Persistence

We spent a week of the Summer holidays on various beaches with a bunch of friends and an assortment of windbreaks, towels, buckets & spades, camping chairs, cool boxes and flasks of coffee. It was ACE.

One beach in particular was just breathtaking. We ended up there on one of the warmest days of the holidays and swam and played in the sea without wetsuits. Apparently the beach, Barafundle Bay is one of the top 12 in the World and we didn't even have to leave the country to get there.

After a few hours the tide began to creep up the beach. The gradient of the sand was such that there was a steep-ish bank and a ridge of sand about 30' or so from our camp.

Wouldn't it be cool, we thought, if we could create a massive sandcastle at the top of the ridge that would withstand the waves and allow the kids to STAND on top of it? The kids were too busy playing in the waves (and failing to save a long-since abandoned sandcastle from being swallowed up by the sea). But the adults in our group got to work. 

The spot at the top of the sand ridge was chosen and digging implements assembled. I don't know if you have had first hand experience of this, but adults can quickly build an impressively huge sandcastle without children getting in the way. We had a system. We had plastic spades. A common goal. Five of us chucked the sand on, and one stood on top and compressed the sand down, flattening it layer by layer and making it strong enough to support the weight of the 8 children we collectively own.

Within half an hour it stood imposing and strong on the beach. It wasn't an ornate or decorative thing, but it was fit for purpose, topped with a large flat sandy platform to accommodate 16 feet (maybe more- if everyone huddled up like penguins). The tide was still a few feet away and we still had time to save ourselves. Yay!

I scrambled up to join the bigger children. I pulled the smaller kids up one at a time. It was a squash. But it didn't matter because no one stayed long. There were still holes in the sand to be dug. And seaweed to collect. And it's far more thrilling to climb up a massive sandcastle then immediately jump down again than to simply stand atop it and wait for Sandcastle Armageddon. 

Apparently. 

I didn't try it.

Once up there I stayed. Initially this was to pluck the smaller members of our group from the jaws of the approaching waves. But pretty soon (probably due to OCD-related reasons) it swapped and became a battle of wills in my head. If I get off of this thing before the sea washes over the top of it, then the sea will win. I don't want the sea to win. Therefore I will stay here.

When the sea is only a few feet away, but those few feet are slopey, waiting for the tide can take a lonnnnnngggg time.

Sometimes there were 5 or 6 of us up there. Sometimes I was alone. Although the sun was still shining, it was dropping in the sky and lack of movement made me shiver. The constant scrambling up and down of many small feet dislodged slabs of sand from the sides, so I patted them back in again. And waited for the end.

I was cold. And horribly sandy. If I could only get down and rinse off in the sea I could get dry and warm and maybe there was some hot water left for TEA?

But that would involve getting down, and then the sea would win.

By the time the waves reached the foot of the castle, some of the kids had got too cold to be wet and were already back in clean, dry clothes. Those left ran up the castle wall and waited for the structure to collapse.

But Armageddon was still a while off yet. We had built the sandcastle pretty high. The game of choice changed from climb up sandcastle and immediately jump down into sand, to climb up sandcastle and immediately jump back down into sea. It looked fun. But if I tried it, that would involve getting down, and then the sea would win.

So I froze a bit longer as the waves slowly eroded our fortress and (rather excitingly) flowed over the ridge and back towards our camp, leaving us stranded on our artificial island. 

After another 10 minutes or so the next wave washed over the entire sandy platform, and the game was over. The sandcastle had gone, but we had WON!!

The remaining islanders washed off in the sea and rejoined our group to a round of applause. When we turned to leave, all that was left was a flat expanse of sea and sand with only a broken spade handle suggesting anything had happened.

OK. F/Fwd to this Sunday and we are in church. Singing a song I've never heard before. Part of it went:

You are everything you've promised, 
your faithfulness is true
When we're desperate for your presence, 
All we need is you

I really struggled to sing this. Not just because it was unfamiliar, but because it wasn't true. At that point in time, if I had the chance to itemise the things I was desperate for I would have said:

1. For my in-box to be empty
2. For the rain to hold off so the 4 loads of washing I did yesterday can dry
3. For the children to be head-lice free (a process I embarked on this morning which took the best part of an hour and a half and resulted in 3 of us being half an hour late for church, and probably the reason why I'm not desperate for anything else right now).

What's wrong with me? 

Then I remembered the beach. And some other things too.

If I can:

• waste an hour and a half of my life sitting like a pixie on top of a pile of compressed sand in order to win a self-created mind game with the Atlantic Ocean

• complain to HMRC via repeated recorded delivery mail over 4 years, 2 MPs and several house moves until they finally lose interest in me and my alleged 'overpayment'

• find 90 seconds every single day to breed dragon pairs and collect fake coins

Then surely I demonstrate my capacity for stubbornness and persistence which can be channelled into something that means something. I just need to be obstinate about things that matter and not give up praying about stuff when it doesn't happen right away.

Jesus said to his disciples, “Suppose one of you should go to a friend's house at midnight and say, ‘Friend, let me borrow three loaves of bread. A friend of mine who is on a trip has just come to my house, and I don't have any food for him!’ And suppose your friend should answer from inside, ‘Don't bother me! The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can't get up and give you anything.’ Well, what then? I tell you that even if he will not get up and give you the bread because you are his friend, yet he will get up and give you everything you need because you are not ashamed to keep on asking. And so I say to you: Ask, and you will receive; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you. For those who ask will receive, and those who seek will find, and the door will be opened to anyone who knocks. (Luke 11, 5-10)

Just say an individual wave got disheartened from crashing into a huge sandcastle then just gave up? A single wave dislodges and rearranges several hundred thousand particles of sand and nothing more. But wave after wave after wave can do this.

Ask

Seek

Knock

And Play in the Sand

Interruptions

We are in IKEA in the restaurant. A mid-shop snack is called for. We get:
• Dime bar cake (me, K and E)
• Peach Jelly (J)
• A mini strawberry flan for Madi (that J will likely end up eating because the only bit she really loves are the strawberries on top). 
There's a fair bit of mouthful swapping going on. I am not interested.

J: Try this mum- it's lush!
Me: No thanks.
J: But you LIKE jelly (This is true- I very much do) 
Me: Yeah, but just not right now. I'm in the middle of a chocolatey thing so it doesn't really go.
J: Then have coke in between.
Me: But I'd still be going back to the chocolate thing again right after a fruity thing and that's not right. 
J: Just mix them then- see! (He nicks another bit of my Dime bar cake, then takes a spoonful of jelly. Chocolatey Dime bar cake and peachy jelly are in his mouth TOGETHER!)
Me: Ewwwh! That is just wrong.

K laughs and compares my approach to food to life in general. I never realised before that moment, but in an instant I make the connection and know he's right.

I am a linear person. Begin, plod, complete, tick, move on.

But I also do right brain stuff and any creative exciting idea that steals into my head during a repetitive boring one will be given priority. Which is why I don't do interruptions that well. 

When there are 10 things to do at once which all are pressing to urgent, I'll pick the nearest one and get on with that. A triage system would be of benefit and let me schedule stuff in order of importance, but that wastes doing time so I just jump in and tackle the nearest thing first. 

Then when that process gets interrupted by the phone / door bell / a more urgent email / the need to cook tea, I get irritated and wish we had normal boring 9-5 jobs. Unless the interruption involves typography, high resolution images or emulsion paint. Then I embrace the interruption and flag the email until later. 

But I hate leaving ANY task half done, so my left and right brains are often in conflict. I have been known to leave a crying child for a good 5 minutes if I've almost finished the washing up and there's no haemorrhaging.* I will let the answering machine take a message if I'm halfway through any task involving addition or subtraction. And I hate waking up in the middle of a dream and missing how it ends. 

* Please be reassured. I stopped washing up when confronted by THIS.

Clutter (pt 3)

I somehow missed The Matrix at the cinema and instead watched it a few weeks after it was released on a boxy 28" TV in my living room having borrowed a really poor quality video pirate from a mate at uni. 

It completely blew my mind. 

I'm actually quite glad I didn't see it on the big screen - I fear I would have completely lost myself and wrestled even longer with the disparity between film world and real life that a good movie or book always leaves me with. As it happened this particular film hangover lasted only until the next morning.

The construct loading programme featured in the film is an incredible premise. The construct is the default appearance of the Matrix - a massive ongoing computer simulation, which has enslaved humanity. Until programmed by the controller, the construct is endless- an eternal white expanse of nothingness with the potential to become anything and everything.

But until programmed, the construct is shapeless. The characters plugged into it are present and can interact with each other, but their surroundings are bare. There is nowhere to hide and no distractions.

Is authentic worship being in that head space with God? Where nothing else matters and you see only him?

Not the person next to you.
No actual or made up interruptions.
Just Jesus.

So much STUFF gets in the way that it's almost impossible to get to that place most of the time. My head is far more Where's Wally than Neo and Morpheus.

Stuff invades our heads from all kinds of sources and lots of it rightly so deserves time and thought and effort. But then there's other things on the fringes that refuse to remain there and if unchecked, gradually crowd into our souls until we've completely lost sight of that little red and white bobble hat.

And then as if everyday distractions weren't enough, sometimes the stuff originates from within the church, or through practises and traditions that are meant to bring us closer to him. (How much of what we do is an aid to intimacy with Jesus and how much of it is just religiosity to hide behind??) 

Not everyone who calls me ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven, but only those who do what my Father in heaven wants them to do. When the Judgment Day comes, many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord! In your name we spoke God's message, by your name we drove out many demons and performed many miracles!’ Then I will say to them, ‘I never knew you. Get away from me, you wicked people!’ (Mat 7:21-23)

Whoah that's harsh...

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. (Matthew 22:37)

I don’t want to be first on a list of values; I want to be at the centre of everything. (Jesus, The Shack)

And there it is. The antidote. Like a heavenly paracetamol+liquid brufen combo for the worst toothache ever. And a bit less daunting than confronting demons.

More of you
More of you
More of you
Amen x

Milestones

When kids are tiny, they're forever doing new things for the very first time. First smile. First roll over. First tooth. It's like Bam! Bam! Bam! One milestone after another in a Yep done that, what's next? kind of way. Then eventually the milestones seem to get further and further apart- which is probably just as well as otherwise reception kids would be driving themselves to school.

Once the health visitor's little red book has been rendered redundant (at some point after the stabilizers have been abandoned but before first legal drink), conversations like this are a fantastic way to chart the progress of offspring:

All 5 of us are walking past the park on the way to a friends house for lunch. E is being unusually stand-offish and weird. The pavement is wide enough to accommodate at least 3 people yet he seems to feel the need to walk either 2 paces in front or 2 paces behind the rest of us. I suddenly realise it's because we are in PUBLIC and there are teens nearby.

Me: Ah... You're being like this cause of them, right? Help me out- was I was being too familiar?

E: (Responding while not looking at me) Yes you were.

Me: Ah, sorry. Forgot.

Keith: What if we do THIS? (Grabs my hand and we start skipping) Does this embarrass you mate?

E: No, I think you'll find you're only embarrassing yourselves.

Me: How about THIS? (Me & K kiss. Extensively. We make our point and then some more)

E: Eww but no. Still embarrasing yourselves...

Me: Yet you're still walking with us? Ah I love you... (toustle his hair)

E: No DON'T touch me!!... (Age 12 1/2)

M: Daddy- can I have a kiss too? (Age 7)

J: (Laughing and slapping his knee) Kiss each other again- that was FUNNY! (Age 9)

Questions

It is evening. It's past E's bedtime but we are chatting and chatting because he's in the mood to do so. I am under no illusion that this is likely no more than a sleep stalling strategy but I don't care- it's nice to still be included in his world (albeit on the fringes).

When he talks about school I find it hard to relate. Not because I've been in his high school on only five occasions EVER, or because my old high school is 421 miles away from his current one. But because I was able to determine that his high school is 421 miles away from my old high school in 5 seconds and 2 clicks. 

When I was at school this same calculation would have taken the best part of half an hour, produced as many different result as there were small groups, and would have involved over-sized maps, rulers, pieces of string and endless bits of scrap paper. 

Ah the pre internet era... We had blackboards back then. And typewriters. And 'Social Education' which grew up to be PSE.  

Please Save Electricity
Planet Saturn Explodes
Poor Slaves to Education

I wonder if PSE lessons now are as useless as Social Education was then?

I found it to be full of vague guidelines about behaviour and rules and opinions which just seemed to raise more questions than it ever answered. Then no one wanted to appear ignorant and ask them.

After chatting for 10 minutes about school and Dragonvale and how Jackson can now eat an entire chicken legend burger on his own, we move onto the subject of questions and how it's OK to ask them. 

E rarely has any questions - for me, anyway. He gave up believing I have all the answers a LONG time ago, which is fine because obviously I don't. But now it's gone so far the other way that he's suspicious of any information he hears first hand from me and will usually validate it from another source before adopting it as correct. It's exhausting. But good I suppose- he's becoming an abstract thinker.

Me: So do you have ANY question at all that you think I'd be able to help with?

E: No, not really.

Me: Are you sure there's NOTHING you can think of to ask me? 

E: I can ask you ANYthing?

Me: Course you can mate.

E: What's the square root of 356?

Me: I have no idea.

E: What's the square root of 490?

Me: Don't know that either. Maybe you need to think of questions you have that are NOT maths related...?

E: OK- What would happen if you added liquid nitrogen to de-ionised water?

Me: I don't know. I was expecting different types of queries really...

E: Oh about feelings and stuff?

Me: Yeah. Try one of those. 

E: You know... I AM a bit scared actually... that I won't get to sleep tonight...

Me: Really mate- why's that do you think?

E: Because you might not leave.

Vanity

In an egocentric attempt to find out how many of you read this and where you are all from I was clicking on the stats for this blog. (May I extend a BIG hello to all of you who live far far away from South Wales by the way- especially if you are not in the US, Romania or Canada as I have no idea who any of you are!)

Anyway, after clicking around for a bit I found traffic sources which was quite interesting, as Stephen Fry would say. Most of the referring sites were general searches and some were from friends' blogs, but there was another blog-sounding site I didn't recognise, so I clicked on it. 

I don't have firewall software on my lap top cause the kids don't use it. And I missed the keeping safe online lectures at school because there was no internet when I was at school. I was unprepared.

The link wasn't a blog at all but a naked woman, posing as if for some post natal examination of stitches. (I assumed this position for a midwife some years ago, so I know whereof I speak).

There was no blog. There was no narrative about child birth. There was no information about stitches either. Just BIG pictures, a name and a phone number.

So now I am very worried. Why did someone looking at that site get directed here??? What kind of messed up algorithm have you constructed to make our 2 sites even remotely affiliated, Mr Google?? 

I feel violated. 

Painting

We have finally bought a house and decided to stay there- yeah! This involved carting all our belongings across town yet again with the help of some amazing mates who were fed and watered for less than the cost of hiring a removal company, and who also offered childminding and decorating services before, during and afterwards which conventional removal companies don't. Thank you! (You know who you are) Xxx 

In the first few days after the move Madi desperately wanted to assist with the painting operation and asked on several occasions to help. Keen to exploit encourage this interest and reduce the amount of time spent in front of the TV develop life skills for the future, I employed the technique that was used on me as a child when I asked to decorate- I gave her a cupboard. With a laminate floor. 

I supplied the paint (Cloud Whisper), a 2" brush, a dust sheet for the floor inside the cupboard, another different coloured dust sheet for the carpet immediately outside the cupboard (the decontamination area), and got her to put on her scruffy clothes (a long sleeve t shirt and torn jeans, both hand-me-downs from Jackson).

We went over the instructions again:
• Dip brush up to HERE
• Transfer to wall
• Repeat
• Don't worry about the edges (I'll fill those in)
• Reach up as HIGH as you can (I'll do the super high bits)
• When you get fed up and want to leave, put your brush HERE
• Stand at edge of dust sheet
• Remove scruffy clothes and socks
• Progress to decontamination area and wipe hands on THIS cloth
• Check soles of feet for traces of Cloud Whisper, and if negative-
• You may go

Operation Paint Child could begin.

Madi loved it. I loved it too. Painting is fun and painting with someone else, even a 7 year old child with no previous experience, is even better. As we progressed around the cupboard, I painted the high bits she had no way of reaching. I mopped up splodges of Cloud Whisper which had begun running down the wall in little rivulets. In other places the yellow wall beneath was still showing through, so I filled in the gaps with my bigger brush. 

When she finally decided to stop, the cupboard was pretty much finished. I assisted with the decontamination (as above) and off she skipped to get dressed and watch telly with her brothers.

I surveyed the completed project and painted over the last few imperfections that were left. Then I cleaned up and decontaminated myself (which involved only naked feet, not my whole person). 

I could have painted the cupboard without Madi's help. It would have taken roughly the same effort to paint alone than it did to paint with her, then smooth over the flaws afterwards. The effort I either saved or spent isn't the issue.

It was the process itself that was significant. We spoke about all sorts of stuff while we worked together. And Madi definitely benefitted from contributing to a project that was bigger than herself. 

I think there's a massive correlation between spiritual stuff and the scenario described above. The more I think about it the more I feel like a kid with a paintbrush, clumsily but happily slopping paint on the wall and enjoying being with a parent who could do whatever needs to be done without help but chooses to involve me anyway. 

My prayers are not perfect. I concentrate far too much on some issues and the paint starts to run. Then I skim over other more important things that need more input and the colour beneath isn't obliterated yet but I've already moved on to another bit of wall.

But it doesn't matter. I'm sharing the same paint pot with someone who loves me and who can reach the high bits.

Arrival

I seem to be in an incredibly long tunnel. I have no idea when I got here or how. It's probably a dream then- either that or I'm an architect in Inception?

The ground is covered in a soft moss-like surface. I'm walking far quicker than I know I'm capable of and I cover loads of ground fairly quickly with hardly any effort at all - like I'm on a travelator at an airport. I can't see a source of light but the walls themselves have a dull glow about them so I can see my surroundings easily. The environment is completely alien to me but I'm not anxious. I'm not excited either. I just am.

I gradually become aware of a light up ahead. The tunnel is coming to an end. As I get closer still I see there is a mesh like material all around the exit. I brace myself for getting caught up in it, or maybe waking up. The mesh looks quite flimsy so maybe I'll be able to rip it and get through. Instead when I reach the material, I put my hands out and there's nothing there. 

I stumble out into a bright and noisy courtyard. I'm completely overwhelmed. My senses have gone from minimal stimuli to maximum in a second. There's colour, sky, sunshine, birds, music, trees and people- lots of people. Pretty much shoulder to shoulder. Jostling. Chatting. Laughing. Singing. Crying. Hugging. There's even a conga line of them snaking past. All nationalities are here. And all ages- little kids walking hand in hand with old people. Maybe even different eras are represented too- judging by what people are wearing. There are business like people, kids in school uniform, other kids in jeans and t shirts, soldiers in military gear, goths, tramps, hippies, surfers, elegant looking people in designer labels and everything in between. Some of them look like they've just stepped out of an old photograph- except they're not black and white but dressed in muted browns and greys. It's such an eclectic mix of people it's like a costume party.

The courtyard appears to be part of a city built on a hill. The walls are painted white, dazzling in the sun. There are passageways leading off it in every direction, intersecting with adjacent buildings. As I'm processing all this and trying to orientate myself, a stranger makes his way towards me, jostling a few people out the way and breaking through the conga line (shouting 'Oh- sorry, excuse me..') then when he reaches me his smile grows even wider than before and he embraces me in the biggest bear hug ever. 'You're here at last!' he exclaims, 'I can't believe it!'

I squint stupidly at him because I'm certain we don't know each other. He's wearing a stripey cotton shirt (the non iron crinkly kind), ripped jeans and a navy bandana. I study his face and will my brain to access some clue as to his identity. He's in his 30's maybe with a goatee beard. His kind dark eyes bore into mine, crinkling at the edges with his smile. He is genuinely made up to see me (or whoever he has mistaken me for). He squeezes my shoulders and chuckles to himself 'I've been waiting ages you know- AGES...'

I open my mouth to tell him he must be thinking of someone else when he suddenly grabs my hand and starts pushing past the crowds, towing me along 'Come with me- there's so many people you need to meet!' Before I can argue we're off- pushing our way through the laughing, hugging, singing, conga-ing crowds. In and out of buildings, passageways, cobbled streets and more courtyards.

I am introduced to loads of people, some of whom I know and some I don't. Each one of them seems to know the friendly stranger in the bandana though, and our progress is hampered by exchanges between him and various people who approach us. I am still totally disorientated but don't have time to ask questions- even of the people I know, as I am constantly being whisked away to meet someone else or see a fountain or statue or something else of interest.

One of the people he takes me to is John, an elderly bloke I knew as a child. When I knew him before he was blind, but now his eyes are bright, sparkly and 100% functional. He touches my face with his hand and says I look just like my voice. I want to ask him how long he's been here and who exactly is this stranger in the bandana who has mistaken me for his long lost friend, when I am tugged off once more with 'Ah there she is- come on. See you later John!' And off we go again. John waves to the back of bandana man's head and as I look back at him, he's laughing and dancing with the people on either side of him.

My tour goes on for ages. There are endless introductions and reintroductions. I loose track of who's who and how they are related to each other. I'm exhausted by the newness of it all and yet not breathless at all, even though the city streets are steep and hilly and we have been rushing around between all these different buildings.

Eventually we come to the biggest room yet. It is HUGE with a long wide table down the middle of the room, laden with food. There are big bowls of fruit of genetically modified proportions (grapes the size of satsumas, melon-sized oranges), silver covered serving dishes with delicious smelling contents and pitchers of water with yet more sliced fruit floating on the surface. No one seems to have time to stop and enjoy it though. There's too much chatting and excitement. 

We pass by the top of the table and I'm being led out to an annexe of the hall when I spot the throne. It's the most impressive looking thing ever. Elevated 2 steps above the rest of the room and about eight feet high. It's made of gold with dozens of glistening stones embellishing the sides and back. I know at once the jewels are authentic and it belongs to someone of massive importance.

'Where's the king?' I ask, trying to slow down and look at it properly.

'Huh?' Asks the bandana guy, barely slowing down and excusing us past yet another group who are in the way.

I stop dead. He's still holding my hand so rebounds back towards me. 'Where's the king?' I shout this time and point to the throne. He waves a hand at it dismissively. 'I'll sit down for a while later- I can't sit still for two minutes now you've got here!' He takes my hand and turns to go off again, but I tug his hand hard and force him to stop and look at me.

I uncurl his fingers from mine and turn his hand over. My heart lurches up to my throat, suddenly pounding wildly like I've been running up and down cobbled city streets for the past few hours and it's only just realised. I grab his other hand and examine it too. Like the first, this palm is also badly scarred. A loud sob comes from somewhere near my stomach and I crumple. 

The crying is uncontrollable. I sob against his chest in a mixture of awe and love and appreciation and snot. I'm so overwhelmed I think I might explode. Like a little child who can't command their emotions, I struggle to express them AND breathe. I cling to the bandana man digging my fingers into his arms and choking on my words 'I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...' 

He's silent for a while, like he knows I need to say it, then eventually disentangles himself from my grasp and holds me at arms length, staring at me with his head slightly cocked to one side. He looks happier yet (if that's possible) and maybe even slightly bemused. 'I know you're sorry. You told me before. A long time ago- remember?'  

'Yes but this time I reeeaaallly truly am!' 

I have never meant those words properly before. NEVER.

'I know. You said before. I forgave then. We moved on- yeah?' He embraces me again as my breathing slowly returns to normal. Then he pats my back furiously and yells in excitement, 'Oh there's Karen, from your student halls- 4th floor- remember her? Come on!' And he grabs my hand and we dart off together through the crowds.

Holding his hand, I laugh and run and know I am awake.