor Wendy was almost refused access as they boarded the plane, on the return journey. "Has your child been seen by a doctor?" asked the cabin crew.

Last week, as I bought myself a coffee in Costa, I noticed that the lady behind me had a black eye. Immediately, my mind ran riot, wondering how it had happened, if she was the victim of domestic abuse, if she needed by help. Should I ask if she's ok? Should I write my number down and hand it to her as I leave?

You see, bruises are visible. They are signs that we have injured ourselves, that we have suffered. Bruises trigger a response from others, and usually one of sympathy and concern. When we are bruised, we get attention and often comfort.

This is the same as scars. I have quite a few scars, the biggest being my c-section scar. It's actually three scars in one!! All three of my children have made their way into the world via that scar. It's fairly well hidden, but it is a hugely important part of my body, and my life. I also have three small scars that came from an operation to remove my gall bladder. These are tiny and barely visible, but they have be shown to a number of people that I know, who are just about to embark on the same procedure and therefore, need some reassurance!!! Those scars show others that their suffering (have YOU ever had gall stones? OUCH!!!) will end.

I have a scar on the middle finger of my left hand. I made it by nearly sawing through my finger with a jigsaw, whilst at University. That scar helps me to talk about my degree in Theatre and is connected to a rather funny story of me not concentrating, talking too much, hurting myself and nearly fainting...It also helps me impress people with my wood-working experience!!!

I have a small scar on my right eyebrow which came from a childhood accident on my way home from church one Sunday. Not such an interesting story, but an amazing reminder of how God changes lives. It was my dad, and not my mum, that took me to the hospital that day. You see, my dad and I were at church together, but my mum was at home, because she was not a Chrstian. She did not believe in God or like the idea of organised religion at all. My mum is quite a different woman now - a committed and godly woman, who prays and reads her Bible every day, a woman who is sought out for advise and wisdom, and a faithful lover of Jesus. And so, that scar on my eyebrow reminds me of my mum's changed life.

Bruises heal and scars remain. Both provoke attention and can cause us to dwell on times of suffering. I know many who can show us both physical and emotional bruises and scars. Many of them seem unable to get past them, or to see the good in them. But others, however, insist on giving thanks to God for their past hurts, and for the ways that He has "seen them through" times of trial and suffering.

And so, as I look at the bruises on my "yet-to-heal" foot, I thank God that I still have my foot, that I have stairs to fall down, and that I have access to free, local health care. With my scars in mind, I thank God for my children, funny stories, and changed lives. You see, even though I am bruised and scarred, I am still alive. And, I am determined to enjoy every moment of the life that God has given me.

Friendship

2009-09-26T12:14:00.000-07:00

Friendship is such a precious thing. It is a hugely important part of my life. I have many friends of all shapes, sizes, ages and kinds. I have friends who I laugh with, friends who I cry with, friends who I eat with, friends who I create with, friends who pray with me, friends who listen, friends who go that extra mile for me and friends I love to serve.

In this post, I shan't name any of my friends for fear of leaving someone out, but as I write about them, they'll know who they are.

As I child I had a few good friends who I played with. One friend and I once read the phonebook (we must have been bored!!) As we went through it, we looked for silly names, "Mr Willy" being the best discovery. We laughed so much that we could barely make any noise. I had another friend with whom I used to watch endless hours of The Cosby Show, Fame and Grease together. We would regularly treat ourselves to chocolate digestives with peanut butter smeared all over them. We were also fond of melting butter onto slices of bread by putting it into a new appliance that my parents didn't have, called a "microwave". Another friend and I were so close, as we had been friends virtually from birth, that we never argued and cried together once as we nearly did!!

At school I had a friend with whom I learnt to shop and dress in a way that showed my "individuality". She and I (ironically) had matching Kicker boots (before they were fashionable) and stripey tights. She moved away with her family and I mourned her leaving. Another friend always laughed at my jokes and made me feel so special. We'd write letters to each other when we were apart, despite the fact that we saw each other twice-a-week. She and her family moved to another town as her dad became the leader of another church. I was so sad when they left.

At around the same time, I met a friend who continues to be my best friend to his day. She and I loved New Kids on The Block, made hot chocolate and drope blocks of Galaxy chocolate into the cup. We camped together, holidayed together and shared amazing times. I remember waiting for her, while she had her first kiss, and her coming with me to wave off my first love at the airport, as he left the country. She was my bridesmaid and I was hers and my heart aches when I don't see her. I gave my daughter her name, as a middle name, and my children call her "Aunty". I adore her beautiful daughter and love her gorgeous, hilarious husband to bits. Her parents are like my second parents and I am so blessed to have her in my life. She knows who she is and if she's reading this, when shall we get together next? Give your gorgeous girl a kiss from Aunty Sal xxx

At Uni I had a some fab friends. A great flatmate who became an instant friend when our (then) boyfriends (her now husband!!) shared a house. We laughed and smoked our way through many packets of cigarettes together - thankfully, we've both since given up, and had kids and cats!!! My other favourite friend at Uni was like a fairy, drove a VW Beetle and introduced me to the best beach in Devon. She went off on great adventures in far away lands, and sold me her beloved Beetle, "Boop". Boop was my first car and it broke my heart to eventually sell her. I love my Fairy Friend.

As a future single mum, I found a loyal and faithful friend who loved me and my baby so much. She would pop round after work and help me to put Roo to bed when he was very little. She encouraged me to be strong and believe in myself and she set a great example of trusting in God and being thankful. I prayed for my friend every day, asking God to give her the deepest desires of her heart. I am so grateful to God that He blessed my friend, and did just that!! She was my bridesmaid and presented me with a beautiful (and tear-jerking) photo album on the eve of my wedding. She is far away and I miss her, but I love to see the life she now has. She is a great mum, as we all knew she would be...even if her tiny son did fall down the stairs the other day...it happens to us all, my faithful friend!

In hospital, I found a true forever friend. One who shared my passion for Big Brother, good cheese and liver!!! We shared the most special times together, the early births of our babies, and Craig Phillips winning the first series of everyone's favourite reality game show!!! She and I laugh together, and I jealously watch as her husband continues to grow far better veggies than me!!! My son loves her daughter, and I can tell that he always will. My friend, did I tell you that Roo has her photo in his locker at school? Awwww...unrequited love, eh?

Out of nowhere, I found a kindred spirit in my fiance's housemate. She and I clicked immediately when we'd a met a couple of years previously. We screamed like banshees at each other when we unexpectedly re-connected at a party. She was also my bridesmaid and was the most available friend ever. Even after we'd not seen each other for quite a while, she walked with me, days after I was diagnosed with depression and on that day, it was exactly what I needed.

As we made a significant move to a new church, one friend was kind and encouraging. She called me only a few weeks after we'd arrived, just to tell me how much everyone liked me. She always laughs at my jokes, blesses my family, loves my children unconditionally, and offers her help when I really need it, without being asked.
Another friend, makes herself continually vulnerable to me, without loading me with her problems. She is honest and earnest. She and I shared a room at a women's weekend away. We stayed up chatting until really late, talking about everything from shaving our legs and our greatest weaknesses, to raising our kids. She always looks beautiful and I LOVE her new hair!!! You know who you are - the colour is AMAZING!!!

My closest friend at church is also my "business partner". We have had an amazing time together. We've been on TV - TWICE, we drink far too much coffee, "deal with" each others' kids, phone each other just as our kids fall over or have a tantrum, and share our dreams - even the dodgy ones. We also went to the biggest let-down of a knitting shop in the world together!! She always points me back to Jesus and we pray together. She is so funny and such a hero - pregnant with her fourth child and trying to move house!! MADNESS!! She serves others in so many ways - making cakes for the elderly, listening to others big issues, looking after other people's kids, being an amazing wife!! I love her very much and appreciate God putting her in my life. Remember someone getting a bit "windy" in certain airport departure lounge? hee hee hee...

I have a friend who ,despite an horrendous year, still finds the time and energy to include me, encourage me and give me access to her wonderful children and amazing memories of her late husband. She runs a business, keeps house going, "manages" wider family, drives a huge motor home all over the country and has fantastic nails!! She is kind and gentle. She understands where others are coming from and is very forgiving. What an inspiration you are to me, my beautiful friend!! I am always here and grateful for your input into my life. AND, my children adore you.xxx

There are many more friends - my lovely listening friend, who is refreshingly real "for a leader's wife"(!!!),makes a great cuppa and whose mum makes the best Bakewell Tart I've ever tasted; My special friend whom I met whilst very poorly in hospital. Despite our pain and the age gap - she is in her 80's - we had so much fun. It HURT to laugh, but we managed it!!; My funny (and normal) friend with whom I had coffee with this week - no matter how much time it takes to get together, we always pick up where we left off, hey? "You're actually quite funny, aren't you?"; There's also the friend who was supposed to be there too - you missed out on the yum yums...and we missed out on you, Gorgeous Girl!!; My lovely friend who I was at school with. A single mum of three B>E>A>U>T>I>F>U>L daughters, who works so hard and keeps laughing - I really love you - "just pop it, pop it!!" Remember Hairspray and the night when I downed vodka, thinking it was water? Ewwwww...

To all of my friends - you are so special to me. Some of you, I do not see any more. Some of you, we have grown apart and there seems to be a barrier between us. No matter where you are, what you're doing or how you feel about me, you are precious. I have memories...that's enough.

My amazing mum

2009-09-24T06:15:00.000-07:00

I couldn't spend much more time without needing to tell you all about my mum. My mum's name is Valerie Ann Pocock. She's known to her friends as "Val", to my brother and I as "Mum", and to my children as "Nana".

My mum had a great start. She was born in London to May Louisa Stokes Hayes and Charles William Hayes. Her older brother, Alan, was already 9 years old when she was born. As a young child, her family moved to Bracknell, in Berkshire where she went to Sandy Lane Primary School (where my dad also attended, and eventually my brother and I also.) Mum went to Wick Hill School, now known as Garth Hill College and has then had her first job as a secretary at Pennicotts Estate Agents in Bracknell.

At the age of 17, she met my dad, Terry, at work. They "courted" for 2 years and became engaged when Mum was 19. Mum and Dad were very trendy Mods and liked each others' clothes!! When Mum was 23, in 1970, they got married at Holy Trinity Church, Bracknell. Mum made her own wedding dress from a Vogue pattern. Her dress had a goose-feather-lined hood and flared cuffs. They went to Torquay on honeymoon.

Three months later, Mum's dad, my grandad, Charlie, sadly died. He had suffered with pancreatic cancer. Mum and Grandad had been very close. Grandad was very intelligent and had enjoyed reading and debating. He was calm and kind and fought for injustice. He had been a member of the Communist Party, before Communism failed. Grandad believed that every man should be given a chance. He enjoyed sport and the theatre and was one of life's popular people. He was very grounded. Mum learnt a lot from her dad and to this day, having been born after he died, I am so very sad that I never got to meet him.

Mum and Dad waited 7 years after they got married to have me. Mum stayed at home with me until I started school. At that point she took on a job, but found it hard-going not being "Fully" available for me. So, she decided to stop work and be at home full-time. I have childhood memories of my mum. I remember playing at the top of the stairs, the warm sun shining through the window, as my mum mopped the front doorstep and listened to Jimmy Young's morning programme on Radio 2. I remember Mum carrying me out from the car after long journeys where I'd fallen asleep. I remember the smell of her perfumed fake fur coat that she always wore when she went out for dinner with Dad. Mum throwing my wellies at me accross the garden, after I laughed at her falling over in the snow!!

As a teenager, Mum was great. We got on really well. At the age of 14, many of my friends spent nights out, in the woods, drinking and "getting off" with each other. This was something I did not want to do, and yet I was always invited. Mum told me to use her as an excuse. "Just tell them that I won't let you. I don't mind you blaming me." You see, my mum knew when I couldn't handle things alone. She helped me to survive the "big scary world".

My mum was understanding and realistic. She encouraged me to take responsibility for myself, with out pushing me out of the nest before I was ready.

I will never forget one of the best things that my mum has ever said to me:
"I'm not your friend, I'm your mum."
At the time, I didn't understand and found this annoying. How could she be so uncool? But gradually, I became grateful for my mum being just that: My Mum. Now, she is one of the most amazing friends that I have. We talk easily and laugh together. I look forward to the time when we have enough money to go off on holiday together - just me and Mum.

Mum was my birthing partner when I had Roo. She supported me during long night-feeds. She and Roo have a really special relationship where sometimes only she can get through to him. I know that I can trust Mum and be myself with her. We do not always agree, but we always love and respect one another. Mum makes good choices and she is very wise. Many of my friends have gone to her for advice and she actively seeks out younger women to mentor and love.

Mum has no fear of others. She doesn't worry and or concern herself with "what tomorrow will bring." She has a very strong faith and a great relationship with God. Every morning she gets up early to pray and read her Bible.

Mum is a great encourager and my greatest cheerleader. She makes the best trifle and Honeyed Beef Casserole. I love her roast dinners. Mum stills smells lovely every day, and she is really beautiful.

Mum, if you're reading this, thank you. You are wonderful and I love you very much.

The Karaoke Night

2009-09-23T04:58:00.000-07:00

I am really enjoying writing my blog. I have had many messages from different kinds of people, from other countries, too!! The main thing that people seem to be enjoying is how I'm being pretty honest. I guess I've always been fairly open and honest about how I feel and what I've done. This has been criticised, in the past, mainly by people who do not want to see me hurt, but I have always found my own honesty to be helpful in releasing honesty in others.

So, I've been thinking about my life and the times where I've messed up, and if my sharing them will release others. So, here we go....

After university, I decided to train as a Secondary School Drama Teacher. I chose to study for a PGCE at Chester University College. This course only lasts a year, but very quickly I made friends with the other training teachers on my course. We often socialised together and one evening, we decided to go out and do a bit of karaoke!!! Now, I LOVE karaoke. I get to fully show off and I'm always up for a round of applause!! So, I was ready for a great night out. My friend, Rachel lived with her family in a nearby town, where she also worked part-time in a local pub. We began our evening with a drink in the pub, meeting some of her colleagues and their partners, who seemed to enjoy hanging out there.

I was introduced to a lady called Tina (names have been changed...well, her's anyway.) Tina introduced us to her latest squeeze, Stuart. She was divorced and had three children, but her and Stuart had been together for a"little while". That night, Tina was working until closing time, but Stuart decided to join us for a bit of karaoke. (Why do we call it a "bit of karaoke"? Why not just "karaoke"? Answers on a postcard, please.)

We piled into a couple of taxis and quickly arrived at the club. Drinks were flowing...as they do on a teachers' night out. I sang a couple of songs - my favourite, "Son of a Preacher Man" being one the them, and got lots of applause and rather a lot of attention...from Stuart. Now, he looked a lot like Dean Cain, who is the actor who played Superman in "The New Adventures..." series. So, this guy was rather good-looking. He got up to sing after me and was a very good singer, too. My head had well and truly been turned.

Later on in the evening, after a lot more alcohol, I found myself in this man's arms, enquiring after his girlfriend, Tina. "We split up two weeks ago, but she doesn't want to tell anyone, as she's worried about her reputation. She's a mum and she doesn't want to keep bringing new men into the house. She doesn't want to upset the kids."

I re-joined my friends and we made our way back to Rachel's house. The next morning, I awoke to find Stuart having a cup of tea with my friends, while I spent most of the time rather "under-the-weather" in the bathroom. Rachel offered to drive me and the other girls home. I accepted. Half-way home, and a during a side-of-the-road-vomit-stop, Stuart car caught up with us. He told Rachel not to worry, and that he would drive me home so that she and the others would not need to wait.

Stuart drove me home, carried my bags in and made me a cup of tea and some toast, while I continued to fully experience my hang-over. Stuart didn't go home that night. He stayed by my bed, making food and drink for me, and making me feel so much better. He was very kind and I was overwhelmed by how well he was looking after me.

In fact, for four weeks, Stuart spent every night with me and I fell in love with him. He was strong and sensitive. He played the guitar and sang. He was funny and generous, always driving me about and giving me little gifts. He introduced me to his dad and I brought him home to meet my mum and dad. Everyone loved Stuart. I remember, that as we prepared to leave my parents' house and head back to Chester, I came outside to put my case in his car, only to find him laying under the next door neighbour's car, fixing it!! Stuart seemed to be able to do anything. He knew loads and was always surprising me with his knowledge and experience. He'd met some really interesting people and done some really interesting things.

I really was smitten and it seemed that things couldn't get any better. But it did. I was struggling in my faith at that time, but I was still attending church from time to time. We had talked about my faith and he had encouraged me to go to church and said that he wanted to come, too. He didn't even believe in God!! On the day that he did come to church with me, it was amazing. He sang along during the worship, and listened intently to the sermon. Towards the end of the service, he asked a man to pray with him. After a while, he walked up to the front of the church, and announced that he had given his life to Jesus and become a Christian. "Praise the Lord" he called out, clapping and laughing. I just cried. I felt that this was it for me. I felt that this was God's sign that Stuart and I really were meant to be together.

That night, Stuart asked me to marry him. I was truly scared. I knew that he was deadly serious. I told him that I could not answer him straight away. It was a huge decision and I needed some time. We had only been together for a few weeks and it was a bit too soon.

The next day, I saw my friend, Rachel. I told her about Stuart's proposal. She immediately looked down and let out a deep sigh. "Sal, he's still seeing Tina," she said. I thought that she was joking. "Did you see him on Thursday afternoon?" she asked. I thought carefully and remembered that he had been at a meeting over lunchtime and then had picked me up at the end of my school day. "Yes, I did."
Rachel smiled gently. "Tina says that she was house-hunting with Stuart on Thurday and they had a viewing at 1pm."

I felt sick. I was so confused. I continued to listen to Rachel and all of the details about how he had been seeing Tina in the mornings after dropping me at school and that they had been sleeping together. Eventually, Rachel stopped. She said how sorry she was, and I knew that she was telling the truth. I called my mum that afternoon. She listened and then told me that she needed to tell me something. After we had left their house, mum had tidied up in my brother's room, where Stuart had stayed. She discovered that my brother's birthday money had gone. After this, my dad had made some enquiries about Stuart's line of work. He was in sales. Dad called the company in question, only to find out that they had not even heard of Stuart. "I think he's got some problems, Sal. I don't think he's all that he seems. We didn't want to hurt you, but we just had a funny feeling about him."

I ended my relationship with Stuart that evening. I asked him questions and asked him to explain why Tina had said what she's said, why the company did not know him, if he knew anything about my brother's money. At first, he laughed and said that everyone was wrong, and it was all a mistake. Then he became quite angry, saying that Tina was trying to ruin his life. Then, he cried. by this time, I had spoken to Tina, and she and I had apologised to each other. I had also packed up all of Stuart's things. I told Stuart to leave my house. I told him that I could not accept his behaviour. I also reminded him of his announcement to the church. Just before he left, I said, "You can cheat on me, lie to me, steal from me, but you DO NOT mess with God."

He left and I did not see him again. He did call me once, saying tht he was on a Christian retreat trying to sort himself out. I don't know where he is now, but I do hope that he is being truthful and real with whoever he is sharing his life with.

So, you see, sometimes we do things, against our better judgement. Either through "beer goggles" or because we are lonely, or simply because we want to see the good in people. Whatever the reason is, we all get it wrong sometimes.

Me: merchant ship!!

2009-09-21T05:37:00.001-07:00

In yesterday's post, I said that I did not "deserve" the good things in my life. I'm sure that many of my lovely friends would tell me that I do. I'm also sure that many people would look at that statement and assume that my self-esteem was very low, or that I had some kind of Christian-guilt issue. Well, I'd like to make myself really clear. I do not deserve stuff, but I am worth a lot.

I have come to realise that much of my approach to life, is built on the things that I believe. For example, I believe that conflict needs to be resolved. This causes me to feel very uncomfortable in agruements, but it also makes it virtually impossible for me to function, without resolving that arguement. I believe that gossip is unproductive and wrong, and so I choose my friends really carefully. I stand in particular places on the playground so that I can avoid the temptation to gossip.

After reading a book called "The Lies that Women Believe, and the Truth that sets them Free", I became accutely aware of the lies that I had believed and the ways that these beliefs had affected me.

For a very long time, I had felt that I was a disappointment to my parents. During my childhood, I had been fairly easy to parent - with the exception of some fairly spectacular tantrums during my "terrible twos". As I became a teenager, life remained fairly easy. Despite the occasional teenager/parent mis-communication incident, we all got on very well. But when I became unexpectedly pregnant at the age of 22, I knew that my parents felt very disappointed with me. I had studied for 4 years to become a Secondary School Drama Teacher, and here I was, in my first year of my first teaching job, with a significant period of maternity leave in front of me!! Not very well planned. I knew that they were also disappointed with my choice of partner (from whom I rapidly split) and, most of all, I knew that they were disappointed with my decision to behave in a way contrary to their beliefs and teaching. I felt disappointed with myself, too.

The fact was, that my parents were disappointed. But they were also really sad and worried for me. Eventually, they were excited about their new grandchild, whom they love desperately. This love has taken away any disappointment and now they are continually praising and supporting me as a mum.

But I lived with this lie of disapproval over me for such a long time. Sometimes, the lie tries to sneak back in. Because of this lie, I tried hard to achieve approval. I always looked for praise for Mum and Dad in everything that I did, and yet I was never satisfied that they did approve. I saw my younger brother, Ben, who never seemed to mess up in anything he did, and longed to be just like him. I've never resented Ben, but I did want to be just like him.

Trying to keep my house perfectly clean, keep my garden looking beautiful and fruitful, keeping out of my overdraft, remaining calm with my children and not making hasty decisions was exhausting. You see, it's not really how I do things!!! I am not my mum or my dad - why should I do things just like them? But, that was what I was constantly striving for. My parents love me for who I am. I am, among others things, a product of their parenting. I am what they have made me!!! Yet, I had not seen this. Each day, I try to overcome my need for my parents' approval. I do this because I do not want to live under the control of a lie.

In the same way, many of us believe that we are not worth the best. In the Bible, it says that Jesus came to give us "life...and life to the full." He came because He thought you were worth it.

Are you living life "to the full"? Are you enjoying the finer things in life? I'm not talking about a la carte food, fast cars and luxurious holidays. I'm talking about friendships, relationships with the opposite sex, an appreciation of the world around us, rest and relaxation, the satisfaction of creating something beautiful or working hard. Are you surrounding ourself with people who love you, praise you, speak well of you and encourage you to be the "Best You" you can be?

In the Bible, it also describes a woman of "noble character". It says that she is like "the merchant ships". Recently, this was explained to me. A merchant ship delivered. It delivered food, clothes, precious treasures. It was the largest and most important ship on the seas. It was long-awaited and celebrated.

So, according to the Bible, YOU are worth very much indeed. You are important. You bring something unique to the party. Your contribution is long-awaited. You are needed. You are essential to the survival of the human race - even in your own little way. You are significant. You are celebrated and you are appreciated. You are worth so much. You are like the merchant ships. Did you hear that? You!!!

Are you living your life in this truth or are you living in the lies? God's will for us is that we look after ourseles, value ourselves and live our lives in a full understanding of our worth.

So, say it after me, "Me: merchant ship!"

How I met your father...

2009-09-20T08:41:00.000-07:00

For a few days, I've been psyching myself up to writing a post about my husband. It's virtually impossible to fit all the things that I want to say about him into one post. So this is only Part One.
Dave and I met in October 2000. I don't actually remember it, but he does. We were at a mutual friend's flat-warming party. He remembers being introduced to me and Roo. Roo was two weeks old and asleep in his car seat. Dave and I went to the same church. I had been part of the church since the age of 5 and Dave had moved to the area for a new job.

Over the year that followed that meeting, Dave and I chatted occasionally. At a barbeque we talked about films and I recall him acting out a section of "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels". It really made me laugh. One Sunday evening after church, Dave and I had sat next to each other at a coffee bar with the rest of the "church lot". He had just returned from visiting a girlfriend. He had told her that he didn't want to continue seeing her. He felt really guilty and we talked about making difficult choices, and how neither of us enjoyed hurting others or letting them down.

Dave had also been a guest at Roo's 1st Birthday party. He had been invited at the last minute, but had turned up with a lovely, thoughtful present for Roo. It was a "Maisy Pop-Up Book". In the weeks that followed, it became a firm favourite with Roo. My mum had become suddenly aware of this eligible young bachelor and mentioned him every now and then!!

After hearing a sermon at church, everything changed. Our pastor spoke on letters. He told us that he had received many critical letters and how difficult it was to receive them. He spoke about how unhelpful they were. He also spoke about how wonderful it had been to receive encouragement and praise in a letter. At the end of his sermon, he challenged us to write at least two letters with the express purpose of encouraging and praising others.

I received a letter from Dave. It read;

Dear Sally,
Thank you for being such a blessing to me. Thank you for being funny and making me laugh. Thank you for reassuring and encouraging me that I'd done the right thing when I broke up with my girlfriend.
I appreciate so much your talent and gift for Drama and singing, and I love the way you make Roo a priority and go all out to make sure he's cared for.
You said earlier today that you didn't just want to be seen as someone's mum, you wanted to be exciting. Well you are exciting and you are smashing and it's not because you're someone's mum - it's because Someone's daughter. He loves you very much and He's not alone in that.
You are a great friend and a great source of blessing and encouragement. It's so exciting to hear what God is doing at your school and I hope that you hear God when He calls out "well done, good and faithful servant."
Keep your eyes on the things above.
Lots of love and blessings, give my love to your family.
Dave

Immediately, I panicked. Despite him trying to be very subtle, I was convinced that Dave fancied me, but I didn't have feelings for him beyond friendship. I knew that I would find it very difficult to say "no" to any advances, as I hated hurting people's feelings and rejecting others. Also, I had finally come to a point in my journey as a single mum, where I was actually happy with being alone, and excited about how I could serve God on my own. So, I prayed. "Please Lord, make this go away. I don't fancy Dave and I don't want a boyfriend. Change his feelings for me."

About a week later, we met again, this time at a party for a friend's birthday. He had come straight from work and was still dressed in his suit. One word could describe my thoughts when he walked in..."Fwoarrrrrr". He looked rather lovely. I remember my faithful friend, Leslea arriving and giving me the big-eyes-have-you-seen-what-I've-seen look. "I'm having visions of weddings", she sung to me, without moving her lips.

That night, Dave and I sat together at dinner, and had a good time. My friend and I gave him a lift home, and the next day he sent me an email containing a limerick. Obviously this was forwarded to all of my girlfriends for analysis, and the general consensus was that he DID like me, I was to organise another night out, go shopping for a new outfit, and prepare myself for an adventure. Sure enough within the week, Dave and I were together.

We'd had a night out clubbing in Reading, and he'd kissed me. That night I remember thinking that my life would never be the same again. I was overwhelmed with a sense of an old chapter closing and a new one beginning. The next day, Leslea and I were having a cup of tea together, and I remember that she said, "I think that this might be it, you know. I think that you might marry Dave." For some reason, I knew that she was right, but I was far too frightened to admit it.

But, somehow I knew that God had stepped in and made something miraculous happen. He had provided a strong, kind, calm, intelligent, good-looking and godly man, for a wild, insecure and rebellious single mum. He had prepared and equipped a hard-working, pure man for the task of being a husband and a father. Despite my running from him for so long, God had walked towards me, with a beautiful gift in His hands; My husband.

Daily, I am reminded that I do not deserve the good things in my life. None of us do, really. But the grace of God is like that. We can run and run in our own direction; one that feels right and seems to be leading to where we want to be, and to the things that were longing for. But is starts to go wrong and we feel like we've totally messed up. But then God steps in, with his love and grace and mercy, and He gently, lovingly shows us the right way. His way. And His way is full of surprises and treats and abundance and goodness.

My way was (eventually) scary, sad, lonely, damaging and dangerous. God's way has provided me with security, love, fun, satisfaction, variety, adventure...and Dave.

Indianna

2009-09-16T05:05:00.000-07:00

I actually have three children. Sometimes, I am shocked by that. I don't feel grown-up enough to have that many. I've just turned 32 and I'd finished my child-bearing by the age of 29 - one year earlier than I had planned to start!!!

My "middle child" is also my only daughter. Her name is Indianna Lucy. We called her Indy, Indy-Lu, Looby-Lu, Lula, Boola and Lovely Girl. She really is lovely. She is very pretty and delicate. She is fairly tall and very slim. She has blond hair - which is a little darker after she recently decided to cut her own hair, and cut out the very blond natural highlights!!! Indy has blue eyes and other than that small difference, she looks very much like her daddy.

Indy was my second surprise baby. Dave and I had been married for only 6 weeks when we discovered that Indy was on her way. As Christians, Dave and I decided not to sleep together until after we had got married. We felt that this was what God wanted us to do. So, after having been very careful, we were very shocked to find ourselves expecting a baby so soon into our marriage. After the initial shock, we got used to the idea and began to enjoy the preparation.

At both the 12 week and 20 week scan, we were told that the baby was fine, but that it's tummy was bigger than average and it's head was smaller than average. This was not a problem or anything to worry about. In fact, we found it really quite funny. Was I pregnant with a Weeble? Or a snowman?

We weren't sure, but I was convinced that we were having another boy. The baby was very active, just as Roo had been. However, one night, whilst sleeping, my mum woke up. She felt that God had woken her up, as He wanted to tell her something. She listened as God reminded her of how, as a child, she loved to dance. In fact, she danced all the time and rarely stayed still!! She loved to float about and dance in her pretty tutu and ballet shoes. "This baby of Sally's will be a dancer,too" God said. And so, the next day, my mum told me of this and said she really thought that I was carrying a girl. She was right.

Indy is very girlie. She loves pink. In fact, she asked Father Christmas for "pink fings" one year. She loves make-up and heels. She has more handbags than me!! She loves having her hair done and we often paint each other's toenails. She loves dancing and is always showing us her new moves. We try to have girlie time together every fortnight. We usually go out for a cappucino. Indy has been a coffee drinker since she, at the age of 2, she wandered into the kitchen, put one hand on her hip and the other against the wall and said, "Can I 'ave a coffee please, Mum?"

I really enjoy being a girl. I love the way that we relate to one another. I watch Indy, as she forms friendships with the girls around her. Since they met, her and Elizabeth have been very good friends. Indy says that Elizabeth is her "bestest friend in the whole world". Sometime they "fall out", but they always seem to make up. Indy has other girls with whom she is friendly and will also mention Harriet, Erin and Charlotte when asked who her favourite friends are. But it is always Elizabeth who comes first. She cries when they argue and is beside herself if Elizabeth is ever absent. She REALLY loves her. I suspect that they will be very close for a very long time.

Indy is also wildy and passionately in love with our cats, Blackberry and Daisy. She kisses them, cuddles them and has been known to wrap them up and put them into her doll's pram. They love her too, purring as she sweeps them up into her arms. They are her babies and she is hopelessly devoted to them, as any mummy would be.

Whenever I pray for Indy, I ask God to make her a "strong and mighty woman of God." I pray that she will always know that she is beautiful and will never struggle with bad self-image or low self-esteem. And I pray that she will be pure, all the days of her life. I see signs of that purity in her. She is happy to say sorry when she is at fault. She tries to speak kindly of others. She loves Jesus and enjoys singing to Him and making up songs of worship for Him. I have always known that she is good and is precious to God.

But there is one conversation that has changed the way I see my daughter. After hearing a similar story in an assembly at school, Indy told me that she did not want many presents for her 6th Birthday. Instead, she wanted to raise money for charity. She had decided to ask people to give her money to pass on to "people who don't have a home". I was so moved by this. You see, I realised that God wants to use my daughter. He doesn't just want her for a "sunbeam"; He wants her to be a vessel for change, compassion and blessing. He has great plans to love others through her. He sees the potential in her and He speaks to her. She is not just a little pretty girl, she is already a Culture Changer.

And I am so proud of her.

Roo

2009-09-15T05:17:00.000-07:00

Today is a really special day. My eldest son, Reuben Daniel, is 9 years old. We rarely call him Reuben - only when he's in trouble. He is know in our family as Roo, or Roo-Roo.

Roo is a particluar kind of person. He is creative, bright, emotional, sociable, strong-willed, a leader, ambitious, sensitive, dramatic, impulsive, funny..and memorable. When people meet him, they are impacted by him. Most people absolutely love him. Many of my creative and theatrical friends love talking to Roo. They find him very entertaining. Roo has encountered all kinds of people, who have met him in a professional capacity - Educational Psychologists, Paediatricians, Speech and Language Therapists, Behavioural experts, teachers, MPs. They have described him as "a charming boy", "a fascinating child", "gifted" and "a delightful chap". Many have seen great potential in Roo as an artist, leader and performer. People remember Roo.

Roo had a very shaky start - he nearly wasn't even born. You see, I was very surprised to find myself pregnant with Roo. I was 22 years old, and in my first year of teaching secondary school Drama when, after a short relationship with Roo's dad, I found myself to be pregnant. I visited my GP to see if a "morning-after pill" was available. He ensured me that there was not, and that my options were to either have the "baby" or have a termination. At this point, I realised how frightened I had been. After this experience, I will NEVER judge a woman for choosing to terminate a pregnancy. I will always try to understand why. It is all too easy to make a decsion based on fear. But, I was blessed with a second chance to make the right choice. As the doctor said the word "baby", I was shaken from the dream-like state that had dominated me since I had taken the test. I suddenly realised what was going on. I was not just "pregnant", I was "having a baby". I was going to be a mummy. Inside me, was my baby. I was instantly in love. Thoughts of my baby, replaced my dream-like state. I was obsessed.

I began to make plans for how I would survive, on my own, with a small baby. I chose names - Reuben Daniel or Daisy Orla. I lived with my parents and younger brother and that's where I would stay. I continued to work full-time and planned to return to work after the birth. I remained in contact with Roo's dad and understood his need to be involved with the baby, if not with me - this was my choice.

Roo was born 5 weeks early on Friday 15th September 2000 - the last night of the first series of "Big Brother"...I missed Craig walking out to fireworks!!! Roo was early because my liver had failed. I had become very itchy and had been diagnosed with Obstetric Cholestasis (look it up!!!) I was initially induced and then after a slightly dramatic labour(typical Roo), had an emergency c-section. Despite being early, Roo weighed 7lbs 6oz!! He was very long, with baggy skin. He breast-fed after a few days and we went home a week later.

Being a single mum was pretty tough, but my family were amazing. At times, things were tough with Roo's dad, but I knew that my God was with me. Reuben means "behold a son". In the Bible, Reuben was Jacob's firstborn. Reuben led a nation. Jacob said that he was the "first sign of (his) strength. Having Roo has made me strong.

Being a Christian, and having a baby before marriage is a bit complicated. According to the Bible, it is not God's design. He invented sex - good move!! - and not just for pro-creation, but also for fun. But He made it for the purpose of bringing married people together. Intimacy, love and mutual enjoyment were what He had in mind. That is not where my pregnancy had come from. So, when I discovered that I was pregnant before getting married, I knew that it would be complicated. It was. I felt very lonely. I felt very guilty. I felt very scared. I felt trapped. I did not feel excited.

But God changed all that. When I was 7 months pregnant, God told me that although I hadn't planned my baby, He had. He knew my baby and had designed him. He loved my baby...and He loved me. I started to become excited about my baby and trusted that God was in charge of me. So, when Roo was early, I was not at all worried.

After he was born, a nurse held Roo and told me the following;

"This is God's baby. The Holy Spirit is upon this child. God will bring you your husband - you must not look for him - God will bring him to you."

It was amazing. Roo is, indeed, God's child. He is not easy to parent. Being strong-willed is just as a leader should be - but a leader does not want to follow, and neither does Roo!! We have many conflicts and it's pretty wearing at times. But, when asked by the Educational Psychologist what his future would hold, Roo told her that he would either "lead a church or be an actor". I think he'll do both. Because, if Roo plans to do something, he does it.

When I picture the kind of man that I want him to become, I realise that's he not far off. What a wonderful revelation!!

Thank you, Lord, for 9 faithful years with Roo - you have never left me, nor forsaken me. Thank you that you "know his frame. You know how he is made. You planned all his days."

Happy Birthday, Roo-Roo. I love you so very much. How precious you are. You surprise me daily. I am so excited to see the adventure that your life is and will be!! The Holy Spirit is definitely on you - what a privilege to be in your life.

Lots of love,

Mummy

xxx

My illness

2009-09-12T11:10:00.000-07:00

At some point, I knew that I would need to write about my illness. Don't know if I really want to, but I think it may help some to understand what it is really like.

About two years ago, I was diagnosed with depression. I'd been crying a lot and been shouting at my kids way too much. I felt tired all the time and so I was doing very little around the house. Seeing as though I'm officially a housewife, this wasn't so good! Dave, my husband, is amazing, and does LOADS around the house. But instead of feeling grateful, I felt guilty.

After a stressful weekend, my mum encouraged me to go to the doctors. I did, and as I entered the Doctor's office, I began to cry. I wondered if I needed Anger Management, or if I was just being lazy. I wondered if I had put on too much weight and that I was unable to do housework because my body couldn't cope with the strain.

Very quickly, my doctor told me that I had a classic case of depression. He told me that he would prescribe me anti-depressants - Fluoxetine, also known as Prozac - that I would need to do some Cognitive Behaviour Therapy and that an hour of exercise every day was essential. My doctor is a Christian, and he offered to pray with me. I accepted his offer. This was really good, but made no immediate difference.

As I walked to the chemist, I called Dave, who was at work, and cried as I said "sorry". I was really sorry. I didn't want to be a burden. I didn't want to be a "person with issues". Depression was an issue, and I didn't want it. I felt ashamed as I handed my prescription to the pharmacist. She looked at the paper and knew what those tablets were for. I waited outside the shop for my tablets. I didn't want to connect with her, or anyone else. I went inside to collect my little paper bag of happy pills and drove back to my mum's house.

I will never forget the following day. It was the darkest day I have ever had. I spent most of the day sitting on the sofa. I'd taken my first anti-depressant tablet and had developed diarrhoea overnight. I remember thinking that I didn't know what was worse - taking the tablets along with side effects or trying to continue with life without getting better. My children continued pottering around me that day, not really knowing what was going on, just thinking that Mummy was tired and having a "Pyjama Day". Seeing them and thinking of their futures was the only thing that stopped me from...well, ending it all, that day. Towards the end of the afternoon, I had managed to go upstairs and sit in the bath for a while. I sat up, crying silently and dribbling all over my knees. After a time, I got out, wrapped a towel around myself and sat down on the toilet seat. I could stand up. I didn't have the energy or the motivation.

After that day, I gradually improved. I learnt many new things. Often, I was unable to read. I couldn't take in the information. I'd read the same sentence again and again, but it made no sense. Kind friends loaned books to me, but I couldn't read them!!

Writing was also a problem. Sending messages on Facebook became really hard. My friend, Suzanne, commented that my messages were "weird" and didn't make any sense.

The slightest thing made me jump. After jumping, I either wanted to cry or shout angrily at whoever or whatever was the source of my jumping!!

The biggest thing that I learnt was that many people were going through the same thing as me. I would occasionally share how I was feeling and what I was going through with others. Some would show sympathy and offer whatever help they could. But, many many people would ask me what medication I was taking and then tell me what they were taking. Without exception, I was so shocked to know that these people had depression. They were the happy, strong and lively people. They were the "life and soul of the party". They were the leaders in my world. They were the men and women who were highly respected in my community. They were the successful ones, and the ones who held others up!!

Then, my amazing friend, Julie, loaned me a book. It is called "Depression, The Curse of the Strong". The title said it all. You see, we keep going. We don't stop when we're tired. We have responsibilities. We don't want to let others down, or disappoint people. We NEVER say "no". We don't ask for help. We look for perfection in all that we do. We accept imperfection in others, but we add whatever we can, so that others can reach perfection too - "if they can't do it, we'll sort it out for them."

Most people are understanding. Most of our friends do not expect us to be endlessly available. Our children, spouses, friends, colleagues and bosses don't need us to be perfectly reliable, on time, present, neat, tidy, organised, happy, smiley, energised and successful. In fact, we release others to be their fault-ridden selves when we are honest and real with each other.

Realising this was a big step. In fact, I need to be reminded of this constantly. It helps me to get better. There are days when I just can't do it...whatever "it" is for that day.

Just in case you're wondering, before I had depression, depressives REALLY irritated me. I thought that depression was a choice. I had met people who seemed stuck in their own thoughts and sadness. I felt sorry for them, but I felt frustrated that they couldn't just "get themselves out of it".

I have learnt that depression is an illness. It is chemical. It is not something you choose. It happens to you. BUT, I still believe that I have a choice to make. I can choose to do the things that will make me better. I can sleep when I need to. I can take my tablets every day. I can exercise when I feel able. I can look for the signs of a bout of depression on its way. I can be aware of my limitations. I can stop BEFORE I get ill. I can ask for help...and I can say "no".

So, if I say it to you, hopefully you'll understand, see it is a strength, and respect my right to keep myself well.

Seth

2009-09-07T05:12:00.000-07:00

Seth, my youngest child, started nursery today - or "pre-school"as it's officially called. We loaded him up with his new Spiderman bag on his shoulders, reminded him to say "please" and "thank you", and left him in the care of others for a whole morning.

This has happened before. Since way before Seth was born, I have attended church most Sundays and from about three months of age, Seth has spent most Sunday morning in a creche in the care of others.

I didn't cry. Neither did Seth. In fact, at one point he told me to let go of his hand so that he could play with his friends. He wasn't worried or sad. He was very excited and showed us this by jumping as we walked up to the nursery gate.

Many people have asked me "what are you going to do with yourself with all of your children at school and nursery?" My stock answer has been "whatever I like!" But, this morning I wasn't able to do "whatever I wanted". On Saturday morning, after clearing out Roo's cupboard, I slipped down the two bottom stairs. After an x-ray, I was told I had a sprained foot....walking is proving a bit uncomfortable and driving is a no-no under instruction from my lovely, thoughtful husband!

So, as I sat in front of the telly at my mum and dad's house, with a blanket over my legs like the elderly women who shared a nursing home with my late Nanny Hayes, I found myself thinking about Seth.

Only three years ago, Seth was so small, that I was able to carry him around with out even feeling his weight. Often I would be chatting with someone for about five minutes before they realised that he was a real baby, and not one of Indy's dollies.

Seth was born 6 weeks early, after an emergency c-section due to pre-eclampsia. During the pregancy, I had gall stones and an enflamed gall bladder. I was in hospital on a morphine drip for nearly two weeks at about 23 weeks pregnant. I had Group B Strep infection at 30 weeks and reduced amniotic fluid seemed to be causing a bit of a problem just after that. At 33 weeks, at a routine appontment with the consultant, he informed me that I would not be going home until after the baby was born. my blood pressure was too high and I had "plus four" protein in my wee - oh the glamour of it all!

The night that Seth was born, I had been feeling weird all day and the lights on the ward seemed very bright. My head was hurting and my relflexes were really good...too good, apparently. The doctors told me to call my husband as our baby would be born by c-section that night. One young, pretty doctor warned us that this baby would be small, would most likely need help with breathing and would not be able to feed. The sucking reflex in babies happens after 36 weeks. I was at 34 weeks by now.

So, like any woman, I took myself off to the bathroom to shave my legs - a desperate cry for dignity. Whilst in the bath, I prayed. I prayed that the baby would be okay. I prayed that despite all that had been said by the doctors, that this baby would be absolutely fine - no problems with the birth, the breathing, and the feeding.

Seth was born at 11.05pm. He weighed 4lbs 14oz and he came out shouting. Breathing was never going to be a problem for Seth. He was small, but he was perfectly formed. He was immediately taken to SCBU. The next afternoon, I visited him, and as I held my tiny son in my arms, his head turned, his mouth opened and he began "rooting" for afternoon tea! I told the SCBU nurses that I was going to try and breastfeed him. They looked at me like I was mad. I wasn't. I knew my baby. Seth immediately latched on and began to feed like a pro.

Within a week, he was home. He was fine. We were scared. He was so much smaller than Roo and Indy had been. He was too small for even the smallest baby clothes. But, he was determined. I remember my mum saying that he would be a go-getter. My bestfriend's mum told me that she felt he would be a singer one day. These things I held onto. On the day when he went all grey around his lips (a bit of wind!!); when we took him into hospital at two months old with bronchilitis; when we were offered monitors and machines for sleep apnoeia; when he struggled to put on weight. These two "promises" kept me going.

Now, Seth is always climbing, dancing, jumping, eating, giggling, making a mess, taking biscuits without asking, opening pots of moisturiser, playing his little guitar and drums, and singing. He IS a go-getter. He IS a singer. And there is more time for more go-getting and singing.

Sending him off to nursery today wasn't that difficult. I didn't cry. I didn't feel sad or scared. We do not plan on having any more children, as we feel that three is enough children for us to effectively parent. So, Seth IS my last child. My baby. But I am excited about all of the things that he will do and about the things that God will do in him. I trust that my baby is in God's hands. God has such adventures in store for Seth. He has a purpose for Seth. He goes before Seth and after him. He has got Seth's back. He had given Seth specific and special gifts that are unique to him. And, Seth will learn and develop. I can't wait to see who he will become.

Today he brought home a painting. I wonder what he will bring home next time? Maybe another painting, or maybe a collage. All I know is, I need to clear some space on my cupboard doors!!

2009-09-05T11:24:00.000-07:00

Okay, so this morning, I was feeling productive...never too good!! Roo's room was the target, and in particular his cupboard.

It wasn't actually too bad. Soft toys, games, books and cassette tapes. I found my Orange Ted - he was given to me as a kid and is a proper 70's creation - very retro!! I also found my Buck's Fizz Greatest hits cassette - "The Camera Never Lies" and "Land of Make Believe" the highlights. The cupboard itself has history. My dad donated it to Roo. It had been his as a child and is actually a tall boy that matches the wardrobe that he gave to Dave and I, a while ago. The wardrobe had been in his parents' room as he'd grown up.

Four things that have spanned generations - a teddy bear, a cassette tape, a tall boy and a wardrobe. Why do I keep these things? What is it about them that makes them so precious to me? Precious memories of precious people. The smells of my childhood. The sounds of my childhood. The sights of my childhood. Why do I hold onto them?

I LOVE my life. I mean, REALLY love my life. I have a wonderful husband with whom I have a great time. My kids are fab...a bit mental, but fab. I love my house, am grateful for my car and my lovely new bed. I appreciate my friends and enjoy the wisdom of having lived my life so far. I do not fear middle age, old age or death. I look forward to God's plans for "the rest of it", so why do I look back by keeping hold of these things?

It's funny - I enjoy simple things...blackberry-picking, making things with my hands from scratch, reading, hearing and telling stories, eating with my family, the seaside, the countryside and laughing until it hurts.

Recently, I learnt to spin wool. I was at a village fair in Dorset and sat down with the Dorset Spinners for a chat. The ladies showed me and helped me. We talked about crafts from the past and about keeping traditions going. You know, some traditions are a bit odd, to be honest. Why do we throw pancakes up in the air? Why do we pull crackers at Christmas? Why do bash our glasses together and make "a toast"? Why's it called "a toast"?

I don't know and, to be honest, I don't really care. But I love to know about my past and my ancestors. I love to consider their lives and adventures and I love to pass things onto my children. These precious things, recipes, memories, activites, traditions and stories are essential to who I am and how I live. My past has made me who I am.

first dance

2009-07-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from a fab wedding - Dan & Sarah Marshall are now husband and wife...ahhhh. It was cool to be a part of it all. To see Sarah and her "maids" get ready. To watch Dan welcome guests as they arrived at the church. To see Dan's beautiful mum and nan with Dan - three generations!! It was just lovely to watch our gorgeous Indy walk up the aisle with Lauren, both in their great dresses (Indy's made by me!!!)

I love to hear the vows being made, to see a couple exchange rings and then....the kiss!!! But, none of it stirs my emotions like the first dance. I always watch and cry. It was the only part of my own wedding day that I cried at. After the first dance, I love to dance with Dave, my husband. I love to put my left hand on his shoulder and my right hand in his. I love the way his shirt smells. I love to put my head on his chest. I love to kiss him as we randomly turn round and round in circles like we're at a school disco!!

On our wedding day, we danced to the Moulin Rouge version of Elton John's "Your Song". I remember that it started too loud and had to be re-started as the CD seemed to jump. But when the song finally began and played, we stared at each other, chatted and kissed. I can't remember what we talked about, but I remember thinking that finally we were married. That never again would I be alone. Never would we be separated and that he would always be my dancing partner.

On the 13th August this year, it will be exactly one year since the death of my friend's husband. At his funeral, his coffin was brought in to the same song to which she walked in at their wedding only a few years before. I know that she misses the smell of his shirt. She longs to rest her head on his chest and to place her hand in his. She remembers how it feels to be held by him and she thinks about it all the time. Every day, she remembers him, their wedding, their first dance, their embraces.

When he died, she told Dave to hold me and never let me go. I will never forget this. Let's never take each other for granted. If you are reading this, tell those you love, that you love them. It's worth it, even if you feel vunerable and silly. Please just tell them. xxx

my tattoo

2009-07-15T14:54:00.000-07:00

Okay, so yesterday I had a tattoo - my first!! It HURT!!! But I am now very pleased with it - it is along the side of my left foot and in black funky writing it says "fearfully and wonderfully made" followed by a little daisy.
Why would I put that on my body permanently? Well, I believe it! I know that I was created by God and that he put a lot of thought into my design and took time to make me. He made no mistakes...he wanted me to look the way I do...he chose green for my eye colour...5'3" for my height...size 4 for my feet...pale skin...dark reddy-browny hair....wonky teeth...jelly baby-shaped toes....skinny ankles...big bott!!! And yet I see fit to criticise God's workmanship. Who am I to do that? Who am I to treat it badly? Was I wrong to over-eat or starve myself? Was I wrong to have my ears pierced? Or my nose? Should I stay up late? Was a tattoo the wrong thing?
I don't know...but I do know that I want to honour my Jesus with my body. I want it to be a testimony to the greatness of my God and to his mercy and forgiveness. AND...I want to love God's creativity as much as I induldge my own...feeling the need to sew - a rag quilt, I think.
I quite like this blogging thing...cool.
Sal
xxx

for starters.....

2008-03-12T17:41:00.000-07:00

ohhh.....a new adventure.....I desperately need this.....I like "new". I love to make, dream, plan....this seems like a good place to do it......I may regret this, though!!
Sal
xx