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.

My amazing mum

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

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!!

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...

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

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

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

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

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!!

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

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

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