Friends with Benefits?

Something strikes me every so often when I check Facebook.  There seem to be two kinds of people when it comes to the kinds of friends they have.

The first kind make friends at school (at whatever point) and keep them forever more. They are bridesmaids at each other's weddings. They meet up all the time so their kids can play together.  They go on holidays together sans kids.

The second kind seem to acquire friends like a collector, some from this phase of life, some from that phase. They may be friends only while they work at the same place or go to the same church.  they may be friends only while they are in the same class at uni or while they have kids in the same class at school.  Sometimes they become friends at a specific stage and the friendship seems to transcend that stage.

I seem to be of the latter category.

At school I had friends, but my year at school had lots of groups of girls that would sit together.  For a while, I would sit with one group or another according to who I was friendly with at any one time.  But it never lasted long really.  I never had enough friends in each group to make it really fun or fulfilling to stay long.

So I was a floater between groups. One who belonged to all groups and to none.

Then I joined a youth group.  Suddenly I had friends.  Instant friends who cared how I was during the week.  Friends who shared their faith with me.  Suddenly I was being invited to parties and gatherings. In some ways it made school easier, and in some ways harder.

When I went to uni I joined the Evangelical Union.  I joined small groups and went to public meetings and weekends away and met heaps of people.  Some of my best friends are from that time of my life. I met my husband there.  I met people who are now scattered to the winds, in Cambodia, the USA, China, the UK, Tasmania, Victoria, Northern NSW; good friends who I see very rarely but when I do see them it is as if no time has passed and we just pick straight up where we left off.  I love those kinds of friendships.

I met heaps of different people each year at Beach Mission as the team shifted and changed.

I have been to three different churches since Luke decided to go to College.  I made friends at each one.  Some I have kept in touch with.  Some I haven't.  At our last  church we met the godmother to our now 13 month old daughter and lots of other friends besides! I go back there whenever I am near , and revel in the fellowship and friendship found in a loving church family.

At College, we met heaps and heaps of people from all sorts of places who I catch up with as often as possible. These are people I saw often in Biblestudy groups, at the women's group, and people I lived along side when we lived in College accommodation.  We see the people from our year group quite often which is great since they are our spiritual and professional family.  The only people who truly know what it is like to be in ministry.

So I look at my life and think "Ok so, somewhere along the line I picked up a lot of friends".  But then I remember my grandmother who had a best friend for over 85 years, and some others for almost 80 years.  I don't have any friends like that.  I don't have any friends from pre-school that I still see/write to/skype regularly.  I don't have friends from kindy/school in the way that some do.  I see the photos from weddings and think "why couldn't I have had friends like that? friends that just stick together through everything for 20 years? why can't I have 10 friends who I go to Byron /Bali/somewhere with every year or so?"

Then I look at my own wedding photos.  And I look at the lists that I draw up when I am inviting friends to things.  I have friends on these lists from school, churches, uni, work, beach mission, College, and just random other times.

Is my life poorer for missing the lifelong friendships? or is it richer for having friends from a plethora of places and times in my life?  Sometimes I can't say.

Anyone?... Bueller?

Ok so here's the thing.

We all love "Ferris Bueller's Day Off".  We love that he ditches school, has lots of fun with some friends, sticks it to the man and gets away with it.  We love that he gets away with it.

Well, we loved it when we were teenagers, because we wished it was us.  We loved it in our twenties because we liked to think that when we were at school we too would have jumped at the chance to ditch school (if we knew we'd never be busted).

As a teacher though, the movie can leave a bad taste in my mouth as I get older.  It irks me when students ditch school.  It irks me more when they are obviously intelligent kids with lots of potential (like Ferris).

And as a parent?  I'm not sure what I think.  I know for a fact that if I ever find out my kids have ditched school, they will be in trouble.  I also know that I'd like to think my kids will look back on their time at school and know they put in the best effort they could.

But at the same time, everyone needs an experience like Ferris' to look back on with nostalgia and a bit of pride.  Kind of an "I beat the rules and had a great time" thing.  I would hope that I wouldn't be so uptight that I wouldn't let them have some experiences that would give them those sorts of memories.

Are you perfect?

Are you a perfectionist?  Do you have the discipline the master a craft, profession or hobby, to play a musical instrument?  Do you spend hours...days...weeks... practising? working at your passion? learning everything you can about something you love to do?

I am.

I am a perfectionist.

But I am not your standard run-of-the-mill perfectionist. I am not the perfectionist who spends hours, days months and years in disciplined activity desperately trying to better my skills.

I am the anti-perfectionist.  The kind of perfectionist who is so afraid of failure, so paralysed by the idea of not being perfect straight away, that I give up on things before I have a chance to fail.

This most annoying attitude applies to many many things... like playing piano, singing lessons, writing stories, academic study, keeping my house clean (or just generally being the "perfect housewife"), playing sport of any kind, controlling a class, cooking...

It is a frustrating trait.  For me, for my husband (who would totally love it if I took up further study, or became the domestic goddess that he sometimes wishes I was...). I would totally love to excel at everything I love instead of feeling mediocre at everything.

I would be able to say "Yes I play flute and oboe and piano", instead of saying "well I played flute for a few years, and my piano teacher fired me because I wouldn't practice".  I would be able to say (like a friend of mine) "Sure, I love cooking.  I cook every meal my kids eat; breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday", instead of saying "No I don't cook.  My husband does all the cooking in our house.  But I bake" in a please-don't-judge-me tone.

Some people would laugh at me.  Some would say "work harder at doing better".  And they would both be right.  It is comical to be the anti-perfectionist.  But it would be more godly to say "Screw my tendencies towards failure avoidance.  I am going to work harder to perfect the skills and knowledge that God has given me the capacity to achieve".  For once I could stop being extremely intelligent and capable in my own mind, and actually be that way.

Lions and Tigers and Bears...

It is an amazing thing watching a small person learn to communicate.  From first coos to full sentences, it is quite a journey.  It is a journey in which you can often see the wheels turning in the head of the small person as they try to find the words for what they wish to convey.

For a long time, true language is intelligible to only the parents of the small person, and only part of the time.  Half-pronounced syllables standing for things desired, needs to be met (usually related to sustenance). One word demands for comfort, or a special someone.

And so it goes.

Sometimes it may take a few days before a new word or phrase can be added to the list of "understood words".  Sometimes words don't sound anything like they are meant to, but if consistently used, will make the cut.

Eventually other people begin to understand the burgeoning vocabulary of the small person.  Other people can also begin to influence the content of the vocabulary.  The small person may appear to have different sets of words for different care-givers. He or she may begin to imitate the mannerisms or catch phrases of certain people.

My small boy is now almost entirely intelligible to us, and intelligible to others most of the time.  But watching him grow in his knowledge of language and how to manipulate it in order to get what he wants and to manipulate those around him has been a most fascinating journey.  Watching his growing ability to use language to speak to his Father in Heaven in prayer each night is truly humbling.

This journey is only just beginning with small girl, and we will watch with interest the differences between them, and how they express their individuality through language as they grow.  Will she be more verbal sooner?  Will she say different words first?  I would think so...Mr Bede's first words were 'car', 'cat', and 'cake' in that order!!

What did your child say first? Do they have any favourite phrases or strange mannerisms picked up from you or a close family member?

Literary Questions...

I am a big reader.

 No.  

Strike that.  

I am a HUMONGOUS reader.  I have no idea how many books I own.  I don't want to think about how much money I have spent on books in my lifetime.

As mentioned before I do not only read books once.  I read them over and over and over again.  I consider books to be personal friends, and favourite characters to be members of my family.  I have a pile of books next to my bed that is level with my bedside table.  I am a compulsive bibliophile.  I do not own a kindle.  I understand why people may buy them...easier to carry than a book etc.  But to me, reading a book is a sensory experience.  The feel and sound of the paper as I turn the pages.  The smell of the book as I hold it. The pictures in my head as I follow the action.  I even have soundtracks to some books that some back to me years after I carelessly read the book whilst listening to music.  

I cannot imagine not enjoying reading.  I cannot imagine finding reading a chore.  But I know people for whom books are mere words on a page.  People who do not like reading, who do not see the action as they read about it...who essentially do not enjoy the act of reading.  I have taught a few of these people.  

I found that there were a couple of series in the last 10 years or so that made non-readers or reluctant readers take up a tome or two.  Harry Potter was one, Twilight was another.  The literary merits of both series are disputed, but was is undisputed is the effect on adolescent reading habits.  

Teens are reading more.  They are trying new authors.  They are even reading their school English texts.  This can only be good.  It broadens their cultural horizons...gives them a larger sense of the "other"...a greater ability to engage with different kinds of people.  It helps them to communicate with each other, with people of other backgrounds and generations.  There are so many benefits from reading.

How did I become such a big reader?  How did I become someone who could devour a Harry Potter book in a single sitting?  

Well it wasn't an easy road for those who helped me to get there.  It involved (and still involves) copious hours of reading aloud for my mother, father, grandparents and (now) Luke.  I LOVE being read to.  It was one of the highlights of my day when Dad would come and read to me before bed each night.  I used to beg for the same stories over and over again.  My grandmother could probably recite "The Enchanted Wood" by the end of my childhood.  Luke and I read to each other all the time (it's part of our bonding time).

But there is more to it than that.  It comes back to losing an older sibling at a very young age.  The silences were deafening for my mother.  So she read to me for hours each day to fill up the silences that used to be filled by chatter and laughter and games.  It was such a feature of my childhood existence that I cannot imagine not loving being read to, and loving stories and language and characters. 

 But if I had not lost her, who would I be?  I may not have been read to nearly as much.  I may have grown up not loving being read to...not loving stories and the closeness that sharing them with someone else brings.  Who would I be then?  I may not have loved English so much that I chose teaching as a career.  I may not have had so much in common with Luke...  Scary thoughts.

Many books and authors shaped my childhood and literary path.  

Enid Blyton was a favourite author. I still re-read the Famous Five series every so often, and still love the unedited versions of the Faraway Tree books.  

L.M. Montgomery introduced me to two literary heroines: Anne Shirley and Emily Byrd Starr.  These fiery women taught me to chase ambitions and not take no for an answer.  The language in these novels gave me a true love of a great descriptive passage.

David Eddings introduced me to the world of fantasy writing; to wizards and knights and swords and writing in High Style.  Through him I came to find dozens of other authors, other worlds to explore.

Mary Grant Bruce is the only Australian author I truly enjoy reading.  But I can revisit Norah Linton frequently, learning about graceful womanhood and true mateship. 

Dylan Thomas introduced me to the amazing world of radio plays.  I carry a debt to my HSC English teacher who insisted that our class study "Under Milk Wood" instead of "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead".  It became one of my all time favourite plays and opened me up to a whole world of sounds.  Words don't even have to be true words to be intelligible and evocative.

That should about cover it.  But again the question remains... Would I have loved these books and authors if not for those deafening silences that were crying out to be filled?

Confusion

I used to like what I wore…then I had kids and everything is always dirty so I never really pay much attention to it and don’t fit into it very well anymore. I need to do a massive clothes cull because I have stuff from 15 years ago still hanging around that I can’t face throwing out and lots of pre-baby things that I still like but can’t see myself fitting into again…I think my style has changed but I’m not sure what it is now so I don’t know what to buy, and because baby T is still so little there is no point in getting new clothes (apart from pjs…which I’m totally doing very soon) til my body shape changes again…advice anyone?

What's in a name Pt 2

Life is one of those things that happens while we are thinking about writing a blog post.   Since the last time we met I finished gestating and given birth to the wonderful Miss T.  Last time we met I was bemoaning the difficulty of choosing a girl's name for a baby.  Well as you can tell we chose one...but not without much searching and compromise.

I may or may not post about the actual birth of Miss T...some bloggers like to, but for me the birth was somewhat traumatic...I am happy enough to talk about it, but hesitate to write about it...

The naming of Miss T was problematic for many reasons (mostly covered in the previous post), but mainly because our name list had so many awesome names on it...we simply could not settle on one... So we waited until we saw her...and that didn't help us much!  For a large part of her first day Miss T was nameless and beautiful... and didn't really look like any of the names on our list (in my opinion anyway...).  Luke decided to take charge...he argued that I essentially got to choose Mr B's name and therefore it was he turn to choose...the name he picked was not my first choice to be honest but it has grown on me with time, and I got to choose the middle name (after one of my grandmothers) so I was happy.  The bonus is that both names are Biblical but not obviously so (each only mentioned once each), so we can share that with her when she is older.

There are many joys that come with a new baby: a tiny body to cuddle, milestones to watch out for...that first smile (many sleeping ones, but not a true one until her one month birthday)...but one never associates better sleep with having a newborn.  Well we do.  Since her arrival at home Miss T has never slept less than 7 hours straight in one night, and often closer to 9 hours.  Her first night home, we both woke up at 4 and checked that she was still breathing...when she woke at 6.15 (after going to sleep following a 10.30 feed) we looked at each other and said "it must be a fluke"...after the second night we thought we were lucky but did not expect her to keep doing it...but by the end of the first week at home and no 2 am (or 4 am) feeding calls we started to think that we may have a keeper.  I am very lucky to have good milk supply so I am not technically required to wake her to feed through the night...and now after 5 weeks of life, Miss T has only woken us to eat once...and I thank God for every night of sleep I get because I still do not expect this wonderful thing to continue...

What's in a name?

Ok so I know it has been a ridiculously long time between drinks.  I know that most of my audience has probably grown old and died between blog posts...but much has been happening and I have not the time tonight to go into details.

Suffice to say that we are once again choosing names to apply to a small member of our family yet to be born.  This time we are choosing female names.  

You would think that choosing a couple of names for a small girl would be easier than choosing a name for a small boy.  You would think.  But no.

Choosing a name for Bede was relatively easy.  We always liked the name and I had done a thesis on the historical figure of the Venerable Bede, and the name means 'prayer' in Old English.  Our first son was always going to be Bede.  

But when we fell pregnant I choked.   I thought "can you really name a kid Bede in this day and age?"  We looked at all the other ideas on our list and came up with nothing.  But when he was born, he was Bede.  It was that easy.

This time it's not so easy. We had a boy's name all picked out (even though I wasn't wild  about it, I could live with it) but could never agree on a girl's name. Female names are fraught with emotional baggage.  Specially for a teacher who went to a single sex school.  So chances are every name has a face sitting behind a desk in a classroom.  And chances are every name has more negative associations than positive.

So we both have our preferences.  And both of us have non-negotiables.  It makes it very hard to come up with viable options.  And since we know it's a girl, it means we have to come up with something...I know we have a few more months but I like to be prepared.  

My need to be prepared is one of the many reasons I needed to find out what we're having.  Some people want to be surprised at the birth and hear the Dr say "It's a ____"...  I figure it's a surprise whenever you find out what it is, so I'd like to know now thank you very much!

Tell me, how did you choose your child's name?  Did you go with a Biblical name?  A family name?  The name of a particular celebrity/friend/influential person? 

There are two certainties in life...Death and...

I have been thinking about parental mortality lately.  I have a father who is in a somewhat fragile state of health at the comparatively young age of 64.  This is weird for me because he is a doctor.  Someone who is meant to be a fixer of illness not a sufferer.  It is also weird because he is my father. 

I have a kind of weird relationship with my parents for various reasons (to remain undisclosed).  Suffice it to say, we are not overly demonstrative in our affection for each other either verbally or physically. I gather this is not normal by watching my husband and his parents, and other friends of mine with theirs.  It is something I regret.  

I regret that I feel unable to verbally express my love for them.  I regret even more that they feel unable to verbally express their love for me.  Their love for me is expressed in the things they do for me and in the sacrifices they made for my education.  These are admirable.  But there is nothing quite like hearing "I love you" from a parent.  And I cannot remember the last time I heard that from mine.  I realise that different people express and receive love in different ways, but I'm not sure my parents understand this.  

This comes to a head for me as I contemplate my father's mortality.  He will not live forever.  Not only will he not live forever but he cannot live forever as he does not know Jesus.  That is very hard for me.  The mere fact that he is still alive is testament to God's grace.  

This is a man who has been 'brought back' by CPR twice.  The chances of it happening once are about 5%.  I don't want to know the stats for twice.  Even less do I want to know the stats for three times. 

But it is clear to me that it is only by the grace of God that my father still lives today.  And yet.  And yet he still rejects God. 

My question to you today dear readers is this: How do you share Jesus with a man who is a walking miracle and doesn't acknowledge miracles?

The Good News?

So in light of the fact that there are many lies being fed to us about sex, some people may be thinking: well there goes my chance at a happy marriage then"...or "well I can't be a Christian if I've had sex before marriage".

NOT SO!!!!!

There is very good news for those of us who have had sex before marriage, and who may be worried about what that may mean for their current (or future) marriage.  The good news is that as Christians we belive in total redemption.

A common error in Christian circles is to regard sexuality as somehow less fallen than the rest of our being.  This is seen through the use of sexual codewords such as "purity" or "innocence" which are misleading terms at best.  The effect is that sexual transgressions become a higher moral failing and are seen as a barrier to true faith and redemption.  This is not the case.  Sexual sin is no more sinful than greed or murder or disrespecting your parents.

The promise of Jesus is the redemption of soul and body.  Which means that as Christians our sexual sin as redeemed as all other sin.  And we are given the pattern for godly sexuality which puts love ahead of sexual gratification.

The effect of Jesus' work on the Cross for our sexual sins?  It is as if they never happened.  It is as if you never had that one night stand that you can't help remembering.  It is as if you and your fiancee never slept together "just this one time...since we're getting married anyway".  It is as if you never went home with that guy after a few too many drinks with the girls.  It is as if you and your boyfriend haven't lived together for 3 years before the wedding.  It never happened.  In the eyes of God, you are a virgin again.  In the eys of God, your marriage has a fighting chance because Jesus is at its centre pulling you together towards God.

What does that mean for William and Kate?  It means that if they belive that Jesus is the Lord of their lives, their marriage has a fighting chance.  It means that their wedding night is a true wedding night. I pray that it is truly the case.

Damned Lies and Statistics!!

I think I am a very strange person.  No.  I know I am a strange person.  I am a monarchist and I was not excited about the Royal Wedding.  No I take that back... I was marginally excited about it.  It was great to see our future King finally get married to the girl he loves.

But as I was watching, I was wondering.  And I was hoping the statistics are not against them.  The statistics that for couples who live together before they get married, 75% end up divorced.   

I watched and prayed that they would learn from the mistakes of so many who "try before they buy".  I prayed that God would protect their marriage, especially given that it is going to be such a public one.

It is one of the lies of modern life.  That living together before you get married gives the relationship a better chance of working.   It is the same lie that having sex before you get married will make your married sex-life better...or stop you from making a mistake...or something...  

The whole concept of "trying before you buy" has to be the biggest relationship lie there is.  It encourages people to sleep around, comparing the sexual prowess of their various partners, and getting married based on the brilliance of the sex lives they share.  It encourages people to start their married lives together in a spirit of deceit "of course you are the best darling...the very best"...but in the back of their minds there is always that niggling thought..."maybe I didn't truly find the best..."

The lie that society is swallowing hook line and sinker is that the heart of your whole relationship is sex.  If you base your relationship solely on sex, as soon as the sex is bad/difficult/non-existent, the relationship suffers and a partner starts looking for a way out.

Good sex is not a right.  It is something that you learn together with your partner (ideally your first partner) and grow into as your marriage matures and as you share lives together.  Any married couple who begin their married life as virgins (and yes it does happen) will tell you that sex in marriage is a learned skill.  Not something that is all sky-rockets and lightening bolts on the first night.  It can (and often does) take years to grow into a healthy pattern of relating sexually.  

There is a difference between thinking that sex is an innate skill, and seeing it as an investment made between two people for the long term.  If you start out married life with that sense of deception, that niggling comparison in the back of your head, then of course you will never be satisfied sexually by your marriage partner.  It is easy to see why people who live together before they get married have such high divorce rates.  No matter how good their intentions towards each other, the little voice in the back of the head is always saying "maybe I could have down better"...


So when I say I was not hugely excited about the Royal Wedding, it's true.  But I am still less excited about the statistical likelihood of a Royal Divorce...

Money...the root of all kinds of evil?

It's ok people...I have not fallen off the face of the earth.  I have just been either lacking inspiration, or too inspired by very controversial topics...I have decided to lead with my chin tonight and broach a sensitive topic: Technology as a commodity and the money we use to consume it.


Caveat: I have one laptop, and one mobile phone (not a smart phone) and am married to someone who also has a mobile phone (not a smart phone), we have one television (old style)... 


I have noticed a disturbing trend over the past 15 years or so...or to be more specific, since the iPod was first released.  I was going to an affluent church in an affluent area, and suddenly everybody (hyperbole alert) had an iPod.  To be fair, not everyone had an iPod, but a fair number of people did.  The service I was a part of at this church was a consistent underperformer in the area of voluntary giving as was evidenced by the relatively frequent appeals to the parishoners for greater generosity (with graphs and everything...).  I could never understand how we could afford to buy an iPod, but not give substantially more to the church.


Fast forward a few years and the trend continues at many churches.  Many people have become consumers of the smartphone and tablet phenomenon (let the reader understand).  People will happily shell out several hundred dollars for a tablet/smartphone, but may not be as generous in their voluntary giving at church.


It disturbs me that christians appear to be amongst the first to take up any new and fashionable technology.  I am disturbed even more when ministry families may have multiple laptops/desktops and tablets and smartphones.  Is this a wise use of the money entrusted to them/us by our parishoners?


I realise that quite often such purchases are assisted by grants which expire if they are not taken advantage of.  But I am also aware that many many of our parishoners are not in a position to afford many of these things, and seeing us taking advantage of such new technologies may lead them to critisise our choices when it comes to how we spend the money they entrust to us.  They may look at us and think "why should I scrimp and penny pinch just so they can lead the good life?"  We are not flush with cash by any means but the outsider, or unbeliever would never know that to look at us.


I wonder whether it is wise for us to always be the first to get the next new thing.  Whether it might not be better to be seen to be living a more frugal lifestyle, having the necessities rather than the expensive luxuries?  Might these luxuries lead people to think that if you become a christian, then God will bless you materially? (whether or not he chooses to) Would it not be a better witness to those less fortunate than ourselves if we forgoe thse new technologies for the sake of the gospel and the lost rather than flaunting them?


I am aware that these may be controversial sentiments, but let me know what you think...do you think Jesus would approve of our stewardship of his good gifts to us?

When is it time to emotionally disconnect...from church?

I don't do change well.  This is no surprise to anyone who knows me.  So when Luke and I left our home church to go to College it was very very hard for me.  Actually, hard is a major understatement.  Changing churches was like cutting a major organ out of my body.

Let me explain.  I had been an active member of this church for over 10 years when we left.  I had come to faith in the youth group, I had led Biblestudy groups, I made some of the best friendships of my life at this church.

When we moved churches we moved to a church that was different in every possible way to the one we had left.  Gone were my comfort barriers: my friends, my teachers, my leaders.  Gone was the accustomed style of worship, and engagement with the Scriptures.  Gone even was the local area I had grown up in.

I was initially excited about starting at a new church.  I knew it was going to be different.  But I had no conception of just how different it would be.  At the new church the form of worship was alien, there was no guarantee that we would theologically agree with many of the congregation, the music was difficult.  Our minister was awesome and did everything he could to make us fee welcome and at home.  But it didn't work. For two years I lived in my own little version of Egypt.  I told myself that it was ok, that at the end of College we could go back 'home' and it would all be the same as it was.  I held onto my 'home' church as hard as I could despite the changes I saw there (services changing a bit, people moving on), emotionally I had not let go yet.

After two years, we finished our time at the difficult inner city church.  We moved to a smaller semi-rural village church.  It was a wonderful place that welcomed us with open arms, had people who loved Jesus and weren't afraid to show it.  It was a place where I made many good friends, where I was looked after by older Christians and enabled to grow in wisdom both as a worker and as a mother.  And still I held on to 'home' as 'home'.  I had not yet disengaged from my original church even though I did not go to a service in two years, even though I barely saw my friends there.

And this year, we made the biggest move yet:  leaving College, leaving a very homelike church, leaving the metro area even.  We have moved to a rural church with a small but incredibly faithful congregation who are keen to welcome us and look after us.

This last weekend I was visiting family in the leafy north.  I visited our most recent church which was such a joy!!! Many friends to catch up with and news to hear and share.  Ministries to discuss, and rejoice in!!

In the evening I visited my 'home' church.  I was struck immediately but how few people there I knew by sight.  True it is a transient and young congregation, but still.  I was struck also by some logistical changes (not worth discussing), and as usual really enjoyed the teaching.

But I thought later that I missed the church as it was when I was still a regular; the friends I saw weekly and the deep friendships which have of necessity shallowed with time and lack of investment.  I missed the combination of people I knew and loved, who gelled in a certain way, who responded in a certain way.  I had been emotionally 'hanging on' to a reality that had changed beyond recognition, and to be fair, hadn't existed anywhere but in my mind for some time.

It was a very sad realisation that the 'home' I had been so tightly holding on to is no longer there to return to.  The faces have changed, the people have moved on, but the message remains.

Time to get moving?

I seriously need to get exercising.  


I have been very disheartened lately every morning when I play the "what to wear" game.  Not because I don't have enough clothes.  I have more clothes than most people could wear.  I have clothes in three styles for basically each season.


I have been disheartened because I have very few clothes that fit me.  I must explain myself further.  For those of my readers who have not met me, I am short.  I am very short.  I don't always feel short...at least not until I try to reach something high up.   I have a very small frame.  For most of my childhood (particularly my infancy) I was underweight and struggled to gain weight.  I was a slow and very 'small' eater.  It was not until I was about 19 that I began eating what people would call a normal sized meal.  I was never anorexic, but I was tiny.


Since I started uni, I have (for want of a better term) filled out.  I grew some hips.  That's ok, I would tell myself.  Women need hips.  While at uni I was basically a size 6-8 depending on the clothes (let's not talk about the variation in women's clothes shall we?!).


After I got married, I ate more.  For the first year I was working and studying at the same time.  For the next year and a half I was hunting for work, during which time I would go to the gym.  That was the healthiest I have basically ever felt, and the best I have ever felt about my weight (which really was not that good).  Once I got a job and since then I have basically put on a dress size every year or so.  


So I went from a 6-8 (in 2003 ish) to closer to a 12-14 (in 2008 ish).  This may not sound like that much.  In perspective, when I finished school I was about 45 kilos.  When I got married I was closer to 50 kilos. When I fell pregnant with Bede I was about 60 kilos (maybe a bit more if I'm honest).  


After I had Bede I quickly lost all my baby weight and then some.  Within a few short months I was back in single digit jeans but still feeling unhealthy.  But at the 6 month mark I started to gradually put weight back on. I put it down to a number of factors.  Little or no exercise, continuing to breastfeed (which can make your body hold on to fat), and being at home, eating irregular meals and snacking on unhealthy things.  Now with Bede 1 year old, I tip the scale at almost 65 kilos.


You may think 65 kilos is not much.  When I go shopping for clothes I am always pointed straight to the size 8 clothes.  But on a 5 foot frame...let's just say I can feel it in my knees when I climb stars and when I carry Bede and if I try to run...oh dear. 


Now for the scary part. Someone my height (not quite 5 foot tall), should weigh between 45 and 55 kilos (according to the somewhat flawed BMI scale).  This scares me because it is only a few hundred little grams until I could be classified as obese.  How can I even write this??? Me?? Obese?? What planet is this anyway????  


It should be easy enough for someone like me to lose weight right?  All I have to do is make a few dietary changes and walk a little more and the kilos should just drop off!!!  I don't think so.  I seem to have lost the ability to make good food choices, and have little to no motivation to get walking (other than getting the boy out of the house and in this heat...well you can imagine).  For me, someone who spent their entire childhood in an underweight mindset, 65 kilos may as well be 85.  I have no idea how to eat to lose weight.  I could buy gym equipment, but I know it would gather dust.  


I need a gym.  I have found a good gym.  I can afford it.  I know Luke will support me in getting there regularly, and in eating well.  But can I do it?  Not alone.  I can't do it alone.  Just like trying to live a sinless life, I can't lose weight alone.  I need help.  I need God's help because I can't help myself, neither in life nor in weight loss.  


I need Him to give me the motivation to get in the car and drive to the gym and put Bede in creche and eat healthily even though I'm not a fan of fruit and veggies.  I need to know there are other people out there in the same boat.  People who need to lose weight but struggle to find the motivation, and who want someone to talk to about it.  I need someone to talk to about it and to pray with about it.  I need people to pray for me that I can get healthy again both in mind and in body.

Still Alive!!

I am still alive oh my devoted followers...we few, we happy few...

The move is accomplished with the minimum of stress.  We now reside outside of Sydney (GASP) in a small country town.  Our home is situated on a block of land that could easily be divided into two generous blocks.  The house itself is large.  No.  Wait.  It's huge.  We're used to living in maybe 3 rooms.  Now we have 4 bedrooms, and two living areas, and nowhere near enough furniture to fill it. 

We have already begun on the backyard modifications.   We now have 4 vegetable/herb gardens with many vegetables growing in them (many of which, mind you, I don't eat).  We have also pulled out the entirety of the front flower bed, which is now ready for new and pretty flowers rather than spike/fern things...

On another topic, I have officially survived the first year of being a mother.  Bede turned 1 today!!  He is still breastfed, he eats lots and lots of everything, he sleeps 12 hours at night and two hours (ish) during the day in 2 chunks.  He walks everywhere, and is getting better at it everyday.  He askes "Dis?" as he points to things, and has finally mastered the mum mum mum sound.  He throws left handed and can stack blocks. He loves all music, making singing and dancing attempts constantly.  He loves being read to and can turn the pages of a book, knowing to begin at the beginning.  He is a very happy little boy who will smile at everyone, and will walk up to, climb on, and cuddle everyone who is friendly to him.  He is very ticklish and laughs all the time. 

If you can't tell,  may have enjoyed being a mum this year just a little bit.  I am still being asked all the time when will I go back to work.  I simply answer "Not for the forseeable future".  And I'm OK with that!

A time to speak?

I am torn.  I have a friend.  Yes I know.  I have a friend.  How did that happen?  Anyway.  I have a friend (let's call her Sophie) who has a problem.  Sophie confided in me that she is struggling with the attitudes of a good Christian friend of hers.  

He is older than her, and has been a Christian for many many years longer than she.  He is from a Christian family who love him very much.   He has the "Christian pedigree" (went to Sunday school, a Christian school, Youth group, Bible College).  But Sophie has been increasingly worried about some of his attitudes and his actions (mostly online).  

Sophie's friend is not afraid to express divisive opinions (about things upon which Christians often disagree) loudly in the company of non-believers and people who love to hear that the church cannot get it's act together.  He is not afraid to drink rather more than he should (again in the company of non-believers), and is rather less than discreet about some of his attitudes to women (joining inappropriate Facebook groups etc).  He is also not afraid to go one holiday alone with his girlfriend.

Sophie's husband has spoken to him many times in love, raising these and other issues.  But there is a problem there too.  Sophie's husband was brought to Christ by this friend and has not been a believer as long.  Her husband is younger than her friend, and takes a more conservative line on many things.  Sophie is afraid that the voice of her husband is being lost in the loud secular voices of the media and unbelieving friends. She worries that his influence is being lessened because he is telling his friend things he doesn't want to hear about things in his life that need to change, and behaviour that is blatantly ungodly, behaviour which belies his Christian professions of faith.

Sophie asked me what she should do.  Should she keep praying for her friend and the words of her husband and hold her piece about her growing frustration?  Should she raise issues with her friend directly and risk damaging the friendship of both her and her husband?  or should she put the health of his soul above the feelings of her heart and say it anyway?

Changes changes.

It has been a year of great change.  


I spent about an hour and a half last night reading back over the Facebook posts and status updates on my profile since my birthday in 2009.  It was an interesting exercise and one I plan to revisit every so often.  It really showed me a couple of things about my life.  It has most definitely been a year of great change. 


 I went from someone who worked for money (and fulfillment) to someone who stayed home full-time with a small person!  I went from someone who I thought was not that excited about having kids to someone who now has one and can admit publicly that I love motherhood. 


I noticed that I have many very supportive friends.  Some of them I see all the time.  Some of them I haven't seen in person for many years.  Yet all have been giving of themselves and their advice when requested or needed.  I know some people say Facebook has made friendship less meaningful, and I can see why that may be the case, but for me, it has enabled me to reconnect with many friends who no longer live close by.  It has meant that people who (for whatever reason) can't come and visit can still see Bede and his progress (and follow mine). 


I also noticed that (despite my many protestations to the contrary) I was actually very excited to be pregnant and loved most of it.  On the same topic, I saw many many updates (more than I ever thought I could write) extolling the positives of motherhood.  Sure there were also many many negative posts...some days the positives felt very far away.  But over all I think we can say that motherhood has been a positive experience.  


It was interesting to me to realise that Facebook is almost better than a baby book for me in that I update with almost every new skill mastered or cute expression espied.  I have a real baby book.  But I would have to check my Facebook profile to accurately update it!!


So for next year instead of a new baby, we will have a new home, a new Church family, a new geographic and social area to get used to.  Many changes.  Will my Facebook profile adequately reflect the scope and effect of all of them?  Probably not since working in ministry has its own ethical and privacy codes.  But I will certainly try to live as openly in ministry as I try to live in motherhood so that no one can say I am half-hearted in my motherhood or in my ministry or in my marriage.  

The wand chooses the wizard...

It is almost here.  It has almost arrived.  After years of waiting, and counting down, we are about to see yet another Harry Potter Film.   The trailers promise an extravaganza of Biblical proportions.  And so does the book...it would have to given that it was split into two films.

I have just finished re-reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (for the squillionth time).  I am a huge advocate of reading books more than once.  In my school days I used to be bamboozled because girls who had not even read an English text we were studying would beat me in exams when I had read the book countless times (inconceivable I know...mind you I was sure I was just a failed genius...).  And it is not as though I don't "get it" the first time.  I re-read it for the sheer pleasure of re-visiting familiar and beloved characters, places and situations, and because I almost always discover something new in a book each time I read it.

This time was no exception.  There I was reading HP7 when I discovered something about wandlore I was hitherto unaware of.   It seems that the descriptors of the wand have 2 functions (that I have so far discerned).

1) We find out the eventual height of the owner of the wand.  The length of the wand is directly proportional to their adult height (Hagrid's wand is 16 inches long where most other people's would be between 9 and 13)
2) We also find out about the flexibility of the character (note that Bellatrix has a wand that is rigid, whereas Draco Malfoy's is bendy).  This could indicate the propensity of the character to be swayed from a position they have adopted, or (in the case of Wormtail, to be broken).

I don't think this is the only thing we can learn about the characters from their wand descriptions.  I have not as yet investigated the supposed properties of the kind of wood that makes up the wand.  Mind you it might be interesting to do that since Hagrid's is made from oak which is a long lived, strong and constant wood.

Anyway.  Enough musing on the world of HP.  Soon enough (14 days to be precise).  I will be sitting in a cinema (without Bede...so a babysitter will be required) eagerly anticipating the opening credits of the penultimate installment of the HP saga!!!

BRING IT ON!!!!!

One potato, two potato, three potato, four...

I have decided that I am going to start the mammoth task of packing up the house.  It is probably a good idea to start now since packing with an almost toddler will probably take longer.  I often wonder how people with multiple (and sometimes many multiple) children do it.  How do you cope with more than one child? more than one routine?  more than one set of nappies (if they are close together in age)...


I have a strange family. We have very large age-gaps between siblings.  Ten years between my sister and me, and then 6 years between me and my next sister.  Then there was an aberration; an anomaly to the pattern: my brother arrives after a mere 13 months.  I remember many years of being an only child.  Then suddenly I had two siblings in quick succession.  


My question is: what is a fair age-gap between children?  I know many people who have 2 years and under between children, but not many who have 3 years or more.  Is there really such a huge advantage to being stressed out of your brain for a few years to have kids close together?  Do the benefits really outweigh the costs? the years of sleeplessness, nappies, toddlers, breastfeeding, the HSCs, driving lessons etc???  


I think I would hate having kids so close together...until I remember how close my siblings are.  They have the same friends and go to the same parties quite often.  They shared a room until they were 15 and 14.  


Even now they share a language I cannot penetrate through the generation gap.  And it is a generation.  I am married with a baby, and they are still at uni.  Were Fiona still with us, she would be almost 40.  She may be married.  She would most likely not have kids (due to chemo and radiotherapy as a child), but she would have her own generational markers and language.


I suppose looking at my own sibling age-gaps, and knowing that Luke is an only child, I keep coming back to the question of what works?  I know that a 13 month age gap nearly killed mum.  I also know that I never really quite got over the arrival of my sister (less so my brother), and that most of my childhood was spent relating to adults or older cousins, making it harder for me to relate to kids my own age.  Bede won't have quite that problem since he will be at Sunday School from a very young age with kids his own age all the time.  


But what would you do?  would you have yours close together? or have a larger gap? and if you already have your kids, would you do it the same way again? or would you have them closer together/further apart and why??

Moving on up...Pt II

And so we wait.  The Project goes in next week and it is well on the way to completion (97% done...); then 2 exams, then Luke's life at College and our life in community really begins to wind down.  


Other couples/families who are also finishing are starting to book their movers, and get packing boxes so they can begin the arduous yet now familiar task of de-cluttering and packing up the flat/home.


And we still wait.  I could start packing boxes and getting Luke to carry them down to our garage.  It will make my life easier in the long run if I do.  I know it will.  


But I am reluctant.  I feel like if I start packing, I move out of my accustomed home in Egypt where College never ends and community (and friendships) lasts for ever, and into the more harsh and scary world of reality where we have only about 6 weeks until we have to be out of our College accommodation.


I still wait.  I still want to know where we are moving too before I pack.  It's silly.  It's procrastination gone mad.  I don't even like Egypt all that much.  The real world has its upsides.  


But it also has one big downside that I am currently the most afraid of: Isolation and Loneliness.  It's funny because I don't take as much advantage of community living as I should.  I don't go to coffee at someone's house every day and I don't leave Bede with someone else when things get hard.  But I could.  And that is the hard thing.  


Knowing that soon, I won't be able to just drop in on friends and neighbours at Moorewest; knowing that my closest friend could live ages away.  And knowing that if Bede is having a meltdown-y kind of day that it really is all down to me- no Moorewest friend will walk in and say "Let me take him while you go for a coffee".  I haven't really let them.  But they could.  And it's that eventuality that I am really dreading.

Pragmatic about friendships? Not me!!

I am not a fan of change.  I like stability, and lots of it.  I lived in the same house for 21 years, and went to the same school for 13 years.  So for me, the idea of moving house and church frequently is not a friendly thought.


One of the problems I have with moving churches in particular is the question of moving on from friendships.  I don't do it.  For me, if you are my friend, you stay my friend irrespective of how often we talk on the phone (or chat on facebook), or how often we see each other.  I have friends that I would consider very good friends who I haven't seen or spoken to for a long long time.  


This hurts me.  I often wonder if I need to re-think the way I 'do' friendships.  Maybe I need to be like a person I know who is very 'pragmatic' about friendships when she moves church; essentially she says goodbye to people, and cuts them off from her 'friend list', expecting to take up the friendship again in heaven.  


I find that idea hard to stomach.  Especially since I considered her to be my friend after we had moved churches.  Then I heard her ideas about friendship.  


And I stopped.  


And I thought: was I ever her friend?  


Was I wrong to assume that we could stay friends after moving on to new churches?  Am I wrong to assume that when we move again (at the end of the year) that my friends from Terrey Hills will remain my friends after we're gone?  I hope not.  Because I hold friendship to be deeper and more important that that.  I hold friendship to be something that lasts and is there even without constant contact.  Even when life situations change (getting married/having kids) in my mind friendships continue on.  


So if I haven't phoned you in a while, or you're not on facebook, or we haven't seen each other in person lately (or even for a long time), please don't assume I don't care about you as much as I did when we saw each other often.  Please don't assume I have moved on from the friendship.  Please don't assume I don't still pray for you.  


Because I do care about you.  


I have not moved on.  


I do still pray for you.  


And chances are, I would LOVE to catch up with you in person.  Why don't we make a date?  

Moving on up...?

We are in a very weird place at the moment.  Luke has just handed in his last big essay for College apart from the Project.  He has just 2 exams to sit this semester.  This means that we have nearly finished four years at Moore College.  It means that in the not too distant future, we will be unleashed on a (yet to be determined) parish.

This is a double-edged sword.  I have loved being a "College wife".  Moorewomen, and Biblestudy and living in community have been wonderful fulfilling things.  The churches we have been serving have welcomed us as  members of their spiritual family.

But the end of College is bittersweet for me.  I always intended to study myself, but God had other plans for me.   I will miss living in community, and sharing my life with my Biblestudy ladies from week to week.  In some cases we have lived close to each other and shared a Biblestudy for the whole of College.

I will not miss living in a tiny flat though.  I will not miss living more than half an hour from church (which has meant my involvment can only be so much...).  A bigger place to live close to church is starting to look really good. 

But is it worth the moving?  the loss of College community?  What other (positive) things do I have to look forward to in parish life?  I need some encouragement to want to move on...

Is it just me?

...or have you also noticed the positive rash of people who are pregnant at the moment?  I notice it because I live in community and a fair few members of the community are currently pregnant, or have just recently (in the last fortnight) had babies.


This used to drive me nuts.  In my pre-pregnancy days, in my pre not-trying days, I used to feel like I was surrounded by pregnant women.  Or I was surrounded by women who had recently been pregnant, or women who had young kids.  It was crazy. 


Every week I had to run the gauntlet at Moorewomen... "do you have kids?"..."No it's just us"..."any on the way?"..."not at the moment"...


And then if it wasn't that conversation, it was the listening to others talk about their pregnancies; how sick they were (or weren't)...what they craved (or didn't crave)...; their labour/birthing stories...  I was going insane!!!


Now don't get me wrong.  I was happily not pregnant.  I was working, and loving it (for the most part).  


But I know many many women at College (now and in the recent past) who have struggled and are currently struggling with infertility (either explained or unexplained).  I know women for whom Moorewomen was a weekly torture session to which they subjected themselves because they knew it would be helpful in their pastoral careers.  I know many more women who avoid Moorewomen even though they are aware of how helpful it will be in the future, simply because the pain now is too great.  It hurts too much to have people assume you have kids; to see women week after week fall pregnant (apparently) easily, with their 2nd (3rd, 4th...) child while you still struggle through falling pregnant with your first.  I know women who keep their emotional rollercoaster battles with IVF and other fertility assistance treatments a secret.


I have fought hard to try and keep a level playing field (so to speak) at Moorewomen, so that not every topic is related to having kids, so that people without kids (of whom I was one for my first 3 years of College) could feel free to come and learn and grow without feeling like they were missing out (even though they feel like that anyway).  


We at College and in parish ministry need to be more aware of the prevalence of fertility problems.  We need to think through how we talk to couples who do not have kids; perhaps being careful of unspoken assumptions about whether or not they will have kids.  We also need to think through how to pastorally care for those who struggle with infertility in the long term- many couples try for years to fall pregnant before going to assisted fertility treatments, and many more do not believe in those treatments, and suffer in silence.  We need to think through how we place people in Biblestudy groups, how we arrange our creche rosters...etc


In many ways I was lucky.  I was a strong personality who could deal with the baby talk week in, week out.  I was happy in my work.  I was happily not pregnant.  And when we were " not not trying" to fall pregnant, I was ok each month when things didn't happen.  People who knew me at those times will know that I would assert that I didn't really want kids all that much anyway.  


I lied.


I did want kids.  I wanted them so much that I was afraid of having them.  I wanted the security of knowing ahead of time if they would be healthy, and that my pregnancies would go well. If I asserted I didn't want them that much anyway, then if I didn't fall pregnant, it wouldn't matter.  But each month it did matter.  Six months of not not trying and I still wasn't pregnant.  On it went.  More people I knew were falling pregnant...but not me.  And I was still ok.  Had I not fallen pregnant when I did, I may not have been ok for that long really.  But luckily for us, I fell pregnant. 


And then we had to watch the faces of friends (who we knew had been trying much longer than us) fall.  And then the smiles masked the pain.  Another friend pregnant.  Not me again this month.  The hearty congratulations, masking the "why?".  Some of those friends are still trying over a year later.  


We pray every night that they will fall pregnant.  Of course prayer should be our first port of call when we seek to pastorally care for those who struggle to conceive.


What are some other practical ways we can care for those who struggle with infertility?

The obsessions of motherhood...

I have an obsessive personality as anyone who knows me could attest to.  I will read and re-read fantasy series' ad nauseam ad infinitum (Harry Potter anyone?).  If I find an author I like, I will read everything they wrote.  Not just once.  Many many many times.

This facet of my character has got me into trouble more than once.  I nearly drove a (slightly hormonal pregnant) friend nuts when I read everything I could find on pregnancy in an effort to support her through a much desired (and long awaited) pregnancy.  I spent nearly a year immersed in the mirky world of Harry Potter fanfiction (which I will candidly admit I still miss) becoming a shell of my true self.

With this in mind, I assert that all mothers have a 'parental obsession'.  For some, it may be what their child eats (only organic perhaps); for others it may be whether their little precious bundle is sickening for something ("I'm sure she's feeling a bit hot..."); for still others it may be the clothes or accessories in the nursery (only the Boori cot and Bugaboo pram?).

For me it is sleeping.  But not just any sleeping: for me it is day sleeping.  Bede has always been a good night sleeper, but from a ridiculously early age his day sleeps were variable.  It didn't take long for the quality of my day to be dictated by how long and how well he slept and whether (in the early days) he would re-settle after only one sleep cycle.  And it took very little for a good day to be turned into a bad day by one missed or unsettled nap (today was unfortunately one of those days).

I read every book I could find on baby sleeping and would flip straight to the cat-nap section desperate for a fail-safe way to make get him to sleep for longer consistently. I even keep a spreadsheet detailing every minute he sleeps day and night (yes I am that pathetic).  Needless to say my efforts were in vain.

As I have mentioned before on this blog (and in person if you know me), Bede is a comparatively easy baby and is a joy to know and love.  I am thankful every day for him.  And yet too often I find myself counting the minutes until he is supposed to go to bed next...selfishly wasting the time I should be playing with him, enjoying him.

I hate feeling like this.  Yet I know that one day soon he won't need days sleeps...and then...then another parental obsession will rear it's ugly head...who knows what it may be?  Tantrums? Discipline? Table manners?  the potential list is endless!!

So what is the Godly way to deal with my parental obsessions?  Prayer would be the place to start.   A good mummy network is essential, and has been endlessly helpful (thanks to my Mummy's Group ladies and to my Biblestudy ladies, not to mention the lovely Moorewomen).  I also think accountability is key.  Someone to talk to who is good at keeping things in perspective for me, maybe (in fact preferably) someone who has a much more demanding and high maintenance baby.

So I'll throw it out to the ether:  what is your parental obsession? how do you keep your perspective in a godly way?

Emotional Barometer Pt II

I have an immaculate house.  Each room is as tidy as it can be given the confined space.  I feel good.  Almost feel like taking photos...


Another facet to my emotional barometer is the maintenance of the clean state.  The real test is how long it stays clean.  If the house stays clean my level of perceived control goes up.  But if we let is slide straight away it is a sign that my veneer of control is too thin.

Who is your Mrs Landingham?

I've been watching the West Wing again lately.  Luke and I love it, and Bede loves it (mostly for the music I think).  We're just up to the end of Season 2, which focuses on Mrs Landingham, one of the series' best characters!!

I was thinking though.  It seems like she is a mother substitute for Jed.  You know the type.  The older female figure who offers advice (solicited or not) and kicks you in the butt when you need it.  I'm not sure if I have one.

Actually that's not true.  I do have one.  But she's not that much older than me and she's my best friend.  She has certainly kicked me in the butt when I've needed it.  And she is great at offering advice!!

Who is your Mrs Landingham?

What's your Emotional Barometer?

It is funny how you can tell when someone is not coping too well.  Some people retreat into a room and play guitar.  Some people drink a bit too much.  Some people go out a lot.  Some people clean.


I am the opposite.  When I am not coping too well, my house gets messy.  Very messy.  But my true Emotional Barometer is the state of my kitchen.  


If the washing up is piling up on the bench top, you know I am having a rough time.  When it is piling up on the oven as well as the bench top...well let's just say I'm headed for a melt down.  


Sometimes it gets so bad I will go out for the day (no matter what it does to Bede's sleeps) just to avoid looking at the state of my kitchen.


This is all very ironic given that I do the mouse's share of the cooking in our house.  


Luke has always done the bulk of our cooking.  


He likes it.  


I like it. 


Long may it continue.


I have always done the bulk of the cleaning.  I am not good at it.  My house would never win an award for tidiness and my mother would (and sometimes does) flinch at the state of the bathroom.  


But when I am coping, my kitchen is pretty clean.  Immaculate even.  It's when I'm feeling confident and in control.  But it can go from clean and easy maintenance to messy and hard to fix in the space of 24 short hours.  I never realised I was so emotionally mercurial!!


So when you come to my house and I tell you "Please ignore the mess"...chances are I would really appreciate a hand.  I would deny it!  Vocally.  But please ignore my protests and please wash up for me!!! 


It is an easy way to help me get back under control.

The smiley face to thank God for...

I hate that the goodness or otherwise of my day has become all about how well Bede has slept that day.  It has been that way for way too long and I need to get over it.  It is hard but I really really need to get over it. 


What I need should be doing is thanking God for a happy, healthy boy who is growing well and who 95 % of the time is an absolute joy!  I should be spending more time writing posts like "Giggles" a few days ago.  


I should be spending more time thinking of the new skills he's learnt this week like:
     -  clapping spontaneously
     -  reaching down to pick something up without falling over (from a standing position whilst holding on to something)
     -  moving from crawling position to sitting position 




He is a JOY so often, with his smiley face and his snuggling in for a cuddle.


As a posted on facebook a few weeks ago, it is days like this one (and a few others lately) that remind me how easy (comparatively) we have it with Bede.  He has always slept well at night, eaten well (taking to breastfeeding like a duck to water), reached milestones early, and been good as gold for any and all babysitters.  I know many people who have it a lot harder than I do, which is why I shouldn't whinge.  


So I need to pray for thankfulness for my smiley little boy, and patience to keep smiling when he has a (rare) bad day.

That time of year again...

It's that time of year again.  The time of year when tens of thousands of Year 12 students finish the humdrum world of classes, and slide sloshily into the murkier world of stu-vac before the HSC.  


It was not a sloshy slide for me.  I walked with my head held high (and dry) through many an 18th Birthday party, through the end-of school celebrations and into uni keen to learn.  This is not the experience of most young school leavers.  Most will drink their way through ridiculous amounts of money and self-respect between now and uni, and often continuing into the uni years.


I drink.  Sure.  About one drink a month.  But many of these kids will come home from  Schoolies with damaged livers.  And I think to myself: WHY??


Surely there is more to having fun at a party or at uni, or just to celebrate than to pour huge amounts of (essentially) poison down one's throat.  Surely having fun does not include throwing up in the bushes, and spending the next day making people whisper and tip toe past your door.


The drinking culture in Australia is much discussed on morning tv, evening tv and in churches.  It is also much subtly defended on morning tv, and evening tv.  The presenters will sit there and bemoan the binge drinking that occurs on a mass scale every weekend, conveniently forgetting their own heavy drinking days.  In the evening the presenters often laugh shamefacedly as they try to speak against the drinking culture, and try and laugh off their own drunken exploits.


Until recently in Europe alcohol was the only safe liquid to drink when most waterways were full of material and human waste.  The current guidelines for pregnant women not to drink any alcohol (apart from being largely ignored) would have spelled a quick death from dehydration in centuries passed.  


Now we know better.  We know the effects on the body of prolonged moderate use of alcohol.  We know about the effects on the developing baby.  We know about the effect on families and the raised levels of violence.  And yet as a society we continue to drink to excess regularly.  


How can we change this culture??  The current advertisements suggesting you "delay their first drink" will be largely useless given that for the target audience, the "parents", often they spent their youth sozzled and happy about it.  For too many generations, getting drunk has become a positive statement about adulthood, about manhood, about fun.


Again I ask: How do we as Christians change the culture?  


Well we know that prohibition doesn't work.  The USA tried that.  EPIC FAIL.  The reasons for the Prohibition Act were great reasons.  But the culture was too entrenched even then.  Now?


Biblically we know that Jesus was not averse to a tipple himself.  He turned water into wine at a wedding for crying out loud.  But at the same time, the Apostle Paul exhorts women 'not to be addicted to much wine'.  So moderation is the order of the day.  But do we know what moderation is anymore? Do we really know what moderation is?  In a culture where people who drink to excess think they drink moderately...a culture change is definitely necessary.  But still difficult.  


Some Christians think we shouldn't drink at all.  I am tempted to agree, but I know I don't really.  That attitude may well be the product of too many years of indoctrination into the idea that alcohol "isn't really that bad", that everything in moderation is ok.   Maybe we shouldn't drink.  Maybe it would really take being completely different from the prevailing culture to make a difference.  


I don't know.  What do you think?

Giggles...

I am a stickler for appearing dignified in all circumstances.  


I am one of those people who will not allow myself to be pulled out of the audience at dancing classes, won't sing at karaoke (even though I love singing), won't do gym classes all because I am so paranoid about appearing undignified.


Not so when it comes to making Bede laugh!  I still remember the first time he did it!! and for the longest time we had to work really really hard to get him to laugh...we practically had to turn ourselves inside out and turn handsprings at the same time for a tiny chuckle...


Not so anymore!! Now we have a boy who will laugh quite readily when tickled, who will chuckle at his reflection in the mirror or at new sounds.  But the crowning glory, the most fun part of my day is putting him to bed at night...not because I'm tired and can't wait to get a break...(well yes that too)...but because he has in the last few days discovered how to play peek-a-boo!!  He'll pull his blanket up over his face, then down again, when we say "Boo!!"...cue the howls of laughter from the boy!!


What a joy to see him discovering such an easy yet sophisticated game!!

Bede playing Boo with bear!

Bede at bedtime with Merlin...