Tuesday 30 December 2008

Operation 24XMASEVE

It’s fun having a daughter at home – even if she IS working her socks off to earn money to pay her way through uni. Here are the emails we exchanged on Christmas Eve…

From: Pollard Catharine
Sent: 24 December 2008 11:10
To: R & A Pollard
Subject: Today

Hi Mum,

If you want to come pick me up at 12.30 then that would be fab but if not then i can quite easily get the bus back!

Reply asap por favour!
Xxx

From: R & A Pollard
Sent: 24 December 2008 11:29
To: Pollard Catharine
Subject: Re: Today

Hi daughter

Yes can pick you up at 12.30. No problemo!

Can you walk down to M and S or North Beach car park and give me an exact ETA?

love

Mama


From: Pollard Catharine
Sent: 24 December 2008 11:47
To: R & A Pollard
Subject: Re: Today

Righto!

This is flight commander Perkins speaking to you. Should you choose to accept it, this is your mission:

In the dark, dangerous and turbulent waters of December 24th, a lone survivor of the Christmasomme battle is awaiting your arrival. You will leave HQ at 12.19hrs exactly, navigating the tricky and potentially murderous maze of Guernsaise roads.

Approaching the RV with considerable caution you will first perform a recce to establish the enemy presence. Once confirmed by contacting our helicopters with infrared cameras you will traverse the rocky terrain taking care to avoid the identified danger areas. Note: Dangerous head winds in the form of heavy Christmas shopping traffic might impede safe arrival. Recommend use of laser gun should you encounter any untoward pedestrians, cyclists, motorists, etc but only as a last resort for fear of revealing your precarious position.

Once at the RV, secure the target (lone survivor etc) and screech away. Abandon caution when leaving the premises, and drive away, all guns blazing, blowing a few things up just to make that last shot of billowing clouds of flame and dark black swirls of soot extra special.

RV: North Beach
ETA: 12.33

This message will self destruct in three seconds....


From: R & A Pollard
Sent: 24 December 2008 12:01
To: Pollard Catharine
Subject: Re: Today

I haven't read your instructions yet, but you need to GET A LIFE!!!! or work harder!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

From: Pollard Catharine
Sent: 24 December 2008 12:02
To: R & A Pollard
Subject: Re: Today

Hah haa! Actually, I've just thought RE the ETA - maybe I should email you when I’m done here and then you leave when you get my email as I’m not sure I’ll be finished at 12.30 so don’t want you to wait. Will email in a few minutes.


From: Pollard Catharine
Sent: 24 December 2008 12.06
To: R & A Pollard
Subject: WE HAVE LIFT OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RV and ETA as before...Operation 24XMASEVE has begun....may the best man win.

She did. She arrived first.


Tuesday 23 December 2008

Updating

This post is for David, my college friend. I thought I had kept him up to date with our movements, but evidently I hadn't. So here we are:

2000. Our family leaves Kenya for Britain, amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Our son dubbed it the Exodus - except that we didn't feel we were off to a Promised Land. It took over half a dozen years to begin to get over our feelings of bereavement.

2001 - 2003. After much culture shock and eventually adapting to life in England (Rugby, Warwickshire, for those knowledgeable of town and county), Jonny and Cat got good GCSEs, Angie got trained up - via a variety of supply, temporary and part-time teaching positions - in the vagaries of the National Curriculum. And Richard recovered from a nasty illness and got a job in... Guernsey, flying tiny Trislander planes inbetween the Channel Islands, England and France.

2004 - 2008. A levels, gap year jobs in the finance industry in Guernsey and then among the poor in Peru and Mozambique, and then uni for Jonny and Cat; Angie beavers away at the chalkface, enjoying teaching small boys.

So there we are. 9 years in a few paragraphs. We hope to stay here for a while, but who knows? Our life here is dependent on our jobs; in the current economic climate, we are grateful to have jobs we both love and be part of a vibrant island community.

There is no future in regretting what is past
nor in worrying about the future.
The present is there for our enjoyment.

Christmas past and present

Every year something reminds me of past Christmases, but it was only today that I realized how wonderfully varied they have been. Just as I've kept our annual Christmas newsletters - which I started almost before photocopying was invented - so I should try to keep an inventory of all the different ways I have spent Christmas Day.

Of course, until I grew up and left home, Christmas Day was always exactly the same. Church - the obligatory attendance at Mass - was got over with as early as we kids could be dragged out of bed. Then home for present opening: each person had an individual pile of presents which were torn open in a frantic frenzy. How we ever kept track of who gave us what, I don't know. Then came lunch, hopefully over just in time for the Queen's speech. (One memorable year, an elderly relative - who couldn't wait - demanded to be taken to the toilet right in the middle of Her Majesty's orations.) Then television, chocolates, hanging around and waiting for tea time with Christmas cake which we were too full to eat. And more television. And more.

My Christmases changed after I went to Africa.

My first Christmas in Kenya was spent with dear friends who lived an idyllic life on a smallholding outside Nairobi. Following the mother's German tradition, we celebrated on Christmas Eve. It was a revelation to find that presents were selected randomly from the tree, one at a time, then presented to the recipient while we watched and rejoiced. It took two days to open them all!

My second Christmas in Africa was spent in Cote d'Ivoire, travelling with my brother. I can't remember Christmas Day itself, save that it was humidly hot in the dusty little town we were staying in.

My third Christmas was my first one as a wife. We spent that year, and the subsequent year, with Richard's sister who lives near Mount Kenya. Our celebrations were eerily reminiscent of my childhood: the only difference was that we went to the tiny local church on Christmas Eve, and that the weather was warm. And there was no television.

The following year was our first with friends: two young American couples, who have remained friends - even though we live on three continents - to this day. We shared secret Santa presents, bidding for each others' gifts, reading the Christmas story, and laughing until our sides ached. And still no television!

Then there were several years of huge parties with other expatriates and missionaries as all gathered together. We introduced each other to festive jellies - eaten with turkey; to Christmas pudding; to pound cake, smothered in icing; to snickerdoodles and peppernusse. Our children learnt to celebrate cross-culturally, multi-nationally, multi-lingually.

That set the scene for celebrating with friends: no two Christmases were the same. Yet there was always one constant: we were all followers of Jesus, ecstatic at the news of his birth, remembering with thankfulness.

And still no television.

It will be the same again this year!

Christmas letters

Much as I enjoy receiving newsletters at Christmas, I also enjoy writing our own. It's always a challenge to encapsulate our news to give friends a yearly update of where we are and what we have been doing.

I always try and stick to a (relatively) simple formula.

1. One side of A4.
2. In a font size that is not so tiny that one needs reading glasses, nor so large that it looks childish.
3. Informative, yet not boastful.
4. Does not contain extensive details of holidays or other achievements.
5. Mildly amusing, if possible. I quite like a self-deprecatory style if I can manage it.
6. Sometimes a common theme is quite useful: it has the advantage of concentrating my mind and keeping me from waffling on.

Any of you reading this may not think I have achieved the criteria - oh well, at least I tried!

Christmas, and other things

Christmas is almost upon us, and my heart is full.
Full of thanksgiving for all the friends who have, once again, got in touch.
Full of joy on hearing of rich, fulfilled, happy lives.
Full of sorrow of hearing of others' pain: illness, bereavement, disappointment, struggles.
Full of the sheer happiness of this season.

I mustn't take it all for granted.

Thursday 18 December 2008

last days

The last days of term have been and gone. Filled with carols and cards, laughter and lilting songs... The children contained their excitement as they dutifully performed in the carol service before the blessed relief of the last morning when they were allowed to just play games.

My class sang outstandingly well, behaved beautifully and made it a fun time for me as well. Then there were the little presents and cards, so thoughtfully done.
You can see the effort that has gone into a card and that means more than anything. This class give me so much, they are a delight.

The school is closed, but I am still working: preparing for next term already. We have inspectors coming in, but that is another story...

Sunday 14 December 2008

Moonlight

Thursday night. 9.30.

I'd just said goodbye to my guest. My special friend, Sarah. We have created an oasis of time together, meeting every week to share our lives, to pray with and for each other, to talk to God about our world and all our concerns for it.

It was cold and frosty. The moon shone as bright as day. The headlights quickly faded as she drove off, leaving me alone in the stillness with the moon.

I collected the dog, and started running. We ran to the beach.

The lanes were lit up as bright as day, my shadow sharp in front of me as I ran for the joy of being alive in God's night. A heron squawked overhead while the ducks in the field chattered, alarmed to hear me passing by when all else was quiet.

There is nothing as magical as being out, alone, with only the moon and a dog for company.

Wednesday 10 December 2008

Jason Upton

We went to see Jason Upton perform on Sunday evening. Jason (http://www.jasonupton.net/vision/) is a Christian singer/songwriter. He has the most beautiful voice which is a joy to listen to. Accompanying him as he sang and played the piano were a group of drummer and guitarists. All the way from the USA. I'm not sure how they came to come to this tiny place, but it was a wonderful opportunity for us.

The evening was awesome.

I don't just mean that the music was great (it was) or that we were entertained (as we were) but awesome in the real sense of the word. There was an almost tangible sense of God's presence over the packed concert hall.

The nearest I can get to describing the experience was that Jason sang prayers to God over us for a couple of hours.

Awesome.

2 sleeps, 5 sleeps

Cat comes home on Friday afternoon, Jonny on Monday. I can't wait!

Both begin work next week so hopefully they will have a few days at least of wind-down before they start. They return to the same place every time: both companies they work for are delighted to have them back again. Jonny even has a bursary to help towards his uni costs.

God has been so faithful to them both.

Tuesday 9 December 2008

Herm

The weather was fantastic at the weekend. Sunday dawned pink, clearing the way for a brilliant blue sky and dazzling sunshine. Oh so cliched, oh so true.

We bunked off church in the morning, and took the boat over to Herm. 20 minutes over the water and you're in another world. No cars, no hurry, no bustle. Just a mile or so of gentle hills, rabbit-cropped turf and sandy beaches.


We walked up from the harbour, passing the two pubs, the hotel, handful of holiday cottages and the tiny church. Every Sunday the owner holds a short service in this ancient chapel, so lovingly cared for with polished pews and fresh flowers.
Over the other side of the hill, Belvoir Bay nestles at the bottom of a valley. Shells the size of a pinhead scattered the shore at our feet. We drank our coffee in a sheltered nook among the rocks, listening to the swell of the waves beating gently on the shore.

Paradise.

Diariaising

Is this the right spelling? It doesn't look like it. It's my attempt at a single word for 'keeping a diary'.

The neat thing about this blog is that I can type, rather than write. My handwriting is appalling. A uniquely bad pencil grip puts incredible strain on my fingers, so that after only a few minutes they start to ache, cramp up, and experience shooting pains. Not good. I've tried to improve it in the past, but never got to the stage of a good handwriting style. When I teach handwriting to the children, I have the utmost sympathy for those who struggle. I know how they feel. That's one good thing about my writing, anyway.

The other neat thing is that NO ONE READS THIS. It's just like having a private diary, but more convenient than saving entries onto a file. If I did that, I'd have to remember where I filed them, open up the file each time, and so on. This is just so much easier. And I love the labelling system, too! So easy to find things I've written in the past.

Saturday 6 December 2008

Just over a week to go

We have just over a week to go before the end of term. There is a great deal to get done, but it's all good fun. Next week we will be making books, placemats, Christmas hats, Christmas cards...

It all takes some managing. The children get very excited.
Very excited = rather silly.
Rather silly = overexcited.
Overexcited = sometimes unable to manage behaviour and emotions.

This happened on Friday break. A dispute on the football pitch.
Remedy: all the boys involved had to meet up at lunchtime and decide on how they were going to play with each other.
Result: a list of all the boys who had attended the meeting with an accompanying list of rules.
Eminently sensible, and all done without a teacher's presence.

I am so proud of them.

Laughter

I'm not sure quite how to explain this. Let me start at the beginning.

The children had read the story of the birth of Jesus and were now in the process of rewriting it as a story of their own. Most had only just begun relating the events leading up to the birth when Sam put his hand up and asked a question.
"What does accomplice mean?"
"Um... partner in crime would be the nearest," I replied.
"That won't do, then," he said, chuckling.
I looked down at his book. He had written: A long time ago, in Bethlehem, Joseph and his accomplice...

We chuckled over that one for some time.

Church

We looked at our values at church committe last week. We narrowed it down to five. I rather liked this acronym:

Real relationship - with God
Open to God - through prayer and worship
Living in love - relationships with each other
Overcoming evil - the reason for being, our mission statement
Seeking God's kingdom - teaching the Bible and, I would add, through the experience of the Holy Spirit.

This is a lovely acronym. Rolos are delicous sweets: toffee, covered in chocolate, stacked up in a tube.

I'd rather like to be a Rolo

Saturday 29 November 2008

Busy busy

I look back at my week, in a rare pause-for-breath moment. I can't quite believe how hectic it has been. It's Saturday now, and my to-do list is still long. Some with school, some with home. No real pause-for-breath time yet.

This week I have had over 20 parent interviews. That's not much - I'm not a secondary teacher so don't see a lot of students, just my little flock to nurture through this year.

I have written around 10,000 - yes, ten thousand, that WAS the right number of noughts - words. No, not a dissertation - just end of term reports on around a dozen different subjects for each child.

I have planned and organised a cross-curricular day, incorporating History, English, Geography, Maths, Science, PSHE, PE, Drama and Art.

I have been to a church committee meeting, having great fun thinking about our vision and values - who we are.

I have been to a wonderful celebration where Christians from all over our tiny island, from many different churches, gathered together to worship and pray.

I wouldn't have missed any of that for the world.

I love meeting parents, allaying their anxieties about their children, celebrating progress made, gaining an insight into the kids I teach.
I love writing reports: reflecting on the progress the children have made and where I want to take them to next.
I love 'different' days where we dress up and follow a theme throughout the day. It makes learning so much more relevant.
I love being part of an active church which seeks to honour God in everything it does.
I love worshipping God with music, poetry and prayer. I love seeing Him at work in my life and the lives of those I love.

Would I miss any of these to be a little less busy?

No.

(Though the ten thousand words were too many to write... I'd like to do fewer of those next time).

Thursday 27 November 2008

SOoo Excited!

I'm so excited about tomorrow. Me, 36 eager little boys, and 4 other teachers.
I'm not so sure the teachers are quite as excited as I am, but they're humouring me. We're having a cross-curricular day at school.

The theme is 15th Century Explorers.

We come dressed as sailors from the era of Columbus. We're going to be writing ships' logs and making replica leather bound books -it's amazing what you can do with cardboard, glue, paper towels and brown paint. Plus a little bronze or copper gilding... We'll draw navigational instruments, ships, describe the living conditions onboard ship, keep a record of all those who have died of scurvy.

Our maths will include working out directions for locating treasure on a desert island: angles, bearings, scale...

We'll be collecting rations for the ships' crews, working out a balanced diet by trading for the right amount of foodstuffs. Some of our sailors will receive training in first aid for accidents and other medical emergencies. Others will be taught about the dangers of sunstroke and skin damage.

Best of all - we're all dressing up! Now, where did I put my wooden leg...?

November 27th

It's a strange time of year for us.
Today would have been my father's eighty-fifth birthday. He died of ill-health just over two years ago. Longing, by the end, to go. I don't remember the date of his dying - it took some time. I remember his birth with thanks.
Two days ago, thirteen years ago, my brother died suddenly. He had so much to live for - a happy marriage, a three year old daughter, a baby son. A life wiped out in an instant, a shared life taken from them all.
A lost future.
Now the daughter is sixteen.
Thirteen years, and life has gone on.

Saturday 22 November 2008

The ultimate compliment - for a teacher

'Mummy..' said Alex, absorbed in his work but needing just a little bit of help.
The only problem was that he wasn't at home. He was at school. In class.
'Mummy' was me. His teacher.

A tremendous compliment for me.
Not so much for his mum. She's maybe a couple of decades younger. Dark and pretty.

Great fun, though. Lots of giggling - from Alex, from me, from his friends.

Friday 21 November 2008

Questions and answers

The Son rang today and had a good chat with his father. They talked about surfing: wetsuits, surfboards, waves, breaks... There was a mention that he was working on an essay at the moment, but that was the gist of the (long) conversation.

That is not at all the conversation he might have had with his mother.

She has all kinds of questions. What is he eating? How is he getting on with his work? Has he had any essays marked yet? Does he have any holiday work fixed up? How is church going? Does he know when he is coming home?

Pragmatic questions. I would probably not dare ask them all - it would seem like an inquisition. He'll tell me, in time. I know which conversation he would prefer to have.

Wednesday 19 November 2008

Longing

I've become somewhat raw recently. Not in a bad sense, but a feeling of being raw and open to others' wounds. It saddens me when I feel the difficulties others are facing: ill-health; redundancy - without the financial package, just a week's wages; the break-up of a relationship.

It is all loss - of security, of direction, of hope, of joy.

Often, though, I can help in a small way. I can visit, I can empathize, I can provide practical care, I can give a listening ear.

The saddest is when I am raw to others' lack of a sense of purpose. They are looking - but cannot find, because they do not know where to look. How can I help them to do that? How do I find the right words?

The only way I can help is to pray. For them, for myself - for awareness, for knowing what to say and when to say it. For them.

Sunday 16 November 2008

Links

We have just made acquaintance with a family who we might have met, twenty odd years ago: almost twenty years exactly, to be precise. (I say 'might have' because we discovered we had all gone to the same conference, at the same time, but do not remember ever meeting.) In Kenya, where we have all lived, loved, worked...

So we are sitting together, the conversation flying with 'Do you know...?' and 'Do you remember...?' until we must, in the space of an hour or so, have mentioned over a hundred names.

And here we are in Guernsey.

And what I am wondering, is, Why?

Why, God, have you brought us together? For what purpose? For there is purpose in everything, our task is to find out what GOD's purpose is in the everything.

Apart from a delightful sense of community, what is your purpose here, O God?

I am wondering.

Thursday 13 November 2008

I do not miss... and yet I do.

I do not miss
Waking at night,
Heart afraid
Mind racing
Skin crawling with the sweat of fear.

I do not miss
The tension of a drive
On a simple errand
Looking around
Wondering if I am the next
To be hijacked

I do not miss
Having to deal with
Poverty in my face
At my gate
Looking in my door
When I am helpless to help

I do not miss
Living stretched
In a society of gross inequality
The uncaring fat cats
Treading on the powerless

I do NOT miss these things.

Yet I miss

Laughter in the face of adversity
Smiling faces
Reflecting the joy of simply being alive

Compassion in misfortune
The kindness in the night
Of strangers to the unknown

Generosity from those who have
Scarcely enough for themselves
Not enough to share, too little to give away

An irrepressible optimism
A gentle trust in a God
Who loves us more than we can ever know.

I miss these things.

Tuesday 11 November 2008

Little steps of encouragement

Some friends have been going through a hard time recently. I've been sending brief emails of encouragement: not my own words, usually, but Bible verses which have encouraged us in the past.
This was today's: I just love it. It has meant so much to us as a family.

Psalm 33:17 - 22:
A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength it cannot save.
But the eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,
to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine.
We wait in hope for the LORD; he is our help and our shield.
In him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name.
May your unfailing love rest upon us, O LORD, even as we put our hope in you.

This is one of our favourite verses. Our friend Bob gave it to us almost 10 years ago, and it is so true. We wait indeed in hope for the Lord. Where else does help come from? Where else?
Nowhere else.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
His mercies never come to an end...
They are new every morning, new every morning,
Great is your faithfulness, O Lord,
Great is your faithfulness.

Don't you just love that song?

Monday 10 November 2008

What do we do about the chicken?

Mama Kuku is now well established at home.
No longer 'it' she is now 'she'.
Someone suggested we call her Helen.
(I'm not sure why.)
She potters around under the bird feeder, coming up to talk to us when we go outside, asking for food.
She's almost scary at times, chasing after us, clucking demandingly.

But I didn't ask for a chicken.
I didn't want a chicken.
I don't want to chase her away, but she's here - to stay, it seems.
What now?

Friday 7 November 2008

What are they thinking?

What do dogs think, anyway?
I pulled out a reel of thread and a needle today to do some mending.
The dog went crazy.
He jumped up at me, reaching for the thread - fortunately, he wasn't interested in needle). What did he think it was? Nothing edible, surely?

And how come he knows what I'm thinking?
How does he know when I'm going out in the car and intend to take him with me, and when I don't?
How does he know when I have decided to take him for a walk, before I have even moved a muscle to fetch his lead?
How does he know that what I am eating is truly delicious for dogs, as he sits watching, gaze unnerving me into sharing.
How does he know?

Thursday 6 November 2008

Walk to the beach

How privileged I am to live here. Almost very time I step outside, I thank God for the beauty of this little island.
This morning I ran the dog to the beach: two fields, a lane and a handful of houses away.
A huge flock of starlings flew off and over the coastal path as we approached, in a sudden swoop, synchronised as one.
A dozen oyster catchers flew further down the shore, squeaking in annoyance, as the dog rushed in abandon into the waves.
A few turnstones were doing what they do best: hobbling among the seaweed, poking for edible morsels, oblivious to their neighbours.
A kestrel dived, then hovered, eyes intent on a tiny creature hidden in the grass.
What a gift to start my day!

Monday 3 November 2008

Sorrow and laughter

Small boy arrives this morning, looking rather upset.
"Did you have a good weekend?" I ask.
"No, my gerbil died." With the reply, the floodgates open.
Streaming eyes, running nose, heaving chest.
Eventually I am able to ask questions and commiserate.
I learn that Pop, the world's best gerbil ever, (siblings named Snap and Crackle) was three years old. He would come rushing up when the cage was opened, nose sniffling in greeting. His coat was silky and beautiful. He could count up to ten and had a vocuabulary of twenty words.
The last sentence isn't true: anything is possible, such is the allure of a lost pet.
"Did you have a funeral for him?" I ask, finally.
"No. We only found the tail."
By some miracle, I manage not to splutter with laughter.
I provide a piece of card on which to design a memorial plaque for the cage.
It reads:
Here lies Pop, my best gerbil ever.
The tears dry up, at last.
An easy solution for a complex problem.

Wednesday 29 October 2008

Rant about a boys - or several

I have a lovely system in my classroom for maintaining a suitable noise level.
It's a Noisometer. Or Noise Monitor.
Permitted noise levels vary from silence to group discussion.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work. The noise is usually off the scale.
Boys don't 'do' whispering or talking quietly.
It doesn't matter too much, but I just wish I could find the volume button sometimes.
Or even turn them off.
Hmm.

Tuesday 28 October 2008

FC

It seems that Feral Chicken is not actually feral, but escaped from some loving family home.
The trouble is, we don't know where.
It hangs around under the bird seeder ALL DAY, scratching away at the lawn. The weather has turned chillier, so the chicken is looking considerably 'fatter' as it fluffs up its feathers against the cold.
Now Richard has started feeding it bird seed.
It clucks appreciately when it sees him.
It'll be wanting to come into the house next.

Sunday 26 October 2008

I lift my eyes to the hills

Psalm 121 - which has been set most beautifully to music by Brian Doerksen www.briandoerksen.com says:
I lift up my eyes to the hills -where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.

We all love and appreciate the beauty of God's creation, which is a love song in our ears. A quiet walk in the country; sitting on a rock by a wildly raging sea; gazing at a panorama of mountains - all these bring rest to our souls, restoring peace. But help - that is something else.

The peace brought about by nature is only temporary, fleeting. Help comes from nature's Maker.

A friend once defined an extrovert as someone who gains energy from other people. I suspect Jesus was like that. Even his retreat to a quiet place to pray was to spend time with his Father, not just to be on his own.

I've never thought of myself as an extrovert. I'm naturally shy, quite quiet, not the life and soul of the party. But I gain energy from being with like-minded people. From talking about things of the heart, things that really matter. From sharing Jesus with them.

Rejoicing

Cappuchinoed out. I've lost count of the number of cappuchino coffees I've drunk this week. Every meeting with friends has been to the song of the frothy coffee. Leisurely mornings at home with my husband have been punctuated by the sound of high pressure steam frothing yet more milk.

It has been wonderful to catch up with friends and meet new ones. It has been a joy to catch up with a girl I prayed for some weeks ago, and to hear how God is marvellously meeting her needs. It has been an inspiration to see the happiness on her face as she recounts, not how her situation has changed (it has, it seems, almost got worse) but how God has protected and supported her in countless ways.

Richard thoughtfully schedules all his leave to coincide with my holidays. Our week together has been punctuated with bike rides, meals with friends and walks with the dogs. Not for me a husband who wants to go off fishing by himself for a week, or to watch football matches. He actually prefers to spend his free time with me. Amazing!

Wednesday 22 October 2008

The Spiders

My last post was so full of chicken I never got round to mentioning The Spiders.

It is Spider Season here. The carpet has been crawling with the thin long-legged type – so ephemeral their legs snap if you glare at them. The front door has a huge web in front of it, occupied by a golden Madam who throws her washing lines in every direction and has a hissy fit if one of her threads so much as trembles. (Which they do, frequently: my breath turns somewhat menacing when I realize I cannot approach my front door without the risk of destroying the Madam’s home.) Tiny white balls of fluff, spider cases, have appeared on the floor beneath my spider plant, rolling stroppily around, resisting attempts at capture.

I have been woken at night by strange caresses, long fingers delicately tracing my cheek or neck.

I had entered Spider Season with equanimity, until the night-time caresses turned to day time horrors. Stumbling out of bed, I sleepily put on my jeans. As my foot emerged from the bottom of the leg (if that makes sense – the leg of the jeans, that is) something large and grey dropped from my toe. A spider. At least 3 inches across, stretched out. It was certainly at full stretch as it galloped towards the bed. I lunged, but missed as it reached safe haven.

Its cousin – even larger – was in the bath, glowering.

“Look, it’s not my fault I live in this house too,” I told it. But reasoning with Spiders is a fruitless task. I gave up, because I know something the Spiders don’t.

Cold weather is coming. Then they’ll be sorry they ever lived here. They’ll be moving out then – unless I get them first.

Tales of Chickens and Feral Spiders

Actually, this should be feral chickens. One arrived in the garden a few days ago. I arrived home one evening, paused at the mail box, and was startled by a scrabbling above my head accompanied by a smattering of twigs falling into my hair. A chicken was roosting in the cypress tree next to the box.

Since when had our postman turned into a chicken, I wondered? I examined it closely. Smart brown and white dappled feathers, with a tawny brown collar, a red beak… all the usual Chicken appendages. It glared at me, annoyed that I had broken its peace with my presence. Shrugging, I left it to it. It was cold in the tree, and I had a warm house to go into.

It was still there the next morning. Beneath the tree. Scratching around on the gravel, turning over dross in search of insect and grub gold.

It was still there at lunch time. Same actions. Same menu.

And dinner.

As dusk fell, it hopped back into the tree again. I contemplated asking it for a contribution towards its board and lodging.

Days later, it still occupies my garden. It evidently has chicken intelligence: the hunting ground has moved to the patch of grass below the bird feeder. This is normally Robin’s haunt: he flashes his red feathers at all who intrude, but in this instance he is nowhere to be seen. The FC must be more than a hundred times his size, so sense reigns in his birdbrain. There is probably more nous in there than in the Chicken, which must be galling for him. A clear case of brawn triumphing over brain.

Where has this Chicken come from? Where should it go? There is no knowing, but at this rate, the lawn will be scratched to pieces in another couple of weeks and the Grass Police will be on my case.

Or the Chicken’s.

Tuesday 21 October 2008

Half term holidays

I LOVE my job. It's tremendous fun. High energy, intense, exciting - never a dull moment.
Part of the reason I went into teaching is because one of my teachers said that every day was different. That sounded a lot more fun than an office job so, decades later, here I am.

But I LOVE the holidays. This is half term week, and it's such a pleasure. I have time.

Time to cook different meals, trying new recipes.
Time to meet up with friends for coffee and chat and talk and eat.
Time to go on long bike rides with my husband.
Time to take the dog for an exhilarating scamper on the beach.
Time to search the internet for resources to enhance my teaching.
Time to catch my breath before diving into the hectic run up to Christmas.
Time to catch up on emails.
Time to pray for my loved ones at greater length.
Time to reflect.
Time.

I LOVE having more time.

Monday 20 October 2008

Jesus is

Jesus is
A mirror reflecting God
An architect of creation

Jesus is
The beginning of everything
The glue which holds our world together

Jesus is
The first who survived death
The Supreme one – the best, the biggest, the most important

Jesus is
Everything God is
The one who sorts everything out with God
by giving up himself to die on the cross.

Live in the reality of God's presence
without doubt of His existence
with the living possibility that He IS
with the promise of certainty that He WILL BE.
Colossians 1:15 - 29

Colossians 2:13

Don't get caught up,
don't get trapped
with strange ideas
or godly claptrap.

Don't be deceived
by those who say
"I know God means it -
but not today.
Today I'll choose
just what I like
for I can do
what I think is right."

It's not like that
- no, not at all.
It's not up to us
When it's God's call.
So don't get bogged down
by petty stuff
don't worry over
if you've done enough.

It's not about
what you can do
-or what you can't -
or obeying the rules.
God's done it all
He's sent His son
a generous gift -
that's what He's done.

So this is what
we have to do
just accept
he died for you
and me. That's hard
to understand
for decisions are taken
from our hands.

But that's okay
if we let go
and leave our trust
in the God we know.

Friday 17 October 2008

Fun


Wow - half term - what fun!

What fun it has been this half term in school.
I cannot express the joy God has given me with my class.
A restitution for last year's struggles.
A restoration of my soul and spirit.
I am immensely grateful.

The half term finished with an exciting announcement.
We grew 25 pumpkins in the school garden. The largest must have weighed over 10 kilos - it was very hefty.
It took three small boys to carry it.

So we ran a silent auction in aid of the Tumaini Fund, which supports destitute widows and orphans in a remote corner of Tanzania.
We raised - if everyone coughs up what they have promised - over £275!!!

So satisfying, that as we rejoice in our harvest we can share with those who had nothing to harvest themselves.

Our children were very excited as I announced the winners.

But the biggest surprise of all was when our Deputy Head thanked me for organising it.

The school gave me a huge clap and cheer.

Having been told by a parent in July that all the boys hate and fear me, rejoicing when I am not around, I can't express how much that meant to me.

Sad!

Sunday 12 October 2008

Boys will be boys

I'm having a wonderful time with my class this year. They are SUCH fun and a great bunch of kids.

Nevertheless, they are still scamps.

This week, I've had:

Lost items, most serious of which was a toy which a boy was very upset to have lost. I sent him round the whole school with a description of the missing item and desperate appeals to all and sundry to help search for it.. Then, suddenly, another boy in our class put his hand up and said he had it. He described how he had 'found' it when it had dropped out of the schoolbag.
"Oh, that's fine," I said, relieved it had been found. "Where is it now?"
"At home."
Oh dear. Hopefully it will be back in school, with its rightful owner, tomorrow.

Other lost items were clothes, ownership of which was furiously disputed. No one wanted to claim the surplus blazers, sweaters, shirts or shoes. Some boys vehemently denied that items belonged to them - even when the evidence of their own name tape shouted at their eyes. There was much doubtful headshaking as the clothing was forced on the rightful owners, as if to say: There is some sort of conspiracy here. I KNOW I didn't lose this blazer. It is a complete mystery how it ended up lying in the playground. I really am not at all sure it belongs to me.

The games have been a headache as well, with the potential for serious injury. It's all great fun - but comes under the 'Only Try This At Home' rule. Strangely enough, parents don't allow boys to climb out of windows and then run round to the door, timing themselves to see how quickly they can do it. Or play games of 'chipping': hold a football between your feet and let the others chip it away from you. Funny how ankles and shins get kicked instead.

The most minor of infringements, in my book, is the 'top collar undone and shirt untucked' challenge. Yet it's the first to be confronted. Because underlying this challenge is a much bolder statement: 'Let's see who is really in charge here - me, or my teacher?'

Let those tails and ties go unnoticed, and it's the long slippery slope to anarchy. Fortunately, all it needs from me is a raised eyebrow or a marked look, and small hands start tucking in shirts and pulling up socks.

I even have them convinced I know their innermost thoughts.

Gotcha, boys.

Sunday 5 October 2008

Making Sense

Making sense - or naking sense, as I mistyped at first - isn't easy. Communicating my ideas is difficult. Understanding - making sense of - my life: near impossible. So here comes some 'naking', naked, sense.

I rarely read a blog without a sense that the writer is writing for the world. Projecting a certain persona, a viewpoint, an impression, a facade. Blogs contain naked sense of a kind - up to a limit.

Because we do not dare reveal our naked selves for fear they would look too bad.

Nor do I.

Tuesday 30 September 2008

Back - to school!

The summer has come - and gone.
My blog has been silent, but my thoughts and feelings have been many.
Too many to write.
Too difficult to write.
Too hurtful to write.

Now I am back at school.
My new class is full of delightful, delighted, delightable children.
Yet, on a quiet, grey windy afternoon, I wonder what I am doing here.

I am being creative in my teaching.
I am sharing my knowledge with thirsty minds and souls.
I am earning bread for my family's table.
But most of all, I am being obedient to the calling God has given me.

This calling might not be what I would have chosen,
and sometimes
this calling is not what I would still choose.
Yet right now, it is
what God has given me
where God has put me.

Just for now.

Sunday 6 July 2008

Off and away

Term ended last Friday. It has been horrendously hectic - with quite a lot of bad stuff. I want to forget about all that. I've had to practise forgiving as well. I think I'm getting there.

Usually at the end of term I like to collapse into the arms of a good book - or ten. Catching up a little at home but otherwise indulging in a reading fest. I don't mind too much what I read, either, although it's about time I caught up with some really 'good' reading.

With that in mind, I've just packed a suitcase or two. We're off tomorrow back to Kenya. I'm looking forward to it with trepidation. It's eight and a half years since we left, and I'm not sure I'm ready to go back yet. It's unknown territory for my feelings: they've drawn up an itinerary, packed supplies and got themselves in shape for this expedition, but who knows what lies ahead?

Watch this space. (In three weeks time.)

Thursday 26 June 2008

Tiredness

In conversation with friends tonight, I was trying to remember a certain word. I know exactly what it means. I can think of other words which mean the same. But I can't bring to mind this particular word.

It stumped one of my friends as well. Both of us knew exactly what we were thinking of. Neither of us could remember.

I'll probably remember at 1 o'clock in the morning, or some such time.

I can't remember because I'm tired. It's activity week at school. I'm enjoying being with different children from normal. It's good fun. But it's VERY tiring.

Apart from the hectic, full-on atmosphere that comes with being with dozens of active little boys, I've been on my feet, non-stop, for up to six hours or more at a time. Even a cup of coffee, or lunch, has been taken on the run. We've been to Jersey Zoo; scraped glue off hundreds of tiny tiles and then made mosaics with them; run around our medieval castle at dangerous speeds; gone ten-pin bowling; made sand sculptures on the beach.

The weather has been beautiful: hot and sunny, with a strong, cooling breeze.

Much as I've loved this week for it's variety and fun, I'm glad it's Friday tomorrow!

(PS: the word was oxymoron. How simple was that?!)

Saturday 21 June 2008

Friends, daughters and sisters

Sometimes I don't know how to 'label' people. Not that I particularly like to do that, but it IS convenient sometimes.

This week I've met with a number of different women, all who need labels.

My sister-in-law and my niece came to stay for a couple of days. I have three sisters-in-law, but how to describe them? The one who came to stay is the sister-in-law who 'lives in Kenya and is a Christian'. Then there is my sister-in-law, more than a decade younger than I am, who is the most perfect little mother to her two young sons. And another, highly intelligent mother of teenagers who runs her own business and copes bravely with her widowhood. There is no way of accurately and succinctly 'labelling' them.

Today I went to a women's breakfast, hosted by another church with a nationally acclaimed speaker. I was with sisters-in-Christ: one very close friend from my own church, others from my church and yet other 'sisters' from other churches on the island, some of whom I knew, some I didn't.

With me was the 'Dottie' and her best friend.

But how do I describe the best friend Mary?

Mary has been on holiday with us several times. She is so much past of the family that she stays over at the drop of a hat and makes tea for us all when she comes round. She is a real gift from God to our family. How do I label her?

Simple. My God'sdaughter.

Thursday 19 June 2008

Priorities

Until yesterday, I hadn't been on here for a while. So when I clicked that little arrow/triangle thing next to the bar that shows a website URL, www.mamampira.blogspot.com was way down the drop down list which emerged.

It was interesting to see what this little laptop had been looking at.

First was my school email. There is so much going on in the last few weeks of term that I look at the school electronic calendar and check my school email from home as well. I need to be prepared: sometimes, 'stuff' happens at school and I don't manage to look first thing in the morning – usually when there really IS something urgent I should have known about.

Then was the University of East Anglia website. Ah ha, Cat has been using my computer to check up on her course work marks and exam results. (Pity I can't check up on that one as well – she's out now, so I can't ask her and satisfy my curiosity.)

I'm glad to see that www.biblegateway.com comes before www.jerseymet.gov.je . At least I have my priorities right – a God forecast (looking to see what God is saying) before the weather forecast.

Then there was www.thisisguernsey.com/ecycle . Our wonderful website for recycling unwanted items. Only been going a year or so, and 8000 items recycled. I'm hunting for unusual containers to put herbs into, so I trawl it frequently. Nothing much has come up, but I could have collected, for free, a 22foot yacht, a wireless router, a children's climbing frame, a new car tyre, a set of gym weights, kitchen units, deck chairs, light fittings and any number of furniture and furnishing items.

Then there was my hotmail address. I've had it for years but don't use it much now, so I check it infrequently. Now, it's a quick reference for messages I'm sent on www.facebook.com as well. That was the next one down.

After that, the list becomes quite garbled. Amazon and Boots (shopping). A website which helps sort out router problems (we've been having difficulty getting online). Google – I'm surprised that wasn't further up the list. I just love finding out information in seconds.

Lastly – www.magicseaweed.com, set at the Guernsey page. Instant surfing news: how good the surf is expected to be and when, the height and frequency of the waves, tide times… everything you need to know.

Interesting to see my life in terms of websites most frequently visited. It's not a true reflection – just of my relationships and activities through my laptop.

Wednesday 18 June 2008

Busyness revisited

I haven't written on here for a while. Jonny came home, then it seemed we were on a helter-skelter of activity, rushing on and on from one day to the next.

The usual hectic getting Jonny off – but he’s now out in Tanzania, with his ‘brothers’ who he has known since before he – and they – were born. They’re planning a camel safari, setting off in a couple of days. It’s quiet here.

Meanwhile, school has kicked off big time. Reports to be done – hundreds of comments – with ten days notice; speech day prizes to be decided and organized; work to be finished off as activity week – and end of term – approaches; gardening club demanded weeding, planting and watering; appraisal time with the head…

Social functions added in meant that I was out almost every night last week. So busy I can’t remember what I was doing without looking at my diary!

Yet it was all GOOD. Good to celebrate the children’s achievements in their end of term reports; good to award prizes for outstanding effort, work and – best of all – progress; good to have fun and laughter with friends.

I am so grateful to God for all His goodness, even when I am so busy I hardly have time to draw breath. But now, in a spare few minutes, I can catch up. That’s good, too.

Sunday 8 June 2008

The Dottie - a dot on the landscape

I wrote here a few days ago that the Dottie was back. She started work the next day - as did I, of course - reappearing at the homestead by 5 every evening.

But visits back home were just temporary, prior to a change of clothes, a few phone calls and possibly - but not necessarily - a bite to eat. Then she was off again. And again. And again.

Even over the weekend she has been out most of the time.

It doesn't matter. She's been having fun. And so have we.

Saturday morning - some of her friends came round for a beach barbecue breakfast. Which turned out, instead, to be a full English cooked at home (it was sunny, but rather cold and windy.) The Parents were invited - great to have the coffee made for us. We had a great time sitting and chatting for most of the morning before they all vanished again.

Then, in the evening, Cat's friend Helen came back with her.

There is nothing quite as good as sitting with your daughter and her friend, having a catch up session.

Now Jonny - aka The Naked Surfer - arrives tomorrow.

Wow - full house!

Boys will be boys

Actually, I suppose boys WILL be boys. And these boys are nearing the end of the summer term. We had school exams a couple of weeks ago, and they think they're done. With everything to do with school, so why bother paying attention to anything - unless it involves cricket.

Yes, this particular Game has taken over the brains of the majority of my class. They think about cricket all the time. Every time there is a cricket match, and these seem frequent, I am left with...2 boys out of 15.

These remaining two draw funny little sketches. All the time.

I think I'll just have to go with the flow. But not cricket. Too tame for me. No, it's surfing season. I think I'll play my Jack Johnson CD in class tomorrow morning...

Friday 6 June 2008

Irritations

Boys. They can be just SO irritating sometimes.

The behaviour I've had this week is just ridiculous. It's nothing major - just lots of little things, as wearing as water dripping on stone over the millenia. Which feels like my age.

There have been boys writing on their hands, their knees, their legs, their desks, chairs... all in lessons, while they were supposed to be listening. They don't even do it discreetly - they could at least pretend to pay attention, keeping their eyes fixed on the teacher, while their hands are busy. But they don't - their focus is fixed on whatever they are doing, heads down.

Then there is the drumming. Great skill - in the drum lessons. Tapping fingers, pens, pencils, feet, knees to make any kind of sound becomes extremely annoying.

Add to that singing (tunelessly, for the most part), humming, whistling, air wheezing out of squeezed water bottles and sucking noises - even the very occasional loud fart - and I have a new type of orchestra going in my classroom.

It's not even musical - just irritating in the extreme.

Thursday 5 June 2008

Time

I'm constantly amazed by time. How it changes. Slowly, dragging - or flashing by. Often there's no rhyme nor reason to why some things take for ever and others vanish like a flash of lightning in a puff of smoke.

It's the time of year when the pace of the treadmill is picking up. Parent meetings, after less than pleasing exam results. Some meetings called by me, others by worried parents. Reports - by next week please. Children to be put into groups for activity week coming up.

The curriculum to get through, in spite of cricket matches, concerts, art events, visiting speakers... and a pack of boys who are de-mob happy now that exams are over and summer has arrived.

The next few weeks will call for great reserves of patience, tolerance, forbearance - and energy.

Sunday 1 June 2008

The Dottie

I tried to write on here this morning, when I had 1 hour and 27 minutes until 'the dottie's' arrival. (The 'dottie' is my daughter Cat, so named by my school's French caretaker who, after over thirty years in Guernsey, still speaks his own uniquely accented English. He needs a whole blog post all to himself. At least.) But my dear husband had started a scan on my computer – which took a couple of hours rather than the twenty minutes he had envisaged – and then the internet decided to go slow. Very slow. After it took several minutes just to load one page, I decided to abandon the attempt.

So, several hours later, and she is home. Exhausted: up most of the night travelling after going to the annual church ball, getting down to Gatwick by coach. Then, several cups of coffee later, the flight to Guernsey. Unpacking, then reorganising her room, took some time, as did more cups of coffee with homemade Guernsey gache, lunch, and catch up.

Now she is crashed out, asleep. The house is as quiet as if she was still away. But it is so good to have her back.

Saturday 31 May 2008

Cycling, recycling, shopping, soothing

The sun came out today - the weather was already warm early in the morning, and it stayed like that all day, feeling like summer at last.

So I scurried around, catching up on a few jobs which had been trying to catch my attention for the last few weeks. (I usually have to see a problem twenty or more times before I'll do something about it - the stuff on my desk which needs filing, dusty corners, a spot on the carpet which needs to be cleaned...) Then I whizzed off on my bike. And do I feel good about that!

In an hour I combined exercise with recyling our cardboard, cans and bottles, then stocking up with fruit and veges on my way back. The roadside stall now sells fresh red peppers and luscious aubergines, begging to be roasted or barbecued. I was lucky to get there before everything was sold out.

Not to mention refreshment for my soul. The sea sparkled, the rocky outcrops begged, as ever, to be explored and the sand glistened. I cycled past, drinking it all in, hardly noticing the time. Guernsey is such a wonderful place to be.

Wednesday 28 May 2008

School

I do love listening to the bizarre things children say.

Today, one of the boys compared the escape of King Charles by hiding in an oak tree with Jesus, when he was hiding from Mary - or was it Martha? News to me! (It turned out to be Zaccheus climbing the sycamore tree so he could see Jesus!)

Or the child, who, when asked about the probability of a particular number being picked, answered 'green'.

Boys

One of the boys is away today – he is having a minor op on his eyelid and then on a private part of his anatomy.

The rest of the class only know about the eyelid.

When his mother and I were discussing when he might come back to school and whether he should take several days off or not, I did say that the boys often like to come back quickly to show their friends what they had done to them.

Whoops – maybe not, in this case!

Tuesday 27 May 2008

Gardening – at school

Starting up a Gardening Club at school seemed like a good idea at the time. Plant a few vegetables, let the children see how they grow… there was a large waste area tucked away in a corner which was begging to be planted up.

We started last year, with pumpkins, lettuce, a tomato plant or two, some potatoes we planted in a bucket.

All grew well, with the help of lots of sun and rain, half a dozen eager little boys, and half an hour of my – and their – time once a week.

This year, we have a huge, ploughed up, plot.

Some seeds. The help of two enthusiastic parents. The same number of children. The same amount of my time.

We haven't done too badly so far. We've planted broad beans and peas. Some of the peas and beans have germinated and are growing well. Some have been washed out of the soil by our recent heavy rain – we replanted them today. And some, I fear, have been scoffed by the birds.

We have a banana tree, a couple of beds of annuals, and a patch of geraniums and gazanias. Morning glories and blackeyed Susans starting to climb the fence. Two varieties of potato, each in a bucket of compost. Marrow and pumpkin seedlings.

And still only half an hour of my time, once a week.

I have plans. I have some money to spend to get the garden going well. But I also have a full teaching timetable. And a bucket full of panic over an empty garden.

Sunday 25 May 2008

Gardening

I was forced to spend some time in the garden this afternoon. Not too much of a hardship: it was sunny and warm, so no way was I going to stay inside the house anyway. But the pumpkin, tomato and lettuce seedlings were bursting out of their pots, demanding to be replanted.

It was fun. I'd rather have been reading a book instead of getting my nails filthy, but still it was fun.

The trouble was: where could I put them? Nowhere in the garden is safe from rabbits. They LOVE lettuce and will snack on young pumpkin plants. They're not so keen on tomatoes - too strong.

I stuck a few in the greenhouse, a few outside, and a few into larger pots, safely high up and away from marauding rodents.

Now it's the slugs I have to watch out for.

Saturday 24 May 2008

Developing patience

I've had a situation which has troubled me for some time. It has just begun to be resolved. Now that things are starting to click into place, I wonder why I was ever disturbed in the first place! Looking back at my struggles, I feel astonished at myself: what on earth was all the fuss about?

A sober lesson to remind me to trust more and complain less.

Friday 23 May 2008

Boys and girls

People often ask me what it is like to teach only boys. Don’t I miss the girls?

Well, yes, I do. But there are advantages.

No.1. I think boys appreciate – or put up with – my sense of humour more than girls would.

No. 2 There are fewer episodes of falling out. Boys just don’t seem to care as much.

I can’t, at the moment, think of many more advantages. My favourite definition of a boy is: ‘A lot of annoying noise, covered in dirt’. I’m not so bothered about the dirt, but the amount of noise is phenomenal. The boys I teach usually speak at full volume. Occasionally – VERY occasionally – there is silence. There isn’t much in between.

Of course, boys will be … not boys, but humans. They have very different personalities. Some boys prefer to do things that girls do: they like quiet games, reading, and don’t play football.

I don’t have favourites, but there are always some who are easier to get on with. This year, there is a 'bushbaby' in the class. He is tiny, with huge round eyes. Cute and clever, he has a delightfully quirky imagination. I love reading his stories.

Teaching – all about personalities, relationships, developing potential. In boys and girls. I ponder about teaching mixed classes in a different school, and maybe one day I will do the girl thing again. But not just yet.

PS to Death of Commonsense

Cat also had to apply for an Enhanced Disclosure as she helped out with Sunday School. She was 14 years old at the time.

Death of Commonsense

I read this week that a primary headteacher has asked staff not to hold reception children’s hands in the playground, even when they are crying for their mums. They are four or five years old, after all.

Mad. Commonsense and compassion have been defeated by fear of litigation. Child protection issues – much needed in certain cases – have been taken to the extreme.

Some years ago, the church I attended required me to obtain clearance from the Criminal Records Bureau, proving that I was a fit person to work with children or vulnerable young people. I already had the Standard Disclosure, a requirement from the school I worked at, where I supported small groups with learning difficulties, often working alone in a small room with one or two children.

This was not satisfactory. I had to fill in an even more complicated form which would give me an Enhanced Disclosure.

What was my work? Sunday School teacher of 4 – 5 year olds, requiring me to take them to the toilet at times? Or helping with disabled teenagers?

No, I actually had no contact with children at all. My only role was in an advisory capacity as a teacher, to sit on the Sunday School Committee which met three times a year to organise the children’s program.

Maybe sanity prevailed, because I never did actually receive the approved disclosure.

Or maybe somewhere, in the depths of the Criminal Records Bureau, lies a file with a large stamp on it which says: This applicant is deemed unsuitable for work with children.

Time for a change of career.

Wednesday 21 May 2008

As things appear

Wednesday afternoon - this afternoon - is one of the best and most challenging times in my week.

I teach Art for an hour. To twenty eager, vociferous, rambunctious little boys. (Lovely word, rambunctious. It's a good adjective for the Dog Mpira as well.)

The syllabus calls for me to teach them printing. With black printing ink. Which is non-washable. (At least, it comes out of skin - eventually - but not clothes.)

This called for a bit of head-scratching but eventually I decided to divide them into three groups and print with a different group each week. There were three of us in the room - Sally, our wonderful teaching assistant and Jo, an equally wonderful helping mum - and Jo valiantly oversaw the other twelve who were busy colouring, drawing and cutting out while Sally and I tried to teach the rudiments of printing. It was a struggle.

Yet the wonder of a print appearing onto paper was brilliant. The boys couldn't contain their glee at this new magic. I wanted to carry on for ever. What an unjust timetable, that we had to stop simply because it was time to go home!

Tuesday 20 May 2008

Stones

I was down on the beach this evening, collecting tiny pebbles. I was looking for a certain size, but it didn't matter what colour. A certain shape, too – I wanted proper, well rounded beach pebbles. The kind that LOOK like pebbles.


The trouble was, there were too many of the other kind. Some with sharp edges, which haven't yet been properly rounded by the rough and tumble of the waves. I often feel like one of those.


Then there were the odd shapes – they didn't look right, didn't fit in. That's me as well, sometimes.


Then one caught my eye. It was a perfect heart shape of pale rock.


Damaged. A large chip had been taken out of one of its lobes, and there was an ugly crack running right across it. It looked extremely frail and fragile.


Yet, in my fingers, it was indeed rock hard. The crack was purely superficial.


Hearts – feelings - are wounded, but they do not truly break. We still live, even if we are in emotional pain.


This tiny chip of granite reminds me of that truth.

Life tensions

I didn’t expect to start the day comforting an acquaintance of mine. Her mother is dying – slowly – of motor neurone disease, and it was all getting too much for her. My tears joined hers as she sobbed in my arms.

Meanwhile, a classroom of boys was getting ready for a day of exams. Different tensions – some of them are quite worried, even though these are just the end of year in-house exams.

Last night, we spent some time praying with friends about relationships, for various youngsters we nurture.

Physical sickness, mental and emotional tension, spiritual growth – all part of life.

Monday 19 May 2008

Danger on the roads

Boy, I live a dangerous life when I cycle. I’m not talking about the traffic, either, though that always has its challenges. It’s the wildlife.

Last night a panther leapt out of the hedge and landed, snarling, on the road a couple of metres in front of me. I expected it to lope on across to the other side, but instead it crouched, glaring at me, ready to spring. I slammed on the brakes, yelling in fear of the impending collision. This galvanised the creature into action. It sprang forward, out of harm’s way, while I cycled swiftly on before it could turn and come after me.

This morning, a pterodactyl skimmed past my face, its fearsome claws just inches from my eyes. Further down the road, I had to slow right down for a pair of enormous water birds, cycling cautiously behind them until I could pick the right moment to overtake. Their beaks snapped angrily as they realised my ankles were no longer within reach. Looking behind me to make sure I was safe, my wheels almost skidded on the still warm remains of a porcupine – a victim of the vicious predators which roam our roads. Giant hornets and oversized mosquitoes stung my unprotected hands and face as I toiled up the final hill.

Okay, I nearly ran over a cat, dodged a low-flying blackbird, had to slow down for a couple of ducks waddling down the lane and saw a squashed hedgehog. And there were a few insects in the air. But who knows what might be round the next corner?

Home is where the heart is

It’s nearly the end of the uni term, so Cat and Jonny will be home in a couple of weeks. They have all but finished their exams, have no more lectures or course work… so why aren’t they hopping on the next plane back to Guernsey?

Why aren’t they coming home straight away?

Because home, for them, is again more than one place. Kenya is still home. Guernsey is home. Now Norwich, where they are studying, is another home.

It’s not because of the university, though. Both of them have found new spiritual homes in the churches they attend. Both enjoy helping out, becoming more and more involved in the life of the church. Becoming part of a community which has become home to them.

They – and we – are the richer for it.

Saturday 17 May 2008

Weekends

The other day, a group of us were chatting about life in Guernsey.

We have wonderful community activities. Several women were enthusing about the farmers' markets, the craft exhibitions, the local cafes.

All great fun. But I just can't bring myself to spend leisure time SHOPPING. Shopping is something that is done on the way home, or if I need to exercise on my bike. Weekends are too precious to go shopping.

With exceptions. Our local hospice depends on its shop to fund its activities, so I take stuff, buy stuff, support where I can.

Otherwise weekends are for having a lazy cup of coffee with my husband; catching up on my correspondence, keeping in touch with dear friends; talking a longer walk than usual with the dog; fiddling around in the garden. Today I pricked out herb seedlings, planted out the tomatoes, weeded in the greenhouse.

But the best of all was a visit to my dear friend Renee. It was a huge treat to spend time with her. Why would I go shopping instead?

Friday 16 May 2008

Frustration

I sometimes - no often, with this class - wonder what I am doing, trying to teach them anything.

Yesterday we went over, again, how to write a good story. We discussed the need for structure, for paragraphs, for accurate grammar. The boys planned a story themselves.

Today, they wrote the story.

After twenty minutes of solid writing - hardly a space left on the page - Max puts his hand up.

"Are we allowed to use paragraphs?" he asks.

Aarghh!

Cat and Jonny

"Parents are so useful," said my daughter Cat, when we were skyping a few days ago. "Really good to talk things over with." She was calling to discuss her complicated summer plans. She's fitting in work, going to two Christian summer conferences (one as a leader, one as a delegate), volunteering for Tearfund, visiting friends all over Britain and going on an activity holiday to Switzerland. (We almost dragged her off to Africa with us too, but that's another story.)

Balancing time, money, working out what's best for her and the friends she cares for and supports. She's incredibly giving, loving and generous.

So is Jonny, her twin brother. He finished his exams a couple of days ago, but he's not coming home until the beginning of June before he goes off to Tanzania to meet up with some of his best friends, Jesse and Trevor. They've known each other since before they were born. Are now continents apart. Still great friends.

So Jonny is hanging around, being a good friend as only he can. (Watch him in a group. He has identified the newcomers and come alongside them, befriending them and drawing them in, before you can blink.) And helping out at church. On a Sunday, he's up at 6am to help go and set up ready for the services. I am so proud of him and his servant heart.

I won't embarrass them any more. I could go on and on. I won't.

Tuesday 13 May 2008

Honesty

Honesty keeps cropping up frequently this week.

Today, it was two friends discussing different social functions they had had to attend.

Both felt profoundly uncomfortable. One was embarrassed, the other so overcome by the urge to giggle that she had to leave as soon as she decently could.

The reason for their discomfort was the people they were with. Women with breasts hoisted up to their collarbones; faces lifted, botoxed and tucked up; dressed as twenty year olds, whose sole topic of conversation was the sandals they were wearing. The atmosphere was stifling: all about appearance, maintaining a facade, pretending to be other than who they really were.

My friends are beautiful, elegant women. Both are bright, with a wide range of interests. Both are very honest, real people. Neither could cope with the falsehood underlying the relationships in that particular social set.

Jesus often talked about the dangers of fussing with our appearance and trying to make ourselves look good in front of others, rather than attending to what we are like on the inside. Something to remember.

To be true, to be honest, to deny any appearance of a lie - this is how to live.

Monday 12 May 2008

Discombobulated

Wow, what a word. It means confused, disconcerted, upset, frustrated. One of the local vicars used it in school assembly this morning – and one of the boys knew what it meant! (Which must surely mean that his parents have used it… I wonder why…)

It's a good word, though. It could describe my state of mind quite accurately.

I'm in danger of becoming discombobulated because…

…we won't be seeing some of our oldest and closest friends, after a four year gap, this summer.

….we can't decide on holiday plans.

…I have so much on my mind that I'm getting very little done.

At school I have to:

Organise our school delegation to the Primary Schools' Congress for the day after tomorrow. I and the School Council chairman need to decide which issues we will present, organise the most important points and brief the delegates. We have a twenty minute slot tomorrow to do all that.

Organise our next School Council meeting

Plan and organise the school garden – a huge bare area of soil at present

Run the cycling proficiency club well enough for the boys to pass their road tests

Rewrite the PSHE and Citizenship scheme of work

Review the PSHE and Citizenship policy

Make sure that Walk to School week – NEXT WEEK!!! – is promoted properly.

That's all without teaching, marking and preparation.

'Ware discombobulation!

Sunday 11 May 2008

Honesty or, The Great Cake Analogy

Ironic that I've been thinking about honesty. The vicar mentioned it this morning. The necessity of being honest with God.

And, to my mind, with each other as well.

Ironic also, because I just made a cake. I just love analogies. This is my latest. The Great Cake Analogy.

My cake making is... okay. The cakes usually taste good, even when I don't measure the ingredients properly. But it's a bit hit and miss - partly because I don't make cakes very often, so I forget how to do it. As for icing... well, it's always necessary. Necessary because I really like the icing best of all, and necessary to hide all the lumpy bits. The cakes never turn out with good smooth, level surfaces. There are bumps at the side and on top, but nothing that a layer of icing can't cure.

The trouble is, icing isn't good. It's calories your body doesn't need and sweetness which damages the teeth.

I do other damage to my life, if I'm not careful.

My life is like one of my cakes. Lumpy, bumpy and doesn't look good, although it doesn't taste too bad. Yet a lot of the time I ice it over, so no one can see the ugly bits.

My icing is made of politeness, dissembling, camouflage and hidden emotions. It contains lies, which are very useful for covering up hurt and difficulty, the sort of lies on the lines of 'I'm fine, thank you,' in answer to 'How are you?'. It is smoothed down with the hot water of positive thinking - if I don't admit to the problem, it will go away.

People can't connect properly if I am not honest about my life. If I gloss over difficulties - particularly if I cover them with holy optimism and Bible references - others cannot see the real me. Icing over my life isn't good for me.

Am I prepared to be honest with God? Am I prepared for people to see the uncovered ugliness that is like one of my cakes before cosmetic treatment?

Saturday 10 May 2008

PURPOSE

Every so often, I find myself reviewing my purpose. What am I here for? Or: What on earth am I doing here? Even: What on earth do I THINK I am doing? And even more frequently, What have I done to get myself into this mess and how can I possibly get out of it?

I won't attempt to answer those questions. Not here, not right now anyway.

But I came across some thoughtful words. Ruth Haley Barton in Longing For More, IVP (ISBN 978 184474 2059, because I've only read an extract in a magazine which I will no doubt lose and I do want to get the book sometime).

She has reminded me that:

  1. I need not be defined by other people's expectations of me.
  2. My purpose is to reflect God's character, to love him, and to be honest with him.
  3. My purpose is also to acknowledge and develop the abilities he has given me, in the situation he has put me in.

Easy.

Not always simple, but easy. As long as I keep these priorities in mind and take opportunities daily, not putting them off.

So…I can certainly develop kindness with every chance to help someone out.

I can take time to write a few thoughts. I can't draw or paint, although I am beginning to wonder if I might be able to if I tried, but I can use words.

I can become more expert at organising my class, a church cleaning party, a Bible study for home group, and keeping my house clean and tidy. Well, the latter isn't done quite so well. That area of my organisational abilities probably needs developing more than others.

So God is like a photographer in the darkroom of life, maybe. The developing fluid sloshing over the imprinted photographic paper is life with all its challenges, sloshing over us. As we respond, our picture – who we are – emerges. How God must be delighted to see the completed photo emerging!

Friday 9 May 2008

Precious messages

Remembering the good old days of letters, when I kept them by the trunkful. Then I made several major moves - to other countries, other continents - and I had to throw many away. The sorrow was mine alone - I am sure the senders had forgotten all about them long before.

Now my precious messages are by email, on the internet, in text messages to my mobile phone. The latter reminded me just now that the memory is 80% full - time to empty the inbox and sent items folders.

Yet there were a few I just couldn't bring myself to delete. Here they are - for my memory, really.

From Catharine: HAPPY mother's day! love us so much, ur such a special mum! Xxx Xxx big hug Xxx

From Jonny: HAPPY MOTHERS DAY! Love you very much. Have a card on my desk for you. Anyway see you in two weeks or so.

From Jonny: Hey nun am having a great might in church. I love you so much you are such a fantastic mum!

They won't read this, fortunately, so I'm not embarrassing them. (We do talk, so they don't need to keep up with me by reading my blog!). But it's all very special. Mothers, I suspect, rarely feel as if they are doing a good job - there are so many things to do wrong - and I'm a prime example of Muddle Through Mothering. It's amazing that Jonny and Cat have turned out the way they have, but that's another story...

Oh well - I can go empty the inbox now...

Fog

Liberation Day today, commemorating the day when Guernsey was freed from Occupation by the Germans during the Second World War. It's an emotive day for many Guerns, particularly for those who lived through the Occupation or who were evacuated to England. Some of them had no idea about what had happened to their families for the duration of the war. Some of the children, many very young, had no contact with their parents for six years.

Suitably, the day has been foggy. The foghorns have been sounding relentlessly as waves of fog roll in repeatedly from the sea. At times, the fog has looked as if it is clearing, the sun's warmth starting to seep through the clamminess. Yet over and over again a chill wind breathes across the island and we are enclosed once more.

When you can't see clearly – not even to the end of the garden, the edge of the beach, beyond the rocks – there is a sense of hopelessness. Just as there must have been during the Occupation. Yet the Bible reminds us to keep hoping:

No king is saved by the size of his army;
no warrior escapes by his great strength.

A horse is a vain hope for deliverance;
despite all its great strength it cannot save.

But the eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him,
on those whose hope is in his unfailing love,

to deliver them from death
and keep them alive in famine.

We wait in hope for the LORD;
he is our help and our shield. (Psalm 33, verses 16 – 20)

Hope is mentioned over 170 times in the Bible! My favourite is in Romans Chapter 5, verses 3 to 5: "…we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

Hope does NOT disappoint us! We are indeed liberated when we trust our lives to Jesus. Hurray!

Wednesday 7 May 2008

Behaviour

My class still haven't figured it out. That when we are in full flow of a lesson, 'get out a pencil' does not actually mean 'start a conversation with your friend'. And that I don't expect them to start sniggering for no reason, call across the class or play with their desk lids while I am explaining to them what they are going to do. They don't get that, either.

So, every time it happens, I write the name of the perpetrator on the board, or put a tick against a name already there for repeat offenders. Three strikes - and they lose a chunk of playtime. Football time, actually, which is worse than just hanging around time.

Today they got the full teacher treatment. "This lesson will be more fun if I am having fun. And I am not having fun right now because I am too busy having to write these names down."

Shocked silence. They got it. For a while, anyway.

Observed

Yesterday one of my lessons was observed by the headteacher – part of a yearly appraisal of my performance, a system called performance management.

Great title. Every lesson is a managed performance. An observed lesson is just the same, but more so.

You always prepare hard for one of these – write up a detailed lesson plan rather than keeping the ideas thrown around in your head. We have lesson objectives, learning intentions, criteria for success, learning outcomes, introduction, plenary, resources, key vocabulary… whoa, I haven't finished yet – cross-curricular links, differentiating for high and low achievers, and links to the national curriculum. Phew – I might as well play Who Wants to be a Jargonaire?

This lesson was less straightforward than most. The subject: PSHE and Citizenship. The letters stand for Personal, Social, Health and Emotional education. I'm the coordinator. The job seems incredibly huge and never-ending: start looking into one area and you have three more to consider before you can blink. Training days are fascinating but you never feel as if you return 'trained' – just with a longer 'to-do' list.

Yet teaching about life is absolutely fascinating, because I'm teaching people about people, rather than about rivers, or long multiplication, or clauses, or… the other building blocks of education.

My lesson, planned in detail, ran away with itself. The preliminary discussion threw up a comment from one boy which I was supposed to extract, after all the various carefully planned activities to draw the pupils out and develop their thinking, in the plenary at the end of the lesson. I felt like a sailing boat in uncertain winds – constantly adjusting my sails, changing tack, altering course while still trying to keep everything safe and dry.

But life is messy. I can try to manage a lesson carefully, but, as long as we all stay afloat, we're bound to be thrown around and get wet.

The bell went before we had even begun to scratch the surface of our topic: embarrassment. Now how embarrassing is that, as a teacher, to teach to the bell without drawing the lesson to a satisfactory conclusion, making sure that the pupils know what they have learnt from the discussions and activities?

It didn't matter. Chaotic though the lesson seemed to be, I knew it was good. The children's eyes had been opened, their hearts touched, their thoughts spurred awake. That's teaching.

Monday 5 May 2008

Dog language

Haven't had a post about Mpira for a while, which he reminded me about just now. I've been on the computer all day with one thing or another, and he doesn't think much of it. Hence the heavy sighs and mournful expression.

Not that he can complain. He's had his walk. It's lucky he can't read, because he knows that walk is translated as:

"I'll just take the dog out"; "I'll take the dog for a w a l k"(spelt phonetically); "time to take the dog for a WALK" (spelt in letter names, hence the capitals); and even the sentence "I'm wondering about…" elicits the walk response.

How does he know? He comes and watches when I put my trainers on; but never my boots or shoes. He follows me if I go upstairs (which is where the socks are kept, and everyone knows you can't wear trainers without socks). He sits and looks at me, then looks pointedly at the door but refuses to go outside.

The dog tricks are coming along a treat as well. I got him to do them today for the prospective pleasure of having a cardboard tube to tear to pieces. It's not all about food.

Drowning

In many countries in the northern hemisphere, boats are taken out of the water for the winter and put back in the spring. This happens especially in Sweden, where even the sea may freeze over. Fishing dinghies are hauled out and laid upside down, or stored in sheds or garages safe from the ravages of the weather, until spring arrives.

Imagine the scene. It is a beautiful sunny day in early spring. The ambient air temperature is still cool, there are no leaves on the trees, yet the tiny blue flowers of the spring anemone are poking their heads out of the damp ground and there is no ice anywhere. Time for the boat to be readied for the summer.

The simple wooden dinghy is delighted that it is being prepared ready for action. It can't wait for the sensation of waves gently lapping around its bows, the sway of ripples nudging its keel, bobbing along the edge of the jetty before it moves away from the land. The feel of the water gliding along its planks as it is slid into the creek is utterly delicious. It is afloat. But suddenly the sense of freedom disappears.

The boat is pulled back close to shore and heavy rocks are loaded into it. The boat's timbers groan under the weight as the gunwales sink lower and lower into the water, until the boat can bear no more. Yet still the rocks are loaded in. With a last gasp as trapped air bubbles up, the boat sinks onto the bottom. It is only a few centimetres below the surface in the virtually tideless Baltic but that makes no difference. It is incapable of floating. Drowning.

This has to be done. During the winter, the wood has dried out, shrinking, becoming brittle and porous. Were the dinghy to be put straight into the water and used, the unaccustomed strain on its timbers would cause stress fractures, splitting the wood and creating fissures and leaks. Leaving the boat in the water like this gives it time for the wood to swell up and regain its former strength, so that it can be used and do its job properly.

This is what Jesus said in the gospel of John: "I am the Real Water and my Father is the boatyard owner. He chops up any boat which is not useful and sends the timber away for scrap. Every boat that is useful and does its work well, he takes care of carefully by drowning it first, soaking it in my water, so it will be able to float again. You are already soaked in me by the message I have spoken.

"Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a boat is no use unless it can float on the water, you can't be really alive and useful unless you are joined with me. "I am the water, you are the fishing boats. When you're saturated with me and I am in you, the relation intimate, the fishing catch is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can't catch a thing because you won't even be out there putting the lines and nets out. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you are able to catch fish, when you mature as my disciples. (Chapter 15, verses 1 – 8).

This is, of course, a paraphrase but I think that's what Jesus might have said had he been Swedish. Really, he is talking about grape vines and farmers. (Look it up.) He actually talks about 'branches' in him being 'pruned back' so that they will bear more. Painful, for the branch. So is drowning, for the boat. It can be agonizing for us when God, through life's circumstances, seems to be cutting us back, drowning us in difficulty.

So we can take heart from Jesus' message. That our difficulties are a necessary part of our development. That without them we will not grow back and become stronger, more fruitful, more useful. When we're submerged in pain and trouble, let it be a light at the end of our tunnels. We will be better for it.

Sunday 4 May 2008

Decisions, decisions

Sometimes it's really hard marking decisions.

Sometimes, just deciding whether or not to have another cup of coffee takes a little thought.

Sometimes that's just ridiculous.

A cup of coffee? For heaven's sake.

For heaven's sake, the price of a cup of coffee can make the difference between life and death.

Sometimes I need to decide very very carefully about that cup of coffee.

Saturday 3 May 2008

Our vicar's induction

The church looked great last night. After all our hard work cleaning, the floor gleamed and the pews were dust-free. Several huge floral displays were banked up at the front of the church - there is a wedding today.

But last night's occasion was of greater significance than even a wedding . After nearly a year without a vicar, the time had arrived for the new one to be formally introduced - inducted - into the church.

It was quite a performance. All the local churchmen were there, the Dean of Guernsey, various lay readers - all robed up and sitting behind the altar facing a packed church. There was much standing up and sitting down, surrounding various rituals - ringing the bell, washing hands in water at the font and promising to baptise, accepting the key to the door, a bible, a prayer book, a concordance; making countless solemn promises.

It was all quite beyond the experience of most of us. We are indeed an Anglican church, but very informal. Ritual and liturgy are kept very low key, happening seldom. Responses among the congregation encompassed incredulity, bewilderment, amazement, amusement...

Yet it was all very comforting. Hearing the new vicar who will be leading the church make promises was reassuring. He confirmed that he will guide us according to the beliefs of the Anglican church. Of course, there is a careful selection process, but there was still something inherently safe about the whole service. Our new leader will, we hope, continue to take us on in our lives with Jesus, without sidetracks or distraction. We are all pointed in the same direction, and the induction service confirmed it.

How boys see things

Had the most wonderful conversation with a child this week. In a very bizarre way.
He had been disciplined by his History teacher, losing some of his playtime. I asked him what he had done.
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "I did two bad things."
"Can you tell me what you did?" I enquired.
"Well, I can only remember one."
I smiled encouragingly.
"I told Tom how to spell Guy Fawkes," he said, his huge eyes looking up at me with the innocence of a bushbaby.
Incomprehensible. It is not even as if our expectations of behaviour are exceptionally high. Further conversation elicited that he had not been given a task to do.
"So Mrs Robinson was teaching the whole class, was she?" I inquired.
"No," was the reply, "she was talking to Andrew."
It turns out that Andrew had asked a question.
"So what were you supposed to be doing?"
"Listening."

He wasn't, obviously, if he was talking to his neighbour. Hence the discipline.

Quite an insight into how a boy's mind can work. Evidently, if someone in the class asks a question during a whole class discussion, no one else is required to listen. Hmm.

Monday 28 April 2008

Back to work

I know I shouldn't be tired first thing on a Monday morning - but I am! The weekend was so busy that I feel I need a bit more of a rest!

Yet Saturday morning was great. Up early to grab a hired floor polisher and off to church. 50 of us gathered to spring clean. This hadn't been done for years, and in the meantime we had built an annexe - a church centre - on the side which had just been finished, so there was dust everywhere. The real heroes were the two youngsters who tackled the debris outside, collecting a bucketful of concrete bits before sluicing the cobblestones clean. Without them, the church would have been dirty again within minutes as the dirt was tracked in again.

We had great fun. Chatted to people we hadn't caught up with for ages, moved furniture, found dust in places no one had ever been before... and then afterwards stopped for coffee and cake.

We'd called it a Praise and Power (Cleaning) Party. Some of us gathered together in the quiet of the centre. It is a haven of peace, quiet and full of calm. The perfect place for reflection and prayer.

Thursday 24 April 2008

Friends again!

I can't believe how blessed I am this week. I have just realised that I have met up with friends every single day since last Saturday, in spite of going back to work on Monday. Not just casual friends either, but people who I can be completely real with.

There is nothing, nothing as good as getting your elbows on the table over a meal, and putting the world to rights. Bringing God into our conversation, and our concerns and joys to Him in prayer.

Thank you Renee, Jane, Ian and Sarah!

Tuesday 22 April 2008

Friendship in the rain

What a day yesterday. We were blessed with rain for hours on end. Everytime I went outside, it was pouring skywater. I cycled to school, dried off my clothes, cycled home, dried off my clothes, cycled out to friends for supper, dried off my clothes, cycled home... by that time it had stopped raining.

Inside, though, there was nothing but warmth. My day was spent learning art techniques of block-making and printing, getting wonderfully messy. It is amazing to learn something new, especially for one whose best efforts at drawing result in stick figures. Yet my 'arty' efforts turned out all right: my fingers seemed to know what to do even though my head was clueless, absolutely devoid of imagination.

The evening was full of fun, laughter, restorative chat, ending in prayer. A washing of my soul which had nothing to do with water and everything to do with encouragement and affirmation.

Monday 21 April 2008

New nephew

Here I am with my new nephew Gabriel - aged 4 weeks.

I was amazed to find that he didn't start screaming as soon as I held him.

(He was ALREADY screaming. Not only that, but he actually STOPPED!)

The recipe: a good bit of jiggling and a lot of patting on the bottom seemed to work well. For a while, at least.

I guess I must have done this before.