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.