A Non-scare

“Fluff, what does ‘gullible’ mean?” Chip asks her big sister.

“It’s a swear word!” Fluff sounds shocked. “You mustn’t say it!”

Chip looks at her sister. “It isn’t.”

“It is!” Fluff is insistent, although she is smiling. Chip is unconvinced.

“Muuuum?”

“Hmm?” I look up.

“What does ‘gullible’ mean? Fluff says it’s a swear word.”

“It’s not swearing.” I pause. “There’s no such word, Chip.”

“Really? Fluff said it was a swear word!”

“No, it’s not a swear word.”

********

Two weeks later we are waiting in the hospital for me to see the breast specialist about a lump in my *breast. It is the same hospital in which we visited my dear mother-in-law before she died three weeks prior. Emotions hang raw in the air.

I am sitting with my new crochet project and Chip is quietly reading. She is, like her mother, addicted to stories.Suddenly she jumps up and runs over to me, her index finger against a word on the page.

“See, Mummy!” She cries, “It is a word!”

I look at the page to see what she is pointing at. I smile up at her and all of a sudden she gets it and looks at me with dismay, then disapproval and then amusement. There is a gleam in her eyes that I know means she is thinking of a way to get me back (the girls and I love jokes, but Daddy and Prince not so much, so we don’t play jokes on them). Prince wants to know what was funny and so I explain to him, several times, until he understands and grins. A difficult day becomes a little lighter.

*******

*It was just a large cyst, which was drained with an enormous needle. I am prone to them, apparently.

My word I was grateful that it was only a cyst! Not because we wouldn’t have somehow dealt with/struggled through any eventuality (because who has a choice in these things?), but because the last few months have been really hard. This non-cancer-scare actually felt like a bit of a turning point for me. It’s not just the grief of losing someone you love that can cause distress after the event, but the weeks leading up to death during which a loved one is suffering. I had become consumed by my mother-in-law’s suffering. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I researched strokes and vascular dementia and end of life care, etc., etc., just to try to find some answers that would limit her intense distress. I came up with very little, to be honest. I just wanted to make her feel better. She was clearly distraught and in pain. I eventually realised that ‘the Lord gives and the Lord takes away’ and there was not one thing I could do about it either way, except be there for my husband, and pray. I don’t think I did a very good job of either.

Sometimes a non-scare can give you a bit of perspective.

Who?

Who said this: “[My uncle was] a shameless old man who taught us obscene folk songs in Genovese dialect. That’s why none of the words of the little Genovese I know is repeatable”?

Was it –

a) Donald Trump

b) Pope Francis

c) Prince Philip

d) Silvio Berlusconi

 

Scroll down for the answer 👇👇👇

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Answer: Pope Francis (yes, really!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Bull’s Horns

We’re having a lovely holiday in the Peak District at the moment. Home very soon. No camping for us this year because I’m really not well enough, so we found a cottage that was not too expensive and here we are. I have had the use of a mobility scooter, which at first left me feeling really down. Also, my Dad said something that made me feel quite bitter, for a good few hours. It would have soured the whole holiday, if I had let it. Dad’s a professor and a highly regarded one at that. He has just spent a fortnight teaching an exclusive Masters course to some very high-paying students at a lavish English hotel.

“My love,” Dad said, “You’re more intelligent than 90% of the students I teach. It would be such a shame for you to not finish your degree.” He said this because I told him I had signed up to continue my degree from October, but that if it didn’t work out this time I was going to throw in the towel and admit defeat. I’ve spent five years studying so far and have only earned ¹⁄3 of an honours degree. Illness and circumstances have repeatedly got the better of me, though I love learning.

To get back to the point, I don’t want to start using a wheelchair or mobility scooter as a regular occurrence – just as I don’t want to give up my degree – because that seems like an admittance of illness as my life state, rather than keeping my focus on getting better, ‘pressing on to win the prize’, as it were. But it occurred to me, as I was negotiating painfully narrow paths and inattentive pedestrians, that instead of feeling humiliated I should grab the bull by the horns, so to speak. So ever since I’ve been wheeling my way along humming this:

As you listen, imagine not a boldly handsome machismo who only has to blink and a scantily clad lady falls at his polished black feet – and into his bed two minutes later. No, dear friends, I ask you to imagine instead an overweight, not-quite-middle-aged woman in a mobility scooter careening along the pavement of a sedate English town. She has about her a vacant, yet determined, air somewhat akin to a female Mr. Bean. A Mrs Bean, if you will. Got the image? There you go. That’s me.

In and Through Us

Jonah moves into a jealous and resentful rage when the Ninevites actually believe his message, so Yahweh says to Jonah… “Am I not free to feel sorry for Nineveh?”

The foundation is being laid for a universal compassion and not just a small superiority system which is what Jonah, the unwilling prophet, seems to want. I think the story of Jonah is the much needed journey from ministry as mere careerism to ministry as actual vocation, from doing my work for God to letting God do God’s work in and through me.

~ Richard Rohr

Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality

(highlighting is my own, for particular emphasis)

I do love the story of Jonah! It’s one of my all time favourite bible stories. Jonah is so very flawed. He’s so funny, like a small child, in the way he tries to first run away from God, and later, having done God’s will, gets grumpy about the fact that the people actually obeyed! A bit like the prodigal son’s brother, perhaps? You might not believe it (ahem) but I have been known to get grumpy myself… It is wonderful to know that my small-mindedness doesn’t get in the way of His grace 😉

Redeeming Grace and Wellington Boots

********

From the archives:

multicolouredsmartypants

My little girls are going to Theatre School for three hours every Saturday. They love it. They’re rehearsing for a Christmas show. Chip was singing Silent Night in the car this morning and when her off-key, cute little-girl voice sang these words, my eyes filled up:

‘…with the dawn of redeeming grace’

And later I read these powerful wordsfrom Pastor Boudreaux over on A Pastor’s Thoughts.

That made me think: I could so easily have succumbed to anger, to hatred, of those who abused me, as a child and then as an adult. But somewhere I realised that anger and hatred hurt me more than them. I realised I had to let go. That’s not to say the anger has gone completely – if I think about either of them I am so angry and incredulous that they did what they did and that (seemingly) neither of…

View original post 294 more words

Mild Mannered Meanderings

Conversation with Chip on the way home from church:

“Mummy, I’m the only one in my class at school who is a Christian.”

Me: “Are you? How do you know?”

Chip: “I’m the only one who goes to church.”

Me: “Oh, ok.”

Chip: “Amelia is a… she’s a… something-or-other Christian. A Viking Christian.”

Me (suppressing a laugh): “A Viking Christian? Are you sure?”

Chip (hesitant): “Maybe… Er… It’s something like a Viking Christian… A Saxon Christian? A Catholic Saxon?”

Me (unable to suppress the laugh any longer): “Do you mean a Roman Catholic?”

Chip: “Yes! But she doesn’t go to church.”

Conversations with Chip: Zombies, Spaceships and Doing the Conga

“I had a funny dream last night, Mummy,” Chip said as we made our way to school.

“Oh yes?” I replied.

“Yes. I dreamed that giant zombies came and destroyed Sir William Walters School!”

“Oh dear!” I said and, knowing the way my daughter’s mind works, added, “Was it a nightmare?”

“Not really. I dreamt that I got married to Duncan… Ugh!” She paused, clearly momentarily stunned by the revoltingness of the notion.

“So the giant zombies came and destroyed the school and you got married to Duncan…?”

“Yes. Ugh!” She shuddered again. “But it was ok because we had magic rings and we used our wedding rings to kill the zombies and restore the school! Hooray!”

We smiled at each other. “Well that sounds like it could have been a bad dream but wasn’t in the end.” I said.

“No, it wasn’t a bad dream in the end.” She smiled.

“I had a funny dream too, last night.” I said. “I dreamt I went in a spaceship to Beijing. It was great!”

“Beijing? In China?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t really… and the night before I dreamt I was in a Catholic church lining up to get communion and we were all doing the conga.”

Chip laughed. “Doing the conga?”

“Yes! And in the dream it didn’t seem weird at all. It just seemed like we were all happy and loving God.”

“Well, then, I suppose if it was real God wouldn’t mind as long as everyone was happy.”

“No, Chip, I don’t suppose He would.”

******

N.B. I take no responsibility for the state of my head, or that of my child. We both know our minds work a teensy bit differently from the norm but, hey! That’s how God made us. For any and all comments or complaints please consult the Manufacturer. We’re happy enough; we have the Manufacturer’s Guarantee 😉

You Know You’re Married to a Clever Clogs When…

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when, at the dinner table, your 12 year old asks about the differences between cattle and sheep farming and your spouse launches into a 30-minute lecture on the different types of soil, breeds, crop rotation, etc.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when his idea of kicking back on a Saturday night is a wee dram of Soplica.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when he points out that it’s not a ‘wee dram’ because it’s not Scotch whisky.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when the next item on his Saturday evening agenda is lying on the bed, undoing his shirt buttons and… watching a lecture on ancient Judah (we know how to partaaay).

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when he objects to his daughter wearing the ‘wrong’ type of Roman helmet for Roman Day at school (she’s mixed her centuries – shocking!).

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when your mother-in-law tells you that when he was a little boy his favourite things were dinosaurs and museums.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when his two favourite tee shirts are:

philosoraptorgrass_fullpic and piberationalnavy_fullpic

both from Snorg Tees.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when he lets you borrow the Maths one (hee hee – still makes me chuckle).

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when you exclaim, “Oooh! Did you know…?” and he always says: “Yes”.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when he recalls how he fell in love with your mind as much as anything else.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when the extended family affectionately know your spouse as the absent minded professor – and it’s an accurate observation.

You know you’re married to a clever clogs when all these things serve only to make him more endearing 😉