tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20562155760727891422024-02-07T02:58:35.845+00:00Life in zee BurrowOur burrow eez MOST marvellous place to be. All you computermabober persons are so very welcome here also. I have many thinkings in my head each day. Most of them are rather uninteresting (like why Burrow be so messy AGAIN and where are fahzer's keys?) But some thinkings are bigger than theez and make muzzar's head go all whoo hoo so I type them here. For you and for me. X Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger178125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-80912216164457892422022-10-02T17:07:00.004+01:002022-10-02T17:23:31.938+01:00Rocks and hard places<p>Here's a picture from our recent 247 Prayer Room. This activity station had 2 rucksacks that people were invited to pick up and wear. The instructions were...</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-SJ7e0zpA3l3tlB7bG_J0FFIF2Grtf8zzsZARgd9Oc9ViBXKJ5HCDhS-LWsATY-n2oPU5OObGx1UJ0kM8L6o5_nPDZacE7sTGSy0DUQMSTgxqeFtt_r_cErU3C0wgxJCLtex_rjyeDFkaBK0ATZd-aS3W5bW8zCq_Jf6-dYwl44aqvClQoorWJIDLw/s4032/Rucksac.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-SJ7e0zpA3l3tlB7bG_J0FFIF2Grtf8zzsZARgd9Oc9ViBXKJ5HCDhS-LWsATY-n2oPU5OObGx1UJ0kM8L6o5_nPDZacE7sTGSy0DUQMSTgxqeFtt_r_cErU3C0wgxJCLtex_rjyeDFkaBK0ATZd-aS3W5bW8zCq_Jf6-dYwl44aqvClQoorWJIDLw/s320/Rucksac.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: #999999;"><p>Choose a Rucksack</p><p>One of these rucksack is filled with rocks<br />The other one is filled with water<br />Both are heavy, but only one is useful</p><p>What are the rocks in your life?<br />What refreshes and sustains you, like water?</p><p>Ask God for help to put down the rocks and supply you with water.</p></span><p></p><p>I tried on the water rucksack, buckling it up the way a Runner would. It had a built in bendy straw thing so you could drink the water while wearing it. I wandered around the room feeling heavier than normal as the water sloshed around. </p><p>There was a treadmill at another prayer station. I ran on the treadmill with the water rucksack. I pretended to be a Runner. I imagined being super fit and drank water from the bendy straw. (Is Covid still a thing?) I ran for 10 minutes and got bored. </p><p>I swapped the water rucksack for the rock one and ran on the treadmill some more carrying the rock rucksack instead. I ran for another 10 minutes and got fed up. I am not a Runner.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJb3HeeuSLaelH60k-WpAZG5E8lswag4TVXenktFl4-MdrQrzkDzvhDobCnTuYAe_yc0aUwvdi4POTvihJN8RwEHYSlGVuE8eEmMZu0Q0QjwFdSxIuKoN2LZM-79HvF3yw5g0VoTfsjyOVLvvjAb0vL9O8Is8N8FT9HjOMZpLZAWAMeH6ROYcIruh5Q/s4032/Treadmill.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTJb3HeeuSLaelH60k-WpAZG5E8lswag4TVXenktFl4-MdrQrzkDzvhDobCnTuYAe_yc0aUwvdi4POTvihJN8RwEHYSlGVuE8eEmMZu0Q0QjwFdSxIuKoN2LZM-79HvF3yw5g0VoTfsjyOVLvvjAb0vL9O8Is8N8FT9HjOMZpLZAWAMeH6ROYcIruh5Q/s320/Treadmill.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>I got off the treadmill, but didn't discard the rucksack of rocks. </p><p>I pottered round the room and did all the other activities. After a while, the rocks got uncomfortable. When I lay down on my stomach to write stuff and read, the weight of the rocks on my back made it hard to breathe. The water rucksack had been heavy, but had moulded to the contours of my back and distributed the weight evenly - plus it got lighter as I drank it. The rocks were always bulky and weighty and dug into my flesh through the material of the bag. </p><p>I thought and prayed about the rocks. </p><p>What are they and why do we carry them? </p><p>Some people don't have rocks (lucky them). </p><p>Some people do have rocks but don't seem to mind them. Their rocks don't cause problems because they have coping strategies and support mechanisms in place. They structure their lives wisely and are flourishing - even when life has rocks. That's great too. </p><p>Some people have rocks but deny having them - which is OK if they're still functioning for now and not ready to deal with them yet. </p><p>But what about the rocks we have that we want rid of? </p><p>What do we do with things that are heavy and damaging and just plain wearisome. Why do we lug them around when we could could be carrying the water? Or nothing at all - and just stopping regularly for coffee and cheesecake?</p><p>The reasons are many and swirled in my head until I made this flowchart. (There are probably countless other reasons why we carry rocks around but the prayer room was finishing and I had the last slot and limited time to think).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFP30ES7I35aLh6RMDz5bi2ponvXFM1Jwgv4eTtaQWLAohiMtxjaUfHRaEX1E7X7mINxnq5lzD6fUzTHMX4Ni5buqadpE-XAcN5_PKaRkVPIIZ3COvj2b1qPwkD3MNgIca02kJIeYwMgzLj-N-3ea-gtsK77xByhd2vPTtsxVulYaKiTMakk0pW8_2Fw/s4032/Flowchart.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFP30ES7I35aLh6RMDz5bi2ponvXFM1Jwgv4eTtaQWLAohiMtxjaUfHRaEX1E7X7mINxnq5lzD6fUzTHMX4Ni5buqadpE-XAcN5_PKaRkVPIIZ3COvj2b1qPwkD3MNgIca02kJIeYwMgzLj-N-3ea-gtsK77xByhd2vPTtsxVulYaKiTMakk0pW8_2Fw/s320/Flowchart.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>1: It’s just a season in my life, and for now, this is my rock and I need to carry it. </b></p><p><i>That’s fine! How can I help you with that? We are instructed help each other carry their heavy stuff!<br /><span style="color: #999999;">'Help carry one another's burdens, and in this way you will obey the law of Christ'. (Gal 6:2)</span></i></p><p><b>2: I don't know what's wrong with me - I put the rocks down then pick them up again. Repeatedly...</b></p><p><i>How amazing that you KEEP putting them down. If you can't stop picking them up - then keep doing what you're doing and put them down again when you realise they are back. I salute your perseverance.</i><br /><span style="color: #999999; font-style: italic;">'Happy are those who remain faithful under trials, because when they succeed in passing such a test, they will receive as their reward the life which God has promised to those who love him.' (James 1:12) </span></p><p><b>3: They are a part of me- I inherited them</b></p><p><i>OK - but did you check that out recently? Because something quite remarkable and incomprehensible happened when you became a Christian. </i><i>In purely physical terms, DNA isn’t as static as we once believed. Some genes get turned on and off due to environmental factors, age or injury. In spiritual terms, it gets even weirder. </i><i>There was literally a BC version of you and an afterwards one.</i></p><p><i>How critical are you of thoughts like this? </i><i>Check what you believe about your inheritance. Is the rock still really yours to keep? Forever?</i></p><p><b>4: It just hurts </b></p><p><i>That must be exhausting. What drugs are you on? (Honestly - Thank God for pharmaceuticals). </i></p><p><i>Also - without minimising it or denying it exists or dealing with the current real time effects of the pain, can you see this situation any other way? Could you zoom out to a viewpoint beyond the boundaries of the pain and see something bigger? (Like when Chandler goes so far over the line it <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pgp33-EVqXk" target="_blank">becomes a dot?</a>)</i></p><p><i>Or as Jenn Johnson sings in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHlRSZkz5vU" target="_blank">Gravity</a>:<br /></i><i>But then You come<br />And take me by the hand<br />You say come up here with Me<br />And then my feet came off the ground<br />You lifted me above the clouds<br />As I look down the whole world seems so small<br />Past the stars through space and time<br />And I forget what's left behind<br />As I'm surrounded by these grander things<br />Up here in perfect harmony<br />You're orchestrating galaxies<br />They're lighting up as far as I can see<br />The majesty <br />The mystery<br />Your gravity<br />Pulls me close to You<br />And I can breathe again<br />Here with You<br /></i></p><p><b>5: It’s comforting to have the rock - even tho it’s uncomfortable and painful - it’s FAMILIAR.</b></p><p><i>I get that. After carrying something for so long, it can be scary to put it down. Who <b>are</b> we anyway without all our packaging and memories and experiences that brought us to this place - right here, right now? </i></p><p><i>You look like you could be a Runner, though. Why not put the rocks down and try on this rucksack instead? It's heavy, but you're strong from carrying all those rocks around. </i><i>Just try it on and feel the weight of it and give it a go. The rocks will still be here if you really want them back again. </i><i>Drink from this bendy straw thing when you're thirsty. Just letting you know - I've used it myself, but I wiped it afterwards and I don't have Covid.</i></p><p><i><b>6: OK - I might try the water thing, but honestly - I prefer caffeine. And did someone mention cake?</b></i></p><p><i></i></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-88437479430107125052021-09-05T23:40:00.001+01:002022-09-18T23:51:05.870+01:00Legacy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82DX95fRVvbBro7XTFm4BaOPbwGrrI_vjrIiEjZyBjASX4OBfgsvuZmDDSkryQImn0hBzsW-DT3VXg62MVI0kAKSQOYQFwoJEfXVrH3uGVqCSoZa_nbDaGUVlA5zRJ7denqQHwHBJJ82qARyfd3Ambhz_9zV4pxSLSwWzlRc6YrB3kZ2rBEWayMjvQw/s1024/Baton.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="483" data-original-width="1024" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82DX95fRVvbBro7XTFm4BaOPbwGrrI_vjrIiEjZyBjASX4OBfgsvuZmDDSkryQImn0hBzsW-DT3VXg62MVI0kAKSQOYQFwoJEfXVrH3uGVqCSoZa_nbDaGUVlA5zRJ7denqQHwHBJJ82qARyfd3Ambhz_9zV4pxSLSwWzlRc6YrB3kZ2rBEWayMjvQw/w320-h151/Baton.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Scene 1: Spending time with an old friend this Summer</p><p>In all the years we lived near each other, we did life together as extended family. Having each other's front door key. Knowing each other's number by heart (before speed dial). Refrigerator rights. Making toast in the other's kitchen. All that kind of stuff. Catching up was easy and familiar and wonderful.</p><p>As we spoke, I realised our versions of our shared past weren't quite aligned. I had to remind her of the massive part she'd played in the formation of us as a family and the type of parents we went on to be. I remembered their house as a place of acceptance and encouragement and welcome. Hanging out there was one of my favourite places to be because I could do just that - BE. </p><p>Her memories were different. The good stuff had faded and the melancholy and anxiety had taken over. In their place was regret about stuff she'd done or said wrong - or things she'd failed to do completely. Some of that <i>might</i> be true, but it was a skewed version of reality that left out all the good bits. And that's not fair, honest or true.</p><p>So we reminisced. We remembered together and talked about all kinds of stuff. We shared challenges - historical and current - and recommitted to pray for each other more regularly. It was sooo good and over too quickly.</p><p>-----------------------------</p><p>Scene 2: A couple of weeks afterwards, I found <a href="https://youtu.be/8yqa-SdJtT4" target="_blank">this podcast </a>with Yeonmi Park, a North Korean defector who was trafficked out the country aged 13, along with her mother, eventually ending up in the USA. Yeonmi now lives there and campaigns for human rights. Her life story is chilling and horrific and inspiring. We know almost NOTHING about the atrocities that really go on in this world. The main thing I couldn't shake was that the regime in North Korea is pure death. It’s destructive, controlling and joyless and has claimed the lives of countless numbers of its citizens with no real accountability. The slightest hint dissent is punished severely - spilling out beyond the individual to their family, neighbours and friends. There is widespread death by association. And it's happening right now. </p><p>Even if a person gets out, they're still not truly free as anyone they've left behind is still a target. </p><p>The guilt is infectious. </p><p>It continues down the bloodline and can't be erased. </p><p>-----------------------------</p><p>Scene 3: We’ve started singing in church again. It’s pretty wonderful after so long. The other week we sung <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUtll3mNj5U">The Blessing</a> that became really popular online during Covid. <br /><i>May His favour be upon you<br />And a thousand generations<br />And your family<br />And your children<br />And their children<br />And their children</i></p><p>As we sung, the 2 opposing worlds were clashing in my brain: <br />North Korea and God’s Kingdom. </p><p>I was consumed with the realisation that guilt and death aren’t catching anymore. </p><p><b>Grace is.</b></p><p>I was singing and crying and thinking about the conversations over the Summer. Praying for my kids and all the people I'm forever connected to. Those of us still working things out. Rehashing what’s gone before. Changing things. Taking detours. People just living and finding our place in the world. </p><p>Why do we get so obsessed with our immediate children (and perhaps grandchildren), when our story is way older and bigger and deeper than that?</p><p>This is not North Korea.</p><p>Grace is infectious. </p><p>We live and breathe because of it. Complicated yet beautiful stories and being written and rewritten all over the place, as we're refined to reflect our creator. Our legacies ripple out to places we don’t even know about. They will touch the lives of human beings not even born yet. </p><p><i>And your children<br />And their children<br /></i><i>And their children</i><i><br /><span style="color: #666666;">And their children<br /></span></i><i><span style="color: #666666;">And their children</span></i><i><br /></i><i><span style="color: #999999;">And their children<br /></span></i><i><span style="color: #999999;">And their children</span></i><i><br /></i><i><span style="color: #cccccc;">And their children<br /></span></i><i><span style="color: #cccccc;">And their children</span></i><i><br /></i><i><span style="color: #eeeeee;">And their children<br /></span></i><i><span style="color: #eeeeee;">And their children</span></i><i><br /><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">And their children</span></i><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-4518132078830027312020-09-21T01:18:00.005+01:002021-12-12T14:33:38.277+00:00Hybrid worship<p>A few years ago, the mother of a little girl with cerebral palsy contacted the New York City Ballet and asked if they could run a workshop for her daughter. The little girl loved music and dancing and all things related to ballet - and the mum figured if her daughter felt this way, then others with physical limitations probably did too. </p><p>The ballet school factored in the complications of wheelchairs, uncoordinated movements, muscle spasms and leg braces and said <i>Yes</i>. The professional dancers designed a programme, publicised it, ran the workshop and got the kids to <a href="https://www.thisismedtech.com/children-with-cerebral-palsy-given-the-gift-of-dance/" target="_blank">put on a show for the parents afterwards</a>. </p><p>The parents obviously loved it. </p><p>Some of these kids could hardly walk, but for that show on that particular evening - these children were <i>ballerinas</i>. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZ8wITInYaec93tDBTkoAdl-AqTKv3V6LHBmdxHU0uMMD7CIsWxCvVgN_X6t6m5cw4loNrm7RKN9y2dk3XYufPCElBWs0Ti8X6RSy53QgLLcx-lyZVS9ChM7jMgpypWMPULajwuTllnJk/s500/Balletshoes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEZ8wITInYaec93tDBTkoAdl-AqTKv3V6LHBmdxHU0uMMD7CIsWxCvVgN_X6t6m5cw4loNrm7RKN9y2dk3XYufPCElBWs0Ti8X6RSy53QgLLcx-lyZVS9ChM7jMgpypWMPULajwuTllnJk/s320/Balletshoes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The parents didn't sit in the audience to critique - to notice the flaws or judge the glaring lack of technical competence or physical perfection. The beauty in the performance ran way deeper and overwrote all that stuff. The little girl's mum looked at her daughter on stage and saw a dancer.</p><p>------------------------------------------------</p><p>So... church is back on after 5 1/2 months of lockdown and like everything in the post Covid world, traces of the virus have seeped into the corners here, altering the way we do things for the foreseeable future. There's booking seats in advance, 2m social distancing, sitting in your family bubbles, wearing masks, hand gel dispensers at every doorway, a one way system throughout the building - all the usual stuff. Oh - and the Not Singing. </p><p>Not Singing is kind of the default in most places. You can get through many situations in life complying with this one without even noticing. </p><p>Not Singing in church though? That's kind of a bigger deal. It's notable and disorientating - even when you accept the rationale, have got your head round the theology, read a few <a href="https://www.premierchristianity.com/Blog/5-ways-to-worship-without-singing">articles</a> and done virtual church for so long that <i>any</i> semblance or corporate togetherness would be welcome with no problem whatsoever. (Although getting unexpectedly emotional at <a href="https://youtu.be/crgFPl2eaPE" target="_blank">Dance Monkey</a> performed live should have been a giveaway).</p><p>As guidelines stand, for now only the worship leader can sing and we can participate by clapping, raising hands, kneeling, thinking, praying, silently singing - any way we choose to <i>except</i> to join in and sing. This is fundamentally weird and feels wrong. </p><p>But it's the way things are just now. And God is still God and there's stuff to learn. </p><p>• You can worship worship, and that's idolatry. I don't want to do that.</p><p>• In other parts of the world, people of all faiths are oppressed and tortured for their beliefs. We have freedom in this country. We enjoy benefits other people can only dream about. Recognise it and pray for those who are genuinely persecuted.</p><p>• The worship leader is like our appointed representative. Our voice. Like someone you'd vote into public office. I can listen to him/her and make their words my own. I can be grateful that they're singing them for me when I can't. (Although watching telly as an armchair politician and getting cross when they're ballsing things up isn't <i>half</i> as frustrating as agreeing with someone but being unable to verbalise it in real time. Isn't that weird?)</p><p>• God doesn't need volume. He senses worship from the soul. I don't know how that works or what it even really sounds like. I doubt we have the bandwidth to comprehend it. I Only know that if parents of kids with profound, physical impairments can look at them and see dancers, God can decode the silence of censored songs and hear them at whatever deafening volume we mean them.</p><p>• <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PL6yEMZCUSA" target="_blank">Angels</a> are probably pretty busy right now. They are joining in amd always have done. So the real thing is pretty loud.</span></p><p>Turn your ear<br />To heaven and hear<br />The noise inside<br />The sound of angels' awe<br />The sound of angels' songs<br />And all this for a King<br />We could join and sing<br />All to Christ the King<br />(David Crowder)</p><div><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-65361771858849746592020-04-11T11:31:00.004+01:002020-04-11T11:31:49.282+01:00Life supportOur church has this principle that underpins everything we do:<br />
<i>• Prayer is our heartbeat</i><br />
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There are a few more (see website <a href="http://www.thebridgechurch.online/" target="_blank">here</a>) but I've been kind of fixated on this one for a while. Prayer is the basis for everything that goes on. The analogy is simple - without a heart beat, we're dead. And without prayer - a constant, dynamic connection to God - any idea or project or activity the church can dream up, is likewise dead.<br />
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<i>Prayer is our heartbeat. </i><br />
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I've thought about this a lot recently. Mainly because my husband's heart stopped a few weeks ago.<br />
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It was a <i>very</i> weird day.<br />
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A woman we'd met only once before spent a big chunk of her day with her hands inside his chest, fixing a diseased valve and removing a section of ballooned aorta before it went pop. For 6 and a half hours his heart was motionless, his lungs deflated and pushed to the side, while a bypass machine took over all vital functions. Blood was removed from his body, filtered, cooled and oxygenated before being returned by a mechanical pump - allowing the surgeon to works in a bloodless surgical field.<br />
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I now officially LOVE this woman - and the team of people who looked after him during his 9 day stay at the Heath. The thank you cards and trays of Dunkin Donuts were a deeply inadequate expression of thanks but I honestly don't know how to gift wrap such a thing and anyway - everyone loves donuts.<br />
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On 7th January my husband had NO heartbeat. But - it wasn't over. Another mechanism had kicked in and was refusing to let him go. The period in ICU was temporary. It facilitated surgery that resulted in a person with waaay more energy than he's had for years and who constantly ticks like a bomb because the new valve is titanium based and will last longer than the rest of him. Totally worth it. Plus he has this really cool scar:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqg8k3DXb2OnB6P9M61NHT-5QIn3L-y-Et44dA5wgG5GgttmrdS0JH43WHnojwMiZdhKTZZa5CqwKvTSYGLuKE9NOz-P_dK8WX-w4DzvsK2EdZ_Bg79duK2sAqTcPrO-DeVypj-0mC0_y3/s1600/scar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1364" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqg8k3DXb2OnB6P9M61NHT-5QIn3L-y-Et44dA5wgG5GgttmrdS0JH43WHnojwMiZdhKTZZa5CqwKvTSYGLuKE9NOz-P_dK8WX-w4DzvsK2EdZ_Bg79duK2sAqTcPrO-DeVypj-0mC0_y3/s320/scar.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>
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And now we are collectively experiencing a very weird period in history.<br />
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There are record numbers of people in the ICU departments across the country and across the globe. Nations all over the world are in various states of lockdown to control the spread of Covid-19 and the resulting illness that can accompany it. We are in the middle of something quite extraordinary that we have no blueprint for.<br />
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Being unconscious and sedated is not normal, healthy or desirable. Being intubated and on a ventilator is not the default position of a human being.<br />
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If prayer is our heartbeat, then to be prayer-less is unnatural and temporary. But like the ICU, there are mechanisms in place that mean it's not the end. God is like, <i>This thing can't die. I'm taking over. I'll pump the blood and keep this thing going until you're strong enough. Until you can wake up.</i><br />
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This thing isn't over Xx<br />
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<i>In the same way, the Holy Spirit helps us where we are weak. We do not know how to pray or what we should pray for, but the Holy Spirit prays to God for us with sounds that cannot be put into words. (Romans 8:26)</i><br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVHUx_EJnUs" target="_blank">Why Pray?</a> (247)<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-78690147166102035342020-04-04T09:45:00.000+01:002020-04-04T09:45:37.346+01:00Parenting fail (2)Lockdown involves a family game after dinner. Attendance is compulsory, if a little challenging to the family's introverted key worker who has spent 8 hours of the day dealing with the general public from 2m away.<br />
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It's also a little challenging to the family member who does not use humour as a coping mechanism when the rest of us play Bananagrams like this.<br />
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<br />
Game ended with key worker consoling sibling upstairs, remaining sibling in the shower wondering what all the fuss was about, other parent finding the whole thing hilarious and me up early the next morning constructing this as an apology.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-52302666653024840582020-03-25T23:20:00.001+00:002021-03-27T22:45:51.896+00:00Lockdown in the cave<i>The LORD is my rock, my protection, my Saviour. My God is my rock. I can run to him for safety. He is my shield and my saving strength, my defender. (Psalms 18:2)</i><br />
<br />
Apparently board and card games are enjoying a bit of a resurgence. Our household is <strike>a bit geeky</strike> ahead of the curve and we were still playing our way through the Christmas stash of new games before the Lockdown hit.<br />
<br />
Now the Apocalypse Sanity Plan involves compulsory attendance at the evening game of Ticket to Ride / Skyjo / Ravine or Scotland Yard. And I know you're in the house somewhere because NOBODY'S GOING ANYWHERE.<br />
<br />
Ravine is a particularly good metaphor for our situation right now - except players are cooperating for survival against adverse weather events and animal attacks rather than a virus.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZaycPGYPqQ9X60jecZDaUZ_epxGBKrX8Gg0asDkKjke9In4QMwFDF87jpc75gIdthtfngq5tr_jXChRyxjenTworUOtWeB7Ylf8gvwtMuOmaVrfC0QFCHM4IqnzA90DBcY3FbS4OGRsY/s1600/IMG_0688.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZaycPGYPqQ9X60jecZDaUZ_epxGBKrX8Gg0asDkKjke9In4QMwFDF87jpc75gIdthtfngq5tr_jXChRyxjenTworUOtWeB7Ylf8gvwtMuOmaVrfC0QFCHM4IqnzA90DBcY3FbS4OGRsY/s320/IMG_0688.jpeg" /></a><br />
<br />
The premise is: Your plane crashes on a desert island. You escape with one useful item from the wreckage. Your goal is to survive until rescue arrives. Your odds of survival increase dramatically if you cooperate and share resources. (Universal Basic Income anyone...?)<br />
<br />
Each player's health is represented with wooden hearts. One side of the counter is a full heart. This is good. The other side represents an empty heart. This is bad.<br />
<br />
Hearts are lost via night time animal attack or bad weather and gained by foraging for food in the day. <i>Occasionally</i> a wounded animal stumbles into your camp at night which allows you to eat and recover hearts, or you accidentally forage for wasps or poisoned berries in the day and lose them, but generally speaking:<br />
Day = good<br />
Night = bad<br />
<br />
All manner of awful things happen in the dark. When you are vulnerable. When you can't think or see clearly. When you are afraid. Bears, racoons, rabid wolves and mental weather patterns - any of these can befall you when the night card is flipped over.<br />
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Lighting a fire offers some protection, but you can only do this if you have wood that <i>didn't</i> get drenched last night. You can build shelter with foraged items to shield group members, but a mud slide or gale can flatten it in one night.<br />
<br />
Some players can't cope. The uncertainty and chaos renders them insane. The effect may be temporary until they regain a heart - or permanent until death or rescue. It's part of the fun of playing, to <i>not </i>know these things...<br />
<br />
There is a game changer though.<br />
<br />
Something that turns this whole thing around and makes it almost unfair on the weather and the rabid animals.<br />
<br />
We'd played this game over half a dozen times before we turned it over:<br />
<br />
The Cave<br />
<br />
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<div>
<br />
PERMANENT shelter for ALL players.<br />
<br />
Only after numerous untimely deaths, episodes of insanity and continuous trench foot from the unrelenting rain does the pure sweetness of this truly sink in.<br />
<br />
<b>Permanent shelter.</b><br />
The gales, fog, mud slides and storms don't affect the structure of The Cave. It can't be flattened.<br />
<br />
<b>For ALL players. </b><br />
No more rock-paper-scissoring for the tarp. Or freezing your arse off in the rain because you have chocolate or an adrenaline syringe.<br />
<br />
Everyone can fit in The Cave.<br />
<br />
In all the games we've played, if The Cave comes up, you generally make it until rescue day. This doesn't mean that life on the island is easy. The weather is still shocking and the concept of <i>owning</i> anything is ludicrous - resources can still be swept away in a gale, cougars still attack and you'll occasionally wake up to find racoons rummaging through your pockets. But The Cave will shelter and keep you.<br />
<br />
You may go insane a couple of times before the game ends, but chances are you'll eventually turn over this card one day.<br />
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I don't know. It feels almost too early to post this. We've been in lockdown less than a week and I'm under no illusions that things are about to get a whole lot worse before they get better.<br />
<br />
But they WILL get better.<br />
<br />
We know how the story ends.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-66135239077768589672020-01-07T01:01:00.000+00:002020-01-07T01:07:21.341+00:00Inside out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Years ago I nursed a tiny old lady called Elsie. Time, arthritis and dementia meant she was constantly huddled over in an almost foetal position and her vocabulary consisted of 'No', 'Aye' and the occasional bout of singing. She needed constant care and was completely dependant on other people for all activities of daily living. Feeding. Bathing. Dressing. Toileting. Turning in the night. And anything else that might happen in between.<br />
<br />
Like all the staff, I talked to Elsie when I was dealing with her but never expected much back. She'd outlived most of her family, and those who were still alive were elderly themselves and lived miles away, so there were no visitors to fill in the blanks and educate us about who she really was - or used to be.<br />
<br />
Our interactions were understandably limited. Usually along the lines of:<br />
Me: Here's your breakfast, Elsie, Ready for some porridge?<br />
(Silence)<br />
Me: How's that - Ok for you?<br />
(Silence)<br />
Me: Are you enjoying the porridge, Elsie?<br />
Elsie: Aye<br />
<br />
Sometimes the most mundane of interactions represent something far bigger. One day, about 3 years after I started working with her, this happened:<br />
Me: Here we go Elsie, have some porridge.<br />
(Silence)<br />
Me: Ready for another spoonful?<br />
(Silence)<br />
Me: Are you enjoying the porridge, Elsie?<br />
Elsie: Aye, It's lovely.<br />
<br />
This was the longest sentence she'd ever said to me. And it included 2 brand new words I'd never heard her say before. I stared and stared and her impossibly wrinkled features and tiny sparkling eyes, shocked at the depth of conversation we were having.<br />
<br />
Me: Great! Glad to hear it. So... how are you feeling today, Elsie?<br />
(Silence)<br />
Me: What would you like to do after breakfast?<br />
(Silence)<br />
Me: Ready for another spoonful?<br />
Elsie: ....Aye.<br />
<br />
And she was gone again. But I'd caught a glimpse of a real, live, actual PERSON within her slowly dying frame. I was acutely aware of the pure functional way I'd approached all interactions with her. Every shift, I'd fed and changed and dressed her like she was an elderly robot.<br />
<br />
But Elsie - whoever she was - was still IN there. This ancient body that I'd helped keep alive for the past 3 years still housed an actual human being.<br />
<br />
Astounding.<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
It's 3 am and I'm talking to a student in the city where we both live and we are finding each other utterly fascinating.<br />
<br />
He's a scientist and a musician. I'm a full time parent and have a degree certificate somewhere in the house - I just can't remember where.<br />
<br />
He's an atheist but would like to believe in something. I believe wholeheartedly which is why I'm <a href="https://www.streetpastors.org/" target="_blank">walking the streets</a> at 3 in the morning with a goody bag of flip flops and sweets.<br />
<br />
He has a dog called Fidget and would love to be a father one day. Fidget was the name of my bump when I was pregnant with my middle child.<br />
<br />
We bond over a massive range of issues that should be contentious but somehow aren't. The rapid disclosure hops around a fair bit. Free will. Faith. Euthanasia. Abortion. Torture. Politics. He feels my faith and wants to tap into it but can't. I have flashbacks to Elsie and the porridge. I stare into his eyes full of openness and wonder and know our lives are rubbing off on each other in a way I can't explain.<br />
<br />
<div>
-----------------------------------------------------</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
I'm at work and about to deal with someone who's been incredibly difficult both via email and over the phone. Now I'm meeting him in person for the first time and I'm determined to be super nice and professional because difficult people are a challenge I enjoy. It's like a game. If I'm helpful and he has to say 'thank you' for something, I win.<br />
<br />
Immediately there's an opportunity.<br />
<br />
Access to the venue is awful. We're at the rear of a very long building, a full 3 minute walk and flight upstairs from the main entrance. His car is currently parked on double yellow lines outside. It's rammed full of boxes of material that he needs to bring inside within the next 25 minutes when the road closes to everything except buses. There's a fire door by my desk which opens onto a lay-by that is usable for the next 25 minutes. Game on.<br />
<br />
I suggest he parks and unloads in the lay-by. I offer to open the fire door each time he returns and watch his boxes while he fetches the next load. He is flustered, but grateful. He thanks me each time I open the door for him. I guard his boxes vigilantly. Later when he's unpacked his boxes, he brings me some pens for the desk and a handful of brain shaped stress toys. Game over. I win. Yay!<br />
<br />
But then we start chatting. Over the next 2 days I grow to like him. There's a dinner coming up and he's nervous about going but expected to be there. I tell him it's only semi-formal and will be productive and hopefully fun.<br />
<br />
He passes my desk a couple of hours before the dinner, a suit bag draped over his shoulder. 20 minutes later he passes my desk in the opposite direction, wearing the contents of the suit bag and smelling nice.<br />
<br />
Suddenly the Game really is over.<br />
<br />
I glimpse him as I think God does. The victory dissolves in my head and I imagine him reduced to his component parts.<br />
<br />
Unarmed. Unthreatening. Vulnerable. Curious. Pre-loaded with potential.<br />
<br />
Human.<br />
<br />
-----------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
I think about Elsie and her porridge and her words locked away inside her head. I think about Fidget's owner and our words tumbling around each other in the middle of the night. I think about this new person who initially hid from me but now I see him and the game became stupid.<br />
<br />
I left all these interactions changed.<br />
<br />
God often uses people to shape and form and mould our thinking. Chance encounters sometimes have an effect years into the future. How much more does the constant, daily drip effect of dialogue with those we do life with? Long term connections?<br />
<br />
Who these people are really matters.<br />
<br />
It's OK to choose our travelling companions wisely.<br />
<br />
And never underestimate the Elsie's.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-36579549732258268692019-11-07T08:30:00.002+00:002019-11-07T08:30:49.310+00:00SkittlesSpawn X: There's been a theft. My skittles have been eaten out the cupboard. I forgot I had them and then I remembered and when I went to get them they were gone.<br />
<br />
Me: And you're sure you didn't eat them yourself?<br />
<br />
Spawn X: I would have done if it weren't for the EMPTY PACKET.<br />
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<i>(Pause for dramatic effect. Rubbish left lying around winds me up. Rubbish hidden in cupboards and drawers even more so). </i><br />
<br />
Me: Well , by the process of elimination, I didn't eat them and I'm pretty sure dad didn't. But you can ask him and get an honest answer.<br />
<br />
Spawn X: I think we both know who they likely suspect is.<br />
<br />
Me: Family meeting?<br />
<br />
Spawn: I don't want a family meeting - I want justice!<br />
<br />
Me: We can discuss at dinner - see what happens?<br />
<br />
Spawn X: Might as well. We're having quiche so everyone will be miserable anyway.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-46029759725263931602019-07-24T23:28:00.000+01:002019-07-24T23:28:49.584+01:00Making up<i>Bedtime conversation in Spawn Y's room. There's unresolved sibling tension. I'm hopeful they will sort it out soon so I can have a shower and finish my gin - which is downstairs getting closer to room temperature the longer I'm up here. </i>(Spawn X knocks and enters room)<div>
Me (whispering): Do you want me to leave?</div>
<div>
Spawn Y (whispering): No</div>
<div>
Me: Hey. Did you want to talk this out before bed?<br /><div>
Spawn X: I'm sorry I was sarcastic to you before. That wasn't cool.</div>
<div>
Spawn Y: That's OK. I'm sorry I was irrationally sensitive.</div>
<div>
(They hug)</div>
<div>
Me: Ah sweeeet ... You guys are so mature. Just so you know - me and uncle Michael <i>never</i> had conversations like this.</div>
<div>
Spawn X: That's cause we're better people than you.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-47930249603191292842019-03-08T22:02:00.000+00:002019-10-30T12:54:00.253+00:00Falling insects<i>It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men. (Frederick Douglass)</i><br />
<br />
A while ago Madi and me came across a poorly looking bee, crawling on the ground. We found a piece of bark and encouraged Bee to climb on it, then carefully lifted it to a hanging basket directly above us. Bee slowly crawled off the bark then promptly fell, landing with a soft <i>thuk</i> on the ground. Bee obviously wasn't up to hanging from a flower - it needed to stand on one. We found a flowery bush nearby and used the bit of bark to transfer Bee to that instead. We watched it stick a proboscis into the centre of the new flower and drink in liquid energy for a long time.<br />
<br />
We walked away, happy that we'd helped Bee survive another day in an increasingly flowerless world. Maybe we'd also helped postpone the apocalypse? You know - when we run out of bees and food and wifi. If the apocalypse <i>does</i> happen I think cockroaches will rise up as the new dominant species. They can live off manky food and survive falls of many times their height without splatting inside out.<br />
<br />
Two days later, Madi and me went to <a href="http://www.clipnclimbbristol.co.uk/" target="_blank">Clip & Climb</a>. We watched the short safety video then followed the instructor and got harnessed in. I soon found that clipping and climbing is fun. A system to let you defy gravity and see the world 25' from the ground? What's not to like? It's hard to equate it with any other feeling as an adult who doesn't do extreme sport of any kind, but the sensation of climbing higher than I've ever climbed in my life and then gliding back to earth again was invigorating. It was like someone had tweaked gravity. I scrambled up the wall and glided down 4 times before realising I couldn't breathe properly and needed to stop. I thought of Bee, tumbling from the hanging basket. Falling many times her height and landing on the hard paving slab. How does she experience gravity? Does landing hurt? Or are bees like cockroaches?<br />
<br />
I thought about trust. Loads of things in life require trust. Lots of things are probably so familiar and assumed that they are taken for granted and people don't recognise the trust they have in them. Like the harness.<br />
<br />
The first time I climbed, I trusted the harness consciously. I was about to experience an unusual thing and told my brain it was OK. I made the decision to believe it would prevent me falling and dying instantly. Or bleeding out slowly, surrounded by panicked Clip and Climb employees. I climbed 5' or so (like the video advised), then leaned back and swooped back to the ground. Trusting the harness was practised and learned. Climbing and falling a short way built confidence to climb higher. To trust some more. To repeat the experience of climbing and falling and becoming knackered yet exhilarated by the whole thing and never once feeling unsafe or damaged.<br />
<br />
But what if it hadn't worked out like that? What if all indicators were: this is a safe activity, founded on a reliable mechanism that will feel a bit weird the first few times you try it but everything will work out - but then I splat to the ground on the first attempt?<br />
<br />
Chances are, I wouldn't try it again (even if I could still move).<br />
<br />
What happens when the trust isn't with gravity, but with people?<br />
<i>I'm your primary care-giver. </i><br />
<i>I love you. </i><br />
<i>I will nurture you to adulthood and celebrate your independence.</i><br />
<i>I will protect your body, mind and heart until you get there.</i><br />
<br />
What happens when THAT safety mechanism fails?<br />
<i>Try again. </i><br />
<i>I'll catch you this time. </i><br />
<i>It won't happen again. </i><br />
<i>Trust me- I said it won't happen again. </i><br />
<i>WHY WON'T YOU TRUST ME??!</i><br />
<br />
And then fails again?<br />
<i>That's awful - I'll never treat you like that last person did. </i><br />
<i>I'm different than them.</i><br />
<i>OK... NOW I'm different from them.</i><br />
<i>You can trust me now.</i><br />
<i>WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING??!</i><br />
<br />
<i>It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men. </i><br />
<br />
If this is true, then it's way too big a job for any parent. Building strong children takes a village. Building strong children doesn't ban them from ever climbing (unless you want to cause a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5F4CRSskeNc" target="_blank">different kind of problem</a>), but allowing them to climb within certain parameters. Still allowing them to fall, but with gravity dialled down. To jump and be caught. To jump and sometimes not be caught. To learn who's outstretched arms should be trusted.<br />
<br />
Repairing broken men is harder. Some of them don't want to climb ever again. They are afraid of heights and harnesses. They are wary not just of dangerous people, but of everyone. The villagers don't always know what to do with them or how to help. They wonder if repair is possible and who who should foot the bill.<br />
<br />
So... damage control. Work with what you know. What are the constants?<br />
• Gravity on earth is 1g. Always.<br />
• Climb to your height and practise falling from there.<br />
• If you can still move it and there's no bleeding, swelling or disfigurement, it's just a bruise. You'll live.<br />
• God is bigger than any mistake you can make.<br />
• Stability attracts stability. Surround yourself with people you want to become like.<br />
• Mechanical failure and human failure are things. Don't be bitter.<br />
• Forgiveness is always an option, even if it's not asked for.<br />
• Terminal velocity increases with mass, so a cockroach will out-survive you in high fall.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-82544082841558352482019-03-06T08:23:00.000+00:002019-03-11T20:15:11.923+00:00Seeking and hidingIt's 3am and I'm in our latest 24/7 prayer room. Our theme is Fixing Broken Things. All the activities around the room feature it on some way. Loosely sometimes- but there if you look for it.<br />
<br />
<i>Then they entered into a covenant to seek the Lord God of their fathers with all their heart and with all their soul. (2 Chronicles 15:12)</i><br />
<br />
We have a roll of lining paper gaffer taped to the floor with verses and prayers scribbled all over it. I look at the verse from Chronicles for a long time. I become fixated with the word <i>seek</i>. Isn't it weird to single out one particular word and overthink it until it sounds like something you've never heard before. A foreign syllable that feels strange in your head when you think it and on your lips when you say it and your ears are like - <i>Whoah! That was a brand new sound.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Seek</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Seek</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Seek</div>
<br />
Honestly - what does it even mean?! What does it look like to seek for something? To seek for God? And how do you seek God's presence when it's essentially everywhere? Seeking is kind of like searching, but more intense. Like there's more riding on the outcome. Like your life depends on it or something.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8HyzMnYyPsWi4qknu0t00CtxbIJZgqfxCtQ4jv_j7oUWv1xwFLTYAh54nbmoDqC8UXL27xp5jrAHmJZqvGHcA8o8LU2zwnBB7CAMjdQPXPd8clrniVNaUlUshtWYBGRS_BHXqQZw-JrLC/s1600/tent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8HyzMnYyPsWi4qknu0t00CtxbIJZgqfxCtQ4jv_j7oUWv1xwFLTYAh54nbmoDqC8UXL27xp5jrAHmJZqvGHcA8o8LU2zwnBB7CAMjdQPXPd8clrniVNaUlUshtWYBGRS_BHXqQZw-JrLC/s400/tent.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zm9KrUAUu1c" target="_blank">This song</a> starts playing over the PA. It has a line about seeking in it and the printed lyrics are in the prayer tent. I go over to the tent and crawl inside to read them. There’s a sleeping bag and pillow and camping lantern in here. It’s 3am and I could lie down and sleep, but I’m too busy thinking about seeking, here in the tent. Hidden from the rest of the room. Hidden from the world. I’m seeking while I’m hiding. Hiding and seeking at the same time. That's kind of cool.<br />
<br />
I remember an incident from years ago when the kids were little and my parents were down visiting us. Grandparents are nature's built-in babysitters and were playing with everyone while I tidied up after dinner. There was lots of squealing and running and laughing as they played hide and seek. There was a distinct lack of stealth to the whole thing that comes with toddlers, but no one seemed to mind and it didn't affect the enjoyment of the game. After a while, the house became quieter as the game moved on and attention (or grandparental energy) ran out. I was making a cup of tea when a muffled voice almost made me drop my mug. '<i>Do you think they're still looking for me...?'</i><br />
<br />
It was my mum. She'd been hiding in a cupboard for the past 20 minutes, squashed next to the ironing board, 8' from where I was standing and I hadn't know she was there. The kids didn't know she was there either, and what's more, they weren't looking anymore. They were watching TV with Grandad.<br />
<br />
Sooooooooo..... My Mum won at hide and seek.<br />
<br />
If the end goal is to out manoeuvre the other players and stay hidden until it's decided you can't be found, then everybody gives up and declares you the winner, then that's what happened. Technically and actually. My mum was the winner.<br />
<br />
Except that wasn't the point. The point was the game itself. The laughing and being engaged with what's happening in the moment. The being alive together.<br />
<br />
It's so easy to beat a little kid at hide and seek. Toddlers are monumentously poor at<br />
1: Being quiet (unless they are asleep)<br />
2: Finding a good hiding spot<br />
3: Staying there for any length of time<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQGC3HsDFHYfk3TqexBuYGhcN2dyLkEHyio1hyCx-k4msNmgMAEPWiq7wB8kKYxHfnDFjMGHLSeMlRdzq9Wpn4JcD6V0i8EVOnS9k1EsrExIXo7Hw8Z0lnUoIWym8qf8zFgwFMaLxY1fZ4/s1600/Whereugo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQGC3HsDFHYfk3TqexBuYGhcN2dyLkEHyio1hyCx-k4msNmgMAEPWiq7wB8kKYxHfnDFjMGHLSeMlRdzq9Wpn4JcD6V0i8EVOnS9k1EsrExIXo7Hw8Z0lnUoIWym8qf8zFgwFMaLxY1fZ4/s400/Whereugo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
As illustrated here (pinched from my mate Michael - engaged in a covert hide and seek operation with his daughter, Abby). I love this picture. It illustrates everything that's beautiful about playing with your kid. You can't win at anything with them because you can't win at relationships. You build them. The game - the stories you create together make the whole thing work.<br />
<br />
I think about all this in the prayer tent while I hide. I get a sudden image of God in the fringes of my mind, counting. I zip up the prayer tent to hide even better. I even lie down to make myself smaller. 4..... 3..... 2...... 1...... OK - Where are you!?<br />
<br />
And I burst out the tent, surprising him (because you can totally do that) and he laughs and bolts and beckons me to follow him. I don't know where to run to first. He's everywhere. Divine hide and seek.<br />
<br />
Is that even a thing? I google and unsurprisingly, other people are writing about it: <i>There's something deep in our hearts that wants to be pursued. We love the feeling of hiding, knowing full well people who care about us are pursuing us, seeking us out. I believe there is a God-given desire in all of us to be pursued, to be sought out. We want someone to pursue us. It makes us feel wanted, worthy, and desired. </i><i>God is no different. He wants us to pursue Him. I believe that He even hides Himself sometimes to see if we value Him enough to seek Him. <a href="https://www.wholeheartedmen.com/" target="_blank">www.wholeheartedmen.com</a></i><br />
<br />
I think this guy's onto something. I think winning is in the connection of relationship, not the victory of the outcome.<br />
<br />
And if you really, really want someone to find you, then you hide in plain sight. Just like Abby.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-65103374029135289772019-03-01T10:51:00.001+00:002019-03-01T18:12:17.127+00:00OCBOutside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed! Outside Clothes in the Bed!<br />
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<br />
The only reason I can cope with such violation is that I was on my 2nd glass of Prosecco. Plus, the duvet cover really needed changed anyway, so their outside clothes are in direct contact with the remnants of 2 weeks worth of farts and arousal-related epithelials.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-45948681723011439592019-01-27T23:22:00.000+00:002019-01-27T23:22:24.844+00:00*STOP PRESS*New era of parenthood has arrived - one which allows me to play on my phone while getting driven around on the motorway after consuming 2 glasses of wine. This is the dream, people.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-87807476548123440082018-10-27T23:13:00.000+01:002018-10-27T23:13:01.150+01:00Thinking big<i>Child X appears in living room half an hour after being put to bed.</i><br />
Me: Babe, what's wrong?<br />
<div>
Her: (Slinks over and crumples next to me on sofa) I don't know...<br />
Me: Are you poorly?<br />
Her: (Trembly voice) No<br />
Me: Are you sad about something?<br />
Her: No<br />
Me: What's up then?<br />
Her: I don't know. It's just life. It goes on and on and on and I can't get my head around it.<br />
Me: This is big stuff. Are you having an existential crisis like <a href="http://www.denofgeek.com/us/tv/the-good-place/268212/the-good-place-season-2-episode-5-existential-crisis" target="_blank">Michael?</a><br />
Her: Yes - I think I might be.<br />
Me: I love the way you think. Your brain is growing up just like the rest of you. But can we talk about this when it's NOT an hour past bedtime??<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLOsHbQh2HyEY0e6spzqcSUaTvLRrDbOnv5Mo118gVv2RPZAibFK-7GEsc08xbf54gO_lDjjx9ezmQ3cmVTLp-FVptIWU8zmlUTxx6vyNJYB-EtkrGmreaPMzHwhJwY2OSA_B_yAx0giy/s1600/the-good-place.w710.h473.2x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="947" data-original-width="1420" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLOsHbQh2HyEY0e6spzqcSUaTvLRrDbOnv5Mo118gVv2RPZAibFK-7GEsc08xbf54gO_lDjjx9ezmQ3cmVTLp-FVptIWU8zmlUTxx6vyNJYB-EtkrGmreaPMzHwhJwY2OSA_B_yAx0giy/s320/the-good-place.w710.h473.2x.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-73167874428479133942018-07-11T23:32:00.000+01:002018-07-11T23:34:35.979+01:00Toilet trainingWhen tensions are running high between siblings due to exceptionally hot weather, teenage sensitivities and hunger (the responsible adult in the house only just realised it's 5pm and there's no plan for dinner yet), don't waste the bad feeling they have for each other. Use the time constructively to deliver a short object lesson in cleaning the toilet bowl. <br />
<br />
If you are very, very lucky, the stars will align at this moment and when you nip to the toilet before dashing to Lidl, you will discover that toilet user or users unknown have once again left skid marks and pretended not to notice. <br />
<br />
Decide that your strategy must change as neither cleaning it up without comment nor cornering spawn one at a time and sensitively broaching the subject to be met with shocked expressions and claims of <i>'That definitely wasn't me'</i> are clearly not long term solutions.<br />
<br />
Instead, gain the attention of all present and temporarily remove screen privileges. Distract with dinner-related tasks and explain what is about to happen. Prepare for resistance, but power through and point out that the pizza will be ready in 7 short minutes, by which time the unpleasantness will be over.<br />
<br />
Assemble in the bathroom. Explain to the spawn that they can determine the order they clean in, but that everyone <i>will</i> get a turn. In fact, everyone will get <i>more</i> than one turn if that's what the job demands. Hand out the toilet roll and bleach and supervise the queue.<br />
<br />
Be surprised at how efficiently the job can be done. Supervise the squirting of the bleach and the final flush. Congratulate your team as they wash their hands and file out the bathroom.<br />
<br />
Da-daaah! <br />
<br />
Job done. Not only is the toilet bowl perfectly clean and ocean fresh, but tensions between the spawn will have melted away. They will have bonded with each other during this team building exercise and now be united in their annoyance with you. Luckily you are an adult and your sense of self worth does not depend on their approval. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcGkWXuPFmDDWABEEcozot2no59IPFwteEHJXfr2vODvQU3PyjBdpIAJGPEebQFc4sS-5Rd6g4hLKUae9ueQlgo13aq1UTteGZHoLiibsdDJrr2DQmAW3T1urB1_bug0XfMDrKhG_TT2X/s1600/Cleaning_supplies.jpeg"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDcGkWXuPFmDDWABEEcozot2no59IPFwteEHJXfr2vODvQU3PyjBdpIAJGPEebQFc4sS-5Rd6g4hLKUae9ueQlgo13aq1UTteGZHoLiibsdDJrr2DQmAW3T1urB1_bug0XfMDrKhG_TT2X/s320/Cleaning_supplies.jpeg" /></a><br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
Eat pizza together 7 minutes later and discuss the best bits and worst bits of your day. The worst bit will be likened to class detentions which apparently 'never work'. I disagree. The object lesson was clearly effective because we're <i>still</i> <i>talking about it</i> and the toilet is clean. </div>
<div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-36137527781194162062018-03-25T23:42:00.001+01:002018-03-25T23:48:15.153+01:00Family Meeting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0VtevEfkXoUAHT0kWP2IPxj6zUOhvwjnnUTNtR1orgGa_OqIL4BSY5BK4Tn-bxb85YmkIAwekcVbflwcr3uE9OJ82X8RgMe5iglxzsv8owXgCbzurn3uPa7gq7iFNl1_qf6iZDSMrwfr/s1600/gavel-law-court.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0VtevEfkXoUAHT0kWP2IPxj6zUOhvwjnnUTNtR1orgGa_OqIL4BSY5BK4Tn-bxb85YmkIAwekcVbflwcr3uE9OJ82X8RgMe5iglxzsv8owXgCbzurn3uPa7gq7iFNl1_qf6iZDSMrwfr/s320/gavel-law-court.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Minutes from non-scheduled after dinner meeting last night. Points raised and resolved as follows: <br />
<br />
<u>Issue 1</u><br />
<i>J playing the same 7 notes on the bass. Loudly and repeatedly.</i><br />
Defence: It's annoying<br />
Accused: I'm learning to play the bass. I need to practise<br />
Verdict: Overruled. He's learning to play bass and doing really well. Suck it up.<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 2</u><br />
<i>M offended at laughter when we recount the story of a pheasant getting squished in the road</i><br />
Defence: This upsets me. It's not funny when animals die.<br />
Accused: Yeah but sometimes they're so stupid it's a little funny.<br />
Verdict: Upheld. That was a living thing that just got turned inside out in front of you. Show a little compassion.<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 3</u><br />
<i>Sniffing other people's armpits</i><br />
Defence: It's weird. And annoying. Please stop.<br />
Accused: Sometimes you don't spray adequately, I'm just trying to work it out.<br />
Defence: Do it more subtely then. You're an adult.<br />
Verdict: Upheld. Sorry. I will try to be more senstitive in the future.<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 4</u><br />
<i>Looking for something that's no longer there</i><br />
Defence: When you move my stuff I don't know where it's gone and it's irritating.<br />
Accused: There shouldn't be 'stuff' lying around - everything belongs somewhere<br />
Verdict: Overruled: Pick up your own stuff<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 4a</u><br />
<i>You leave clutter lying around the house that should be put away</i><br />
Defence: There shouldn't be 'stuff' lying around - everything belongs somewhere<br />
Accused: Well sometimes you don't ask us to put stuff away nicely<br />
Defence: I'll work on that. Sorry. Maybe you guys can work on tidying stuff up with a good attitude when I <i>have</i> asked nicely?<br />
Verdict: Compromise<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 5</u><br />
<i>Phones at the table</i><br />
Defence: This meeting is going on too long....<br />
Accused: Put it away. We're nearly done. Any further issues??<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 6</u><br />
<i>The BABOAA (Being-a-bit-of-an-arse) alarm - which is a 'Woowoowoowoowoowoowoo' siren noise made by the one who identifies arse-like behaviour in another</i><br />
Defence: This winds me up. Can we stop using it<br />
Accused: But <i>you</i> like to use it on other people<br />
Defence: Yeah - because when I use it, I use it correctly<br />
Verdict: We have evolved beyond the alarm. It is causing more trouble than it's solving. Let's use words in future.<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 7</u><br />
<i>Watermelon spritz thievery</i><br />
Defence: It was there in the cupboard and I asked for some and you said no, then 2 days later it's GONE. The rules aren't consistent<br />
Accused: Who bought it?<br />
Defence: You did. But I was with you.<br />
Accused: OK - so we have a basic misunderstanding about entitlement here. You saw it in the cupboard and felt it was communal stock. I'll hide the bottle the next time.<br />
Verdict: Overruled<br />
<br />
<u>Issue 8</u><br />
<i>Blogging about family conversations</i><br />
Verdict: We ran out of time to discuss this one. It's on the agenda for the NEXT family meeting, along with not cleaning the toilet after leaving skidders and putting cereal boxes back in the cupboard with less than half a bowlful of flakes left.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-22190190806861427222018-03-19T17:19:00.002+00:002018-03-21T15:25:42.491+00:00BalletWe have 2 teenage boys and one incredibly non-girly girl. I have spent zero hours of my life ferrying kids to and from ballet lessons and have little insight into the world of points and tutus and everything that goes along with it. Then, a few months ago, I was the stand-in parent for my best mate's daughter who was about to sit a ballet exam.<br />
<br />
I witnessed a <i>very</i> intense 40 minute lesson from the perimeter of the room surrounded by other ballet mums - some of whom were taping their daughters' performances on iPads so they could later critique performances around the dinner table and work on improvements before e-day.<br />
<br />
The teacher, Miss Diana* clearly had a mission to have every girl pass the exam the following week and was taking no prisoners. Everyone had to get with the programme. She controlled the class in a sing-songy yet strangely threatening voice that suggested Bad Things would happen if her instructions were not followed. No one else seemed freaked out or offended by this. She also used lots of French words that I'm about to horribly misspell because I left school nearly 30 years ago and never studied French. They included:<br />
<br />
Bat mon gleesay<br />
Sourire<br />
KEEP SMILING<br />
Bay mon dong<br />
Bronda charloh ten<br />
Rondeh joh n<br />
Don't murmur<br />
You can breathe and you can blink<br />
Ballet second ton dew<br />
Demi plee ay<br />
No willy wonkeys<br />
Plee ay<br />
Gleesay close back<br />
YOU'RE NOT SMILING<br />
Grande gleesay close front<br />
Aw fondew<br />
Dev le pay du von<br />
<br />
I had no idea what this woman was talking about. And I was genuinely uncomfortable by the way she spoke to the kids.<br />
<br />
The weird thing was, the little girls appeared unfazed and were happy to comply with the French orders. And the mothers surrounding the room were totally comfortable with the arrangement and were <i>paying</i> for it to happen. There was an agreement in place that I wasn't quite getting.<br />
<br />
It was a disconcerting experience. Everything about the environment was alien and unfamiliar. And even though a couple of the ballet mums smiled and chatted before the thing started (we were NOT allowed to talk while Miss Diana ran the class) they had a common interest in this whole thing that I didn't share (and had no desire to). I was a temporary interloper in their world, conspicuously standing in for a real ballet mum.<br />
<br />
Which got me thinking about social situations in general and how tribal these things can be. New school. Leaving school. College. New job. Joining a gym. Becoming a parent governor. Joining a political party. Going to church... <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwG2RrNfIwvxJJxgRvkeBkE24Jq6HodDjqHdMhCE9FWmG4dxcRgoETufa5KkzYuFyVthWNSIxOO9HEM8uqAlzudR2l2X5J_-RokLuK6c1l0mv8B6jSeFtOAV_bYbwmo5DqMk5BIvrznCMn/s1600/duck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="460" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwG2RrNfIwvxJJxgRvkeBkE24Jq6HodDjqHdMhCE9FWmG4dxcRgoETufa5KkzYuFyVthWNSIxOO9HEM8uqAlzudR2l2X5J_-RokLuK6c1l0mv8B6jSeFtOAV_bYbwmo5DqMk5BIvrznCMn/s320/duck.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>
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Each sub culture has its own set of norms and habits that those who belong to it take for granted. There's familiarity and history and acronyms and an understanding of what to expect. Which is great - when you have a little inside knowledge.<br />
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But what about those on the fringes? What about those who want to join and start building history? Relationships? Bonds that really matter? Maybe that's asking a lot of your governing body (You only signed up for 3 meetings per year for the next 4 years - just explain your zillion acronyms to me) but <i>churches</i> - surely they should be among the most accessible places on earth?<br />
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Our church has an entire team of people who's primary focus is on welcoming people at the door, chatting to visitors, connecting them with other people and having really good quality coffee in constant supply. From a logistical side, the entrance is street level and there's loads of parking. All good. The whole thing works well for those who are already primed and ready for that kind of interaction.<br />
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But what of those beyond the fringes? The interlopers. The conspicuous ballet mums and the slightly freaked out? The ones who know this is a valuable resource of some kind for some people, just not them (yet)? What about those who want to observe from the sidelines then grab their borrowed child and leave before they get into conversation with anyone (possibly in French)?<br />
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This is where other ballet mums come into their own. The ones who make eye contact and smile. The ones who ask which kid you've borrowed and point out their own. The ones that are friends with your best friend and ask how she is. The ones that laugh at your unease about Miss Diana's voice and make you feel less uneasy about her. The ones who help you see that Miss Diana comes alive when she teaches other people's daughters to dance.<br />
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So, to all:<br />
Regular ballet mums<br />
Experienced governors<br />
Veteran churchy people<br />
Smiley duty reception staff at the gym<br />
And anyone else who can make interlopers walk away from you, smiling and thinking, '<i>Je pourrais appartenir ici...</i>' ** - Merci x<br />
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*Pseudonym used<br />
** '<i>I could belong here</i>' (Hopefully - I googled it)<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-79028235431465810292018-01-27T00:24:00.000+00:002018-01-27T00:24:17.066+00:00DelegationI have spawned a cook! A real live person who makes things in the kitchen and enjoys it and the results are incredible. Thank you Mrs Davies! Forget all this maths / science / business nonsense. Food tech is the future. Am almost delirious here.<br /><br />Exhibit A: Panna cotta <br /><br />J has made this dish 3 times in the last 3 days. It's our new favourite thing. The texture is a mix of jelly and cloud and tastes amazing. I have to hunt and gather the ingredients and remind him to fill the sink before he starts, but otherwise the whole process is undertaken independently.<br /><br />This is the dream, people.<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyfb3NlLrVo1QUZl-2QdPGpQ8af_U80wVq5JZcvReU8UDMrTJzc0mw4v_z2Cb6JQKJFeCoC_v16GM3igq_yR4FsjxaSYl9whxNvksXmwcEFafb7LI7fua1zhjg_Iuskb2s4rfSIo0xkPo/s1600/IMG_2677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyyfb3NlLrVo1QUZl-2QdPGpQ8af_U80wVq5JZcvReU8UDMrTJzc0mw4v_z2Cb6JQKJFeCoC_v16GM3igq_yR4FsjxaSYl9whxNvksXmwcEFafb7LI7fua1zhjg_Iuskb2s4rfSIo0xkPo/s320/IMG_2677.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>Batch #1: It's 10pm but this had set and he can clean his teeth again afterwards.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJN1JL8YTuiRWl4Ai9q4Ht4syBelVSV6Z2rqOS3BGZZANf19EQxlyPQpc04MN6iJZBIKD3UtUIUhvAMtKOjxc5r2OgRJel5Al1XEU1gI99L5F9NP5uVIGetcEZSEIP52TDouXzt3AMjSs/s1600/IMG_2682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJN1JL8YTuiRWl4Ai9q4Ht4syBelVSV6Z2rqOS3BGZZANf19EQxlyPQpc04MN6iJZBIKD3UtUIUhvAMtKOjxc5r2OgRJel5Al1XEU1gI99L5F9NP5uVIGetcEZSEIP52TDouXzt3AMjSs/s320/IMG_2682.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Batch #2: </i><i>Working on the presentation. With dobs of coulis and everything. </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjeL6kaghyC9E0B4tajR9-IJ_Xd1tHJhSIfeeP7CQadrt4OW2SmLYPZkxjQtcWWoPpc8e14ZU9STlPAhOtRF951NIGzSA8zeMj3RS09YhoMJov_OsGWDfK9XhO5WzSCIf5ENpIHqNg8CC/s1600/IMG_2684.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjeL6kaghyC9E0B4tajR9-IJ_Xd1tHJhSIfeeP7CQadrt4OW2SmLYPZkxjQtcWWoPpc8e14ZU9STlPAhOtRF951NIGzSA8zeMj3RS09YhoMJov_OsGWDfK9XhO5WzSCIf5ENpIHqNg8CC/s320/IMG_2684.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Batch #3 setting in the fridge as I type. This version includes an experimental portion where the coulis is swirled through it.</i></div>
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I don't know how this happened or why but I'm hoping not to break it.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-65796060850396367232017-11-04T00:36:00.002+00:002018-01-30T22:47:38.668+00:00But why?Madi: 'Why do some people swear?'<br />
Me: 'Maybe it makes them feel grown up. Or maybe they're mad and they lose all their other words.'<br />
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Madi: 'How come it's always sad when someone dies?'<br />
Me: 'Because you miss having them around and the love has nowhere to go.'<br />
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Madi: How come it's always disgusting to pick your nose?'<br />
Me: 'I don't know babe. Some things just always are.'<br />
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This was an incredibly lazy response, but I don't actually know this one and the internet caused caused me to stumble upon a disturbing forum for mucus eaters - so I'm not researching further.<br />
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Some things just <i>are - </i>and trying to analyse it or explain why leaves you fumbling for words. Or confidently stating words that you later retract. Then maybe reinstate again. (Is Pluto a planet again or what??)<br />
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Luckily there was no theory test for parenthood.<br />
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And if you can avoid all the alt right, porn, mucus eating and general waffle, the web is full of wonderment like this:<br />
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<a href="https://xkcd.com/1551/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoaygQqSn5cGZEbAj7w4xiv-fe4ICK7G5-S-cADITEPR8Zz-o_AStD5bKglat2kGjp4tzc1vz0S_uMEZM_7tB1uCbwf19Bip3RcscPRY3MFPhULueaYMCRz9dmd38C_k93RIOC7DPmJvO4/s320/pluto.png" width="288" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-79710110210047120262017-10-02T01:24:00.002+01:002017-10-02T01:24:26.001+01:00TidyI can't blog about the most exciting thing that happened today as I don't have permission from the certain young person involved. So here's the second most exciting thing:<br />
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Fig1: Expired products removed from food cupboard. Oldest item had date of June 2014.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit745_5c2rY9rAFkg-iLu5AW3nt25gYZcC3mz37XwP2F52tvOwSrGsANWM7z8-SyyDAr2xJ6K6H1VeA1nm3_P2r2fClYxFVMTBYtGGLPIytHfzAYihuQbyybLrLQNSXIUqqKxQvSDQczOK/s1600/pegs.JPG" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_o2dzuQuMNawSUmqkLEcJ3IDfBSMb_jNtlcMv5jh5cw9DH0hAxApwPyzRX39riIHDoaDkfwRJlAAqWzMO_vVSJdILyT_3JfUfpcuy-qwxQyZ09Da37d69Z0N86DwhSn1dhtJyg4Pmpxa/s1600/oldfood.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_o2dzuQuMNawSUmqkLEcJ3IDfBSMb_jNtlcMv5jh5cw9DH0hAxApwPyzRX39riIHDoaDkfwRJlAAqWzMO_vVSJdILyT_3JfUfpcuy-qwxQyZ09Da37d69Z0N86DwhSn1dhtJyg4Pmpxa/s320/oldfood.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_o2dzuQuMNawSUmqkLEcJ3IDfBSMb_jNtlcMv5jh5cw9DH0hAxApwPyzRX39riIHDoaDkfwRJlAAqWzMO_vVSJdILyT_3JfUfpcuy-qwxQyZ09Da37d69Z0N86DwhSn1dhtJyg4Pmpxa/s1600/oldfood.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a>
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Fig2: Plastic clips retrieved from expired food products. Bought some new ones last week as I thought we'd lost them all. Plastic clips now in abundance.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit745_5c2rY9rAFkg-iLu5AW3nt25gYZcC3mz37XwP2F52tvOwSrGsANWM7z8-SyyDAr2xJ6K6H1VeA1nm3_P2r2fClYxFVMTBYtGGLPIytHfzAYihuQbyybLrLQNSXIUqqKxQvSDQczOK/s1600/pegs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit745_5c2rY9rAFkg-iLu5AW3nt25gYZcC3mz37XwP2F52tvOwSrGsANWM7z8-SyyDAr2xJ6K6H1VeA1nm3_P2r2fClYxFVMTBYtGGLPIytHfzAYihuQbyybLrLQNSXIUqqKxQvSDQczOK/s320/pegs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Fig3: Food cupboard now orderly and within date.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbY1KV9XBFl2ru-81OuFv2Yc4nsv2d5Pzhwq82tDtGqS5ElZg8q4-NErTk_j9is7vCevdQI5_NUaojPH0Q3SAEHWnNUDf7u9hKfEsG_G6GKangIIRPlTlYzcbMcaOfaJVXvKFhT2Vb0ffH/s1600/cupboard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbY1KV9XBFl2ru-81OuFv2Yc4nsv2d5Pzhwq82tDtGqS5ElZg8q4-NErTk_j9is7vCevdQI5_NUaojPH0Q3SAEHWnNUDf7u9hKfEsG_G6GKangIIRPlTlYzcbMcaOfaJVXvKFhT2Vb0ffH/s320/cupboard.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Thank you and goodnight.</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-48443558466114608682017-09-19T01:26:00.004+01:002017-11-27T08:39:16.434+00:00Old age (part 2)<i>'The antidote to complaining is thanksgiving'</i> (Pam Hinkelman)<br />
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Getting old happens so gradually that most of the time you're completely unaware of it until you try something physical that used to be easy and realise you can't. Or don't even attempt it in the first place in case you break something. The realisation usually arrives slowly - with a vague but growing awareness that things used to be different, but you can't remember EXACTLY what or how they changed. My most recent example of this involves sitting on the floor.<br />
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The bit in between is a doddle. I get down there and up again with minimal effort. I can even do those pilates exercises where you stand up from a cross-legged position without using your hands and when you lunge suddenly into a squatting position from a kneeling one by flipping your ankles against the ground. I am a good sitter down and stander upper.<br />
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I also really like sitting on the floor, but this is no longer comfortable for long periods of time.<br />
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When did this happen? Somewhere in between teaching babies to crawl & sweeping under the table after EVERY meal (circa 2001) and Soul Survivor 2017 - a 4 day youth festival with NO seating in the main arena. The lack of seating arrangements might have been OK if leg room allowed you to wiggle around a bit, but we were crammed in pretty tight. Some people in the crowd had these old people back rest things:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DgEGuAQv0vjoCVaAblm3eGDJZknmH2RZyGZRbsMGB6WBluHYnBPi4NFsn_ni2C861VYEw_YFa05Rhfqm15RLYUv6IELK7R6zF1OyQF21bVhsV9HpXbsUq6Aw9uKdJxUiI7718G8LwkiO/s1600/2e7d2c9e37c09f77c1d61af191dedf7e--canoe-camping-canoe-trip.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DgEGuAQv0vjoCVaAblm3eGDJZknmH2RZyGZRbsMGB6WBluHYnBPi4NFsn_ni2C861VYEw_YFa05Rhfqm15RLYUv6IELK7R6zF1OyQF21bVhsV9HpXbsUq6Aw9uKdJxUiI7718G8LwkiO/s320/2e7d2c9e37c09f77c1d61af191dedf7e--canoe-camping-canoe-trip.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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I internally mocked these on day 1. But by the start of day 4, I was wishing I owned one.<br />
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But day 4 is the last day! And then I get to sit in a car for 3 and a half hours and drive home. Which will be a welcome relief - even though the whole car smells like something died in there. (I don't know the cause yet, but semi skimmed milk got spilt in the boot during a tip run last week and the car's been parked in direct sunlight with the windows up for most of the time since then).<br />
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Between the mysteriously stinking car and the packing and sitting on the floor, I'm not in a place to focus on the worship that's about to happen. I'm feeling empathy for farm animals that spend their whole lives in similar conditions and briefly consider vegetarianism.<br />
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Then the guy in front of me shuffles forward slightly giving me more leg room - Hurray!<br />
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THEN he immediately lowers his whole upper body back to the floor so I have even <i>less</i> room than I started with. His head brushes against my calf and he doesn't notice or apologise when I move out the way. Annoying.<br />
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He's not a small bloke either. I calculate maybe 2 and a half people could sit in the space he's now occupying. Grrrrr.<br />
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I watch him lie at my feet. Eyes closed. Completely still. His complexion is quite ruddy, now that I'm studying his face. He looks worn out. His eyes are still closed and he frowns slightly, his lips parting as he breathes in and out. He's maybe 20 years older than me.<br />
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I'm suddenly more concerned than annoyed. He's probably fed up with all the floor sitting too.<br />
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I nudge his shoulder and ask '<i>Are you OK</i>?' He opens his eyes and smiles, '<i>I'm fine thanks. Just praying - I've got such a heart for these young people</i>' (he gestures towards his group).<br />
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'<i>Oh - as you were then - and Amen to whatever you're praying</i>!' I say.<br />
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Oh. Dear. God. I am an awful person.<br />
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The band starts right after this and we're all on our feet. This bloke gets up with a bounce. He is also a good stander upper.<br />
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The music is loud and the bass pounds in our chests. The bloke in front of me worships in sign language. I've seen others do this, but have never found it so beautiful. A mix of 8000 teenagers and youth leaders worship together with no distinction.<br />
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Thank God for Soul Survivor and the lives that have been affected and changed by it over the years.<br />
Thank God for Mike Pilovachi.<br />
For his humour and sacrifice and willingness to plough into the lives of other people.<br />
Thank God for this bloke in front of me, who loves his youth group.<br />
Thank you that he's given his time to even be here.<br />
Thank you for every sacrifice he's ever made - especially the hidden stuff like sitting on the floor way longer than is comfortable.<br />
Thank God for my own church family.<br />
For all the people we do life with on a regular basis.<br />
For those who love my kids and talk to them when they can't or don't want to talk to me or K.<br />
Thank you that we get to sing and feel alive because we are alive.<br />
Thank you xUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-52714339496898367372017-09-02T02:57:00.000+01:002017-09-03T00:57:42.487+01:00Upcycling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfSTVo1XgfEwUgtf9NK2CTs6v5BJTCVke_eujqCPAiHG9OXQ3wbqhdxpAgeJ0LZKl2hE75AQib_zdrGKmntj6hwUcFiRQ0JEGBYxErP9cYqdKHiKVqKALn4a6l0oNaav7GPaWjwGdCRuY/s1600/before.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizfSTVo1XgfEwUgtf9NK2CTs6v5BJTCVke_eujqCPAiHG9OXQ3wbqhdxpAgeJ0LZKl2hE75AQib_zdrGKmntj6hwUcFiRQ0JEGBYxErP9cYqdKHiKVqKALn4a6l0oNaav7GPaWjwGdCRuY/s320/before.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This painting of a boat on a lake was in a charity shop last week. There was a tiny splash of light blue emulsion on the right edge just by the bow, which probably triggered the decision to donate it. (You can also see the start of the brown base coat on the left as I only thought of documenting before and after shots after I started). The photo doesn't show it, but round the corner of the canvas some of the picture was rubbed off, like someone tried to work out if the emulsion could be removed and quickly realised yes it can - but only by removing the picture as well.</div>
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I pictured the scene in the donor's house: Satisfaction with a newly decorated blue room, irritation at the damaged picture, the ethical dilemma of chucking it in landfill vs donating damaged goods to charity. Arghhhh what to do...?!<br />
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Anyway - it ends up in a charity shop near us for £3 as I'm looking for a canvas with ANYthing on it as Jackson wants the <a href="https://www.zeldadungeon.net/Zelda05/Walkthrough/06/6_Hero02_Large.jpg" target="_blank">Song of Time</a> on his wall and I have spray paint to cover what's already there.<br />
Hurray!! THREE quid - for a fairly decent sized canvas. And the paint splodge doesn't matter as the boat is going as soon as we get home. Here's how (cue <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Lv1NdXD41o" target="_blank">How it's Made</a> music...):<br />
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Spray paint whole thing dark brown. Let it dry. Position 4 strips of masking tape across canvas (or electical tape if masking tape is currently inaccessible, buried in the garage behind £2K worth of IKEA furniture which we're storing for an event next week).<br />
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<span style="text-align: start;">Spray paint patchy bits of white on next. Hold can almost upside down and press as lightly as you can to get the spatter effect. Stop when you start to get high on paint fumes. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwkma_kI1KKBInuJOZOXDpVCNhCLujDgeho75r4x3S9l9S5wRbKvnHVUcrawnRbGeCjQMa28VkAT-fmKIIfGFxO_Pq6MLL30DphEuXgbNlqNhWz2Yg_o77UHSiBOjf4kxoEtJ8HZ8JXAK/s1600/2spray.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwkma_kI1KKBInuJOZOXDpVCNhCLujDgeho75r4x3S9l9S5wRbKvnHVUcrawnRbGeCjQMa28VkAT-fmKIIfGFxO_Pq6MLL30DphEuXgbNlqNhWz2Yg_o77UHSiBOjf4kxoEtJ8HZ8JXAK/s320/2spray.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Peel off electrical/masking tape. Spray paint treble clef from a stencil. Mark out and paint 6 circles in yellow and blue emulsion. Add more spatter by flicking paint off a toothbrush. Find tiny spots of dried blue paint almost 2 meters away several hours later and marvel and the power of a toothbrush.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPvGl2WjenVusgBEf69YMeUaKMZqLVvc_asw8cpNRjR8tRacliEapeQJ35X_APz2Lwp2Rr_kS1ewFIhc_xz9XEpSZNmLZd0k899XKhJXvi3fajHwvjs2qE8hu6MgfZWPOpwGzUfENz1Xz/s1600/3colour.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdPvGl2WjenVusgBEf69YMeUaKMZqLVvc_asw8cpNRjR8tRacliEapeQJ35X_APz2Lwp2Rr_kS1ewFIhc_xz9XEpSZNmLZd0k899XKhJXvi3fajHwvjs2qE8hu6MgfZWPOpwGzUfENz1Xz/s320/3colour.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Cut up 4 triangles and 2 'A's from foam board and spray brown. NB- Stick them down to something first or they'll just fly away with the force of the aerosol.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7thCCvtDuYem0VxMVu3jV2x8vtqPPksLYBHx7r_kBmhWh90Txm-G2ngr7qYrXsZkL5oeRciFuYxS-H6xLZeZ9efER5vgacC-ZtBvTmVXJ9dyInGxWcGkOh2Z4u6SjfIDRPBnumdxpyV0/s1600/4detail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7thCCvtDuYem0VxMVu3jV2x8vtqPPksLYBHx7r_kBmhWh90Txm-G2ngr7qYrXsZkL5oeRciFuYxS-H6xLZeZ9efER5vgacC-ZtBvTmVXJ9dyInGxWcGkOh2Z4u6SjfIDRPBnumdxpyV0/s320/4detail.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Print off text in Menlo font.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimG02PeXPVOGWTACNe2LAwo8L8i_1u6kjcmJQ4H_EUmF8KulvmtzDcgBmhRErPER8oayFxJsQGsxlLSiRl5vkRJCcD78PctvvAa14GbaDQ72t8wbCfdLo7ctPHFFVM-IrEc8Q7k8iqmuoD/s1600/6text.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimG02PeXPVOGWTACNe2LAwo8L8i_1u6kjcmJQ4H_EUmF8KulvmtzDcgBmhRErPER8oayFxJsQGsxlLSiRl5vkRJCcD78PctvvAa14GbaDQ72t8wbCfdLo7ctPHFFVM-IrEc8Q7k8iqmuoD/s320/6text.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Stick text, triangles and A's in place and... Da Daaaaaaaah! It's finished. Place on son's wall with command strips. Go and make cup of tea. Drink tea and feel happy that canvas did not go to the tip.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9kKIW43ncDT9AHT2OnRhYrfBfvS8dWp9jddpgmOrrmn4CV0O3EsY-Ec7s7K3rgGOw8mwrBI3MYdb9zAAoHZRD1IC6fHWA74lSrhnsIkBECirt-hG41MFwHa78m-whA06h196WUBcJvOD/s1600/SoT.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9kKIW43ncDT9AHT2OnRhYrfBfvS8dWp9jddpgmOrrmn4CV0O3EsY-Ec7s7K3rgGOw8mwrBI3MYdb9zAAoHZRD1IC6fHWA74lSrhnsIkBECirt-hG41MFwHa78m-whA06h196WUBcJvOD/s320/SoT.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The more I think about it, the more the process has God stuff woven right the way through it: take something that is used and unwanted and transform it into something new and intended. It's totally redemptive.<br />
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The Song of Time is different from the boat - the person who donated the canvas would never recognise it now. It's changed beyond what they knew it to be.<br />
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But some bits are constant - the canvas is still a canvas. It's still made of the same stuff. The dimensions are still the same. If you look closely, you can still see the drip of emulsion on the side. But it's no longer a flaw. It's part of the design. No one focusses on it anymore.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZn8BUSdyRVMWREGT5obcWePBO4-TakP1lC4kx2oprbQCqtBFKgw2Fe4OTtzO0HXYCCzNl33xQ968kAwWGiAihi6zUpYCbpOfJAS2uYOzkEi46RhsYdfWpF1FSk16at0aLOrAcXYFMUhw/s1600/8stillthere.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZn8BUSdyRVMWREGT5obcWePBO4-TakP1lC4kx2oprbQCqtBFKgw2Fe4OTtzO0HXYCCzNl33xQ968kAwWGiAihi6zUpYCbpOfJAS2uYOzkEi46RhsYdfWpF1FSk16at0aLOrAcXYFMUhw/s320/8stillthere.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is a huge endorsement for recycling - in all senses of the word. We're screwing up the planet and there's always space on the wall. And no matter what a person's life looks like, God is capable of taking it and using it because he upcycles broken things all the time.<br />
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<b>Re</b>duce<br />
<b>Re</b>use<br />
<b>Re</b>cycle<br />
<b>Re</b>purpose<br />
<b>Re</b>deem<br />
<b>Re</b>ady for the next canvas because making stuff is fun<br />
<b>Re</b>ally should go to bed though because it's 3am<br />
<b>Re</b>ady for school starting again because body clock broken<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-33094933573530970302017-08-27T03:06:00.000+01:002017-08-27T03:06:43.686+01:00The morning after<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few months ago I had a really frustrating email exchange that went something like this:<br />
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Me: <i>Please #stopfundinghate as it's contrary to your company's ethos and generally a rubbish thing to do.</i><br />
John Lewis: <i>We fully appreciate the strength of feeling on this issue but we never make an editorial judgement on a particular newspaper.</i><br />
Me: <i>Why not?</i><br />
John Lewis: <i>Um... we just don't.</i><br />
Me: <i>Yes - But why?</i><br />
John Lewis: <i>If you want to discuss further, please contact head office.</i><br />
Me: <i>OK - I will. (To head office) Can you #stopfundinghate as it's contrary to your company's ethos and generally a rubbish thing to do?</i><br />
John Lewis Head Office: <i>We fully appreciate the strength of feeling on this issue but we never make an editorial judgement on a particular newspaper.</i><br />
Me: <i>Yes - but why is that?</i><br />
Head Office: <i>We just don't. Thank you and goodbye.</i><br />
Me: <i>Head Office? Hello....?</i><br />
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A similar scenario happened a few weeks ago with another large corporation but in reverse. A certain high street chemist refused to reduce the price of its morning after pill, triggering a massive PR disaster that went kind of like this:<br />
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British Pregnancy Advisory Service: <i>The morning after pill is extortionately expensive compared to prices in Europe. Can you reduce the cost of it?</i><br />
Superdrug & Tesco: <i>OK, we'll half it from now on. Sorry.</i><br />
Boots: <i>In our experience the subject of emergency hormonal contraception polarises public opinion and we receive frequent contact from individuals who voice their disapproval of the fact that the company chooses to provide this service. We would not want to be accused of incentivising inappropriate use, and by provoking complaints by significantly reducing the price of this product. </i><br />
Lloyds Pharmacy <i>(Shhhh! Give it a week and no one will notice or care that we've ignored this)</i>: .....<br />
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This didn't play out very well for Boots.<br />
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The public: <i>Boots’ justification infantalises women and places a moral judgment on them! Women go to Boots for products, not moral guidance! Sign this petition! Rah Rah Rah. </i><br />
Tesco: <i>And come to us for your unplanned emergencies - we now charge only £13.50 to not get knocked up.</i><br />
Superdrug: <i>Or come to us for only £13.49 - Boo yah Tesco!</i><br />
Boots (Crap. Crap. Crap...): <i>We didn't mean it! </i><br />
Lloyds Pharmacy: ........<br />
The public: <i>Boycott Boots! #justsaynon They're breeching our human rights!</i><br />
Boots: <i>Pharmacy and care for customers are at the heart of everything we do, and as such we are truly sorry that our poor choice of words in describing our position on emergency hormonal contraception has caused offence and misunderstanding, and we sincerely apologise. We are exploring cheaper options right now. Sorry. So sorry...</i><br />
The public: <i>Too right! Rah Rah Rah. </i><br />
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Which is all rather weird and unnerving.<br />
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For starters, the drug is <i>free</i> in the UK at Brook centres, NHS walk in clinics and GP surgeries (provided of course that you can get an appointment, but that's an entirely different blog post).<br />
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And now everyone's focus has moved from the fact that less than a week ago, every high street chemist was fleecing potentially pregnant women and it took the country's largest abortion provider to shout about it to get any attention. On the surface, their motivation is somewhat confusing: BPAS is apparently trying to reduce demand on its services. If more women having unprotected sex can access cheaper morning after provision, then surely this means less medically induced and surgical abortions later on as they've been prevented at implantation? It's like Terminator2 all over again with pharmacology rather than time travel.<br />
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Except for so called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Risk_compensation" target="_blank">risk compensation</a>, which suggests that human beings will alter their behaviour according the perceived level of danger, becoming more careful where they sense greater risk and more reckless if they feel more protected. This phenomenon has been used to explain why laws aimed at increasing road safety can be less effective than predicted and why sky diving fatalities have remained fairly static over the years despite the improvements in equipment design. It also may explain why the BPAS took on the argument - perhaps they know all about risk homeostasis. <br />
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But returning to the retailers - these are businesses that exist to make money. Some of them have halved their prices in the last few days and are STILL making a profit on the product. Good old capitalism. Let the one who refuses to cave in to public pressure be swallowed up by the competitor. Who cares?<br />
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Except they didn't respond with a fiscal reason.<br />
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They responded with a moral one: '<i>We would not want to be accused of incentivising inappropriate use</i>.'<br />
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Uh- oh.... If we're using words like appropriate and inappropriate, someone is making a moral judgement and that's kind of frowned upon round here.<br />
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Just say the whole conversation was happening between individuals rather than organisations - what would the scenario look like on the playground? Is there bullying going on? If so, by whom? Do we need to go get a teacher? Who is the teacher? Who decided what the rules were and what everyone is allowed to do and say and think? Because in the age of moral relativism, opinions about the behaviours of others are forbidden. You have been outed Boots. Repent and conform. Learn to think as we do! <br />
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<i>The smart way to keep people passive and obedient is to strictly limit the spectrum of acceptable opinion, but allow very lively debate within that spectrum—even encourage the more critical and dissident views. That gives people the sense that there's free thinking going on, while all the time the presuppositions of the system are being reinforced by the limits put on the range of the debate.</i> (Noam Chowsky)<br />
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No wonder John Lewis refused to get involved. They understand the rules in this brave, new playground. Everybody likes them (maybe it's the Xmas ads?) And they probably share a table with Lloyds Pharmacy.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-46717039375420663372017-08-26T01:17:00.002+01:002018-08-31T00:26:01.746+01:00First World Problem<i>Child X has an AppleWatch and has spent</i><i> hours since it arrived (2 days ago) exploring its many functions and excitedly demonstrating them all to me, including a health app that buzzes when you should be breathing in and out (just in case you forget) and ApplePay, which he is currently showing me.</i><br />
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Him: You just press here and...<br />
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Me: That's so cool. Really convenient. But what if someone uses your fingerprint from your severed hand?<br />
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Him: Then you have far bigger problems to worry about.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2056215576072789142.post-34099294726593549732017-05-29T00:25:00.000+01:002017-05-29T00:30:55.143+01:00TheologyM: Are there dogs in heaven?<br />
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Me: I don't know. God made dogs and everything else and called them 'good', so-<br />
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M: The Bible doesn't actually say though.<br />
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Me: No, it doesn't. But it doesn't say there won't be animals in heaven either. And we're told the Earth will be made like new again one day. Put back to the way it should be.<br />
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M: I think there SHOULD be dogs in heaven. Especially police dogs that have died while they were working.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com