The joys of travel; fitting everything in; what to do in the event of fog.

Hmmm.  I'm off island tomorrow evening, going for a day conference in London. I should be back Friday evening. 12 hours after my arrival, I'm hosting one of my monthly ladies' breakfasts.

Today it is foggy. All the flights have been cancelled. I'm wondering if a) I'll be able to leave tomorrow, and b) if I'll get back in time.

I've left lists and phone numbers with my long-suffering husband. Lists of items I need taking out of the freezer or preparing, in case I am delayed until the next day; phone numbers in case I have to cancel. Or ask another friend to host in my place. In my house. Not sure that that will work, but it's worth a try.

Hmmm....

Grief

Grief is an odd thing. It becomes familiar, and its familiarity is resentful. It resents my return to old haunts. It jumps out from behind an invisible bush, chastising me for daring to put myself somewhere - without the dog. It pokes spitefully as I walk down a familiar path. Reproaches as I gaze at a particular view. Reprimands for waking up alone. Scolds in the silence of an empty house.

The first times were the worst: then I became accustomed. But now, with every new twist and turn of the seasons, grief seizes its opportunities to pierce me again with sorrow. A change in the light, the smell of flowers, a memory of cut grass, the mallards which roam unhindered across the lawn - all bringers of a spring without Mpira.

I know the first year of loss is the worst. I know I have to reach, journey through and emerge from each new month. To experience it for the first time without him. Then, next time, grief's misery is lessened, paled, diluted, diminished.

All this over a dog.

Moving less sucessfully

I've been reading a blog post called Called to the Crazy. The author, Tsh Oxenreider, talks about moving countless times and relates how her kids are fine with uprooting because as a family, they’re grounded. 

I wish that had been true for my family. I thought, like Tsh, that the glue that held us together was our trust in God. And it was. But there was a huge 'but'...

I too have moved, but not so successfully. We made a difficult move BACK to our own culture – displaced, disenfranchised inwardly while outwardly we looked – and were expected to be – ‘normal’. The children were teenagers, enduring grief, separation, loneliness, bullying…our lives were crazy but, save that ‘God works all things together for good’, not ‘crazy good’. It was an awful time which we struggled to be positive in.

I know that a ‘good attitude’ makes a huge difference, but I do wonder how we can exult in our calling, rejoicing in God’s goodness and plans when reality so often bites us.

I wish we could have had a better, more trusting attitude. It was just really, really hard and I suspect is so for many.

She claims that every one of us is 'called to the crazy'. God calls us often into the unknown, the uncomfortable and that it's not really so unusual. After all, there are various Biblical examples which suggest that God does indeed call us out of our comfort zones.

Tsh Oxenreider says "So when He calls us to the crazy, we can follow knowing His plans are for His best."

I wish.

Coffee morning

I had a coffee morning a few Saturdays ago, to raise awareness and funds for Christians Against Poverty – twice as many people came as I was expecting (parking was ‘interesting’) and it raised over £400, including donations from staff members who didn’t even come – very generous.  It was just fun to get people together – breakfast this Saturday!  I hadn't done one before - just baked a few cakes, put out lots of cups, tidied downstairs and cleaned the windows and bathroom - but it was quite easy. I think I could quite happily do a coffee morning every week!

Good things

A busy busy day of good things.

A morning of preparing good food and sweet treats.
Of brewing coffee, making tea.
Of  welcoming friends, old and new, into my home. (37 of them. Adults, that is. And children besides. Wow, what a squash!)

An afternoon of thankfulness.
For wind, and waves; gardens and greenery;  generosity and growth.
For husband of more than 26 years. Precious times.
For children, grown up, yet still hysterically funny 3 year olds in my memory. (And in video clips.)

An evening of relaxation.
Talking to a beloved daughter.
Praying for dear friends.
Laughing over blessed memories.

Busy busy day!

When I get the time…

When I get the time, I read blogs. They encourage me.
There are so many amazing people out there, all writing
about the amazing things they do. Amazing.

Then I think about all the amazing people I know.
They are so busy doing amazing things
they don’t have the time to write about them.

But then I can’t read about  them and I can’t be encouraged.
Even if I have the time.
So…? Too busy to write? Or not busy enough?

Not here

Missionaries here
talk about Africa
as being
'out there'.

But Africa
is not 'out there'.
Africa is here,
in my heart.

So I am not here.
Not entirely. My heart
is in Africa.
I am

somewhere inbetween.