Memories of Christmas

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?....

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

"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

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

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

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

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.