Copycat

Following the carnage of breakfast this morning I settled down on the floor with a book as my son engaged in his usual 'Independent Learning' slot.  He's at the exploratory age.  So far this week I've fished farm animals out of the bin, nappies out of the shower, swiftly rescued a glass mixing bowl from being thrown across the room [mental note: keep breakables in a higher cupboard] and watched my mother run round after him in the garden frantically repeating, 'Darling they're bees.  They don't like being picked up.  Let's just put them back on the flower.'

Anyway, today's activity was 'remove all the books from the bookshelf, carry them across the room and give them to mummy'.  But after a while my son grew bored of this, so settled himself on the floor next to me, picked up the nearest book and started to 'read'.

I'm a firm believer in gender-neutral clothes - besides, the bottoms aren't pink.  They're salmon.

Engrossed in my book I didn't really think too much about this and murmured, 'Good reading poppet.  Well done'. But eventually it dawned on me: he was simply copying me.  He didn't really know why he was doing it or to what purpose, and I doubt whether he really enjoyed it - after all N T Wright is fairly readable, but there's a surprising absence of pictures... But he saw me reading and thought, 'Hmmm.  Maybe I'll give this a try'.

That's how a lot of learning is done (so I'm told).  Simply seeing other people do things and copying them.  We're not born instinctively knowing how to read or walk or tell a joke.  We need to learn.

The same is true when we become Christians.  The moment we embrace Jesus and all that he's done for us we become new people - but we still have the same personalities and life challenges.  We need to learn how to become more like Jesus.  And each new stage in life requires new skills to be learnt.  I got pretty good at living a Christian life as a young singleton, but now that I'm a mother I've suddenly got a whole new heap of challenges: how do I do this with a young person attached to me 24-7?  What does  grace look like in the face of a bedtime tantrum? How can I have time alone with God when my son needs constant entertaining?

Much of what I've learnt about how to be a Christian has come from watching other Christians who've been doing this a lot longer than me.  Here's a few examples:

- I used to work as an assistant to a vicar.  One of the things that stuck out most from my time working with him was his asking me to cancel his Saturday newspaper subscription because he felt he was wasting too much time at the weekend reading it.  He wasn't saying that all weekend papers are bad, rather demonstrating that he was prepared to take drastic steps - no matter how counter-cultural - in order to totally pursue all that God wanted for him.

- as a teenager I got to know a young family at my church.  Her parents weren't Christians and so whenever the boys went on sleepovers to Grandma's house they would take with them a teddy that said prayers to play before they went to sleep.  This couple managed to navigate the tricky path of not asking her parents to do something they weren't comfortable with, alongside their desire to raise their children knowing and loving Jesus.  They kept their integrity.

And the lessons I've learnt have not always been from Christians alive today.  I love the story of Susanna Wesley.  She had 19 children (including John and Charles who went on to found the Methodist movement) and had a rule that if she sat down with her apron over her head it meant that she was praying and didn't want to be disturbed, thus proving that time with God can be made no matter how many children you have!

We wouldn't expect our children to learn everything without help, nor should we expect ourselves to get everything right the first time.  We need to watch how others do it.  As the Apostle Paul said, 'Follow me as I follow the example of Christ' 1 Corinthians 11:1  He wasn't saying that he'd got it all sorted, but simply that he'd be doing this stuff longer and therefore the Christians in the church at Corinth could learn stuff from watching his example.

We don't need to have all the solutions.  We can copy others.

Elijah's top tip

If you asked me who in the bible offers great advice to parents, the prophet Elijah would not have been my first choice.  Or second.  Until this morning.

Yesterday I read about one of Elijah's greatest triumphs.  After correctly predicting a three year drought, Elijah invites the entire nation of Israel to a spiritual show-down.  Tired of their flitting between the pagan gods Baal and Asherah, Elijah throws down the gauntlet.  "Let's build two altars", suggests Elijah.  "The prophets of Baal and Asherah can build one and I'll build the other.  We'll then put meat on the altars and pray.  Whichever god answers with fire, will be the true god of the nation of Israel."  After a lengthy blood bath (literally: the 800 other prophets spent a long time cutting themselves in an attempt to have their god answer) Elijah prays to the Lord and he is answered with huge amounts of fire.  The people repent, turn back to God and a spiritual revival happens courtesy of Elijah and his faith.

You'd think that Elijah would be feeling pretty good about himself.  And pretty secure in his faith.  Here was absolute proof that God heard him and was alive and active.

And yet.  On hearing that her 800 prophets had been killed following their failure to call down heavenly fire, Queen Jezebel sends a death threat to Elijah.  And what does he do?  Runs off in to the desert, throws himself on the ground and asks God to kill him (I'm serious - read 1 Kings 19:3-4).

Why on EARTH was Elijah behaving so irrationally? God had just proved that he could do anything - even send down fire.  The ENTIRE nation was on his side.  And yet at a single sentence from a woman, he buckles physically and emotionally.

I think the clue to Elijah's behaviour lies in the previous chapter.  Elijah was ABSOLUTELY EXHAUSTED.  He had just survived a three year drought and famine.  Whilst hiding in a desert.  And being continually hunted by the king.  Add to that the fact that he'd just completed a 17 mile run in record breaking time (and in a rainstorm), and you've got one bone-weary prophet.

I can relate to Elijah.  Not in the calling-down-fire from heaven sense, but just in the 'I AM ABSOLUTELY EXHAUSTED ALL THE TIME' bit.  For the past 25 months my body and my life has not been my own.  I have been pummelled, stretched (literally and metaphorically), sleep-deprived and on an emotional roller coaster.  Every day I lift about 12 kilograms every few minutes.  And to top it all off I can no longer watch or read anything which has children/pets/emotional music/or references to parents without completely breaking down and sobbing.

So what did Elijah do?  He got on his own and poured it all out to God.  Everything that he was feeling.  And he didn't try to hide anything, justify anything or even apologise for anything.  He just said, 'This is how I'm feeling God.  And it absolutely sucks.'

Elijah realised that God alone has the wisdom to fully understand what we're feeling and to know what we need.  In Elijah's case is was magnificently simple: take a nap and have some food.  Then take another nap and have some more food.  He didn't offer Elijah theological treatise on why he didn't need to be afraid of Jezebel.  He didn't rebuke Elijah for his lack of faith.  And he didn't offer commiserations.  Sleep and eat.  Sleep and eat.  And that so revived Elijah that he was able to set off for 40 days on a pilgrimage!

So that's Elijah's top tip to parents (and actually to everyone).  Be honest with God.  He knows just what you need.  And remember: it's often alarmingly simple.

Sludge

Yesterday my son was having some 'independent play time' (which basically means I had put some toys out and was lying on the sofa with one eye closed).  Glancing across, I saw him giving me a weird smile.  No teeth, mouth very firmly closed.  The longer I stared at him the more intense his smile became until suddenly he started to drool.  Nothing too unusual about that for a teething toddler, except this time his drool was dark grey.  And slightly sludgy.

I don't need parenting books to know that multi-coloured drool is not good and so I went in to investigate.  Eventually I managed to prize his jaws apart and discovered a fairly sizeable piece of grey chalk.  Nice.

As I cleaned my hands and disposed of the aforementioned chalk, I realised that this was the perfect illustration for something that had recently been bothering me.

I judge people.  A lot.  I don't say it out loud, and I don't even think I do it consciously.  I'll just be walking along and see something and suddenly this thought pops into my head.  Take this morning.  We were cycling back from swimming (see the previous blog entry for a visual picture) and passed another lady and her little girl on a similar bike seat.  This lady wasn't wearing a cycle helmet and nor was her daughter and immediately - even as I was returning her smile - the thought entered my head, 'Honestly!  How irresponsible.  What is she teaching her daughter?  And what if she falls off and the girl dies?  Seriously, some people.'  All that - just from a passing glance.

And I find myself going, 'Bekah where is this coming from?  You have no idea why they weren't wearing helmets.  And frankly it's none of your business anyway. It's not like you're a perfect parent - yesterday you let the bike fall over with Toby still on it! [true story and one for another blog post]'

So.  What's going on?  Well there's something that Jesus said which I think sheds some light on my judgemental behaviour: 'For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.' Luke 6:45  Like my son and his chalk you can only hold so much rubbish inside you before it's going to come out and make itself known.

I am immensely self-critical and I judge myself all the time.  For most of the day I'll have this inner dialogue going on:

- 'He's only had one outing today.  How is he going to pass his developmental milestones?  Maybe that's why he was a late walker - I've not been stimulating him enough...'
- 'That's the second biscuit I've given him today - all the books say that childhood obesity starts young... what if I'm encouraging an unhealthy interest in sweet food?'
- 'Charlie and Lola again?  He's going to associate screaming with getting a reward.'
- 'Spaghetti hoops do not count as a vegetable, no matter what the label says.'

I'm slowly realising that if this is how I treat myself, of course it's going to subconsciously come out as I watch other parents.

Jesus wisely said 'do to others what you would have them do to you' Matthew 7:12 but I think I also need to do to myself what I would want to do to others.  i.e cut myself a little slack!  Show myself some grace. Realise that parenting is UNBELIEVABLY HARD WORK and frankly as long as my son knows that he is loved and has food and clothes (not even clean ones) HE WILL BE FINE.

And hopefully by replacing my judgemental inner dialogue with a more grace-filled one, I am less likely to ooze grey sludge on those people who, like me, are doing the very best that they can.

Trust

The weather's been so nice recently that my son and I have been cycling everywhere (the photo was taken last Autumn, but just imagine us without so many layers.  Although the cycling hats remain.  Safety first, people, safety first.).

Anyway, as we pootle along and I narrowly miss parked cars, ferrell children and try and navigate the stupidly small gaps that cyclists are supposed to squeeze through on the 'cycle paths', I've been pondering the nature of Trust.

My son is amazing. No matter how close we come to oncoming traffic, he never winces.  Nor does he yell, 'Mum the postbox!  Seriously, it's BRIGHT RED.  How on earth could you not see it?  Even I saw it and I don't even know my primary colours yet!'.  Quite the opposite.  He giggles.  And points.  And dings the bell (which is very cute but occasionally embarrassing when he does it and pedestrians automatically jump.  Even when they're miles from the road.)

My son trusts me.  He literally puts his life in my hands every single time we get on the bike.  He has no control over where we're going, how fast we're going or the route we take.  He just has to sit there and watch it all unfold.  Whether he knows it or not, he is trusting me to get him safely where he needs to be.  All he has to do is sit back and enjoy the ride.

I find it hard to trust God.  Especially when life doesn't seem to be going the way I hoped it might.  All too easily I question and grumble and try everything to snatch back control.  And yet I just wonder if God's a bit like me on the bicycle.  Firmly in the driving seat, encircling me with his arms and with a clear route mapped out - even if it's totally different from the one I would choose to take.

Perhaps trust isn't so much an emotion as it is an attitude.  Saying, 'I might not understand what's going on here, but I'm choosing to trust that you do God.  And so I can relax.  And enjoy the journey.  And maybe even ding the bell."

 '... those who trust the Lord will be joyful.' Proverbs 16:20

Gratitude

'Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.' 

Sarah Ban Breathnach

I've been reading a book about gratitude ['One Thousand Gifts' by Ann Voskamp].  It is beautifully written.  And inspirational.  In brief, a friend challenged Ann to write a list of 1000 things that she was thankful for - she did so, and along the way encountered Jesus in a powerful new way.

Inspired by this I am trying to be more thankful.  Here's how my 'attitude of gratitude' (nice) looked last week:

- Thank you Lord that it's 6.30am and I have ears that can hear my son's cries.  Thank you that he has working lungs and vocal cords.  And thank you that it's not 5.30am. Or indeed 4.30am.

- Thank you Lord that I have enough food to feed my son.  Thank you for his skills in learning to eat it.  And thank you that Weetabix doesn't stain walls too badly.

- Thank you Lord that my son takes an interest in may things.  Thank you that he didn't manage to pour the entire packet of Museli over the floor and thank you I can afford to buy more.  Thank you for his legs and his ability to climb.  Thank you that he didn't hit his head too badly when he fell off the sofa, and thank you, oh THANK YOU, for Calpol.

- Thank you for play groups.  Thank you that my son is learning how to interact with other children and thank you for his wonderfully stoic nature, especially when that big boy hits him and that other girl gets him in a head lock.  Thank you for the opportunity to witness through my patience and grace.  And thank you for your forgiveness when I fail to show it...

- Thank you for nappies.  Thank you that they mostly work brilliantly.  And thank you that, when they don't, I have Vanish and a washing machine.  That works.  A lot.

- Thank you for nap time.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Thank you for a chance to switch off and be still.  Thank you for the garden and the peace it brings me.  And thank you once again for my ears which are able to hear my son's cries.

- Thank you for this glorious weather. And for sun cream.  Thank you for all the greenery and flowers in bloom.  And thank you for hayfever tablets, tissues and a house I can escape to when it all gets too much. Thank you that I have working tear ducts. And thank you for how complex you've made my skin and how it very clearly tells me when I need to leave the grass.  Thank you for trousers to cover up the hives.  And thank you that they are not a life-threatening illness.

- Thank you for friends to commiserate with, laugh with and cry with.  Thank you especially for those who are at the same age and stage and understand completely what I'm going through.  Thank you for the ability to multi-task and maintain a fairly deep conversation whilst chasing each other's children, changing nappies, wiping noses and yes, applauding their 77th hand-clapping of the day.

- Thank you for the chance to slow down and appreciate other people's gardens, a fallen leaf, a sleeping cat and that old crisp packet.  Thank you for my son's eyes which notice all these things.  And thank you that I don't have anything in the diary that I need to rush back to.  Thank you for the gift of time.

- Thank you that I can feel my legs and my back and that despite the stress I place them under daily, they still work.  Thank you for my osteopath when they don't.  Thank you for hot water and bath toys.  And thank you for nursery rhymes when tempers run fraught.  And thank you that my son doesn't care when I forget the words.

- Thank you for the many, many talented authors out there who use their gifts to write thoroughly engaging children's stories.  And thank you for all the other authors too.  Even the one who wrote this book.

- Thank you for a safe space in which to lie my son down to sleep.  Thank you for sleeping bags, cotton sheets and black out blinds.  And thank you again for Calpol.

- Thank you for my husband who works exceptionally hard and who comes home ready to ask about my day.  Thank you that he doesn't blink at my occasionally bouts of hysteria.  And thank you for hugs.

- And Lord finally thank you for wine.  And a sofa.  And the latest episode of The Apprentice.

Known

I've been a Christian for nearly all of my life (I reckon I was about 5 when I made a conscious decision to follow Jesus).  You'd think that after 25 years of doing this I'd have pretty much got it worked out.

Unfortunately this is most definitely not the case.  Here's a few example why:

I'm rubbish at telling people about Jesus.  I know, I know.  I totally want to be That Person (the one who seems to convert someone every time they get on a plane) but I have never, ever, EVER started a conversation with a total stranger and included the line 'It's funny you should mention that because I'm actually a Christian.  Let me tell you why...'.

I totally get that God has a heart for the poor and oppressed and whenever I hear a talk about sex trafficking or war orphans or Christians in North Korea I get fired up and think 'I must help them!' and 'Lord, sent me!'.  And then I get home and forget everything in the panic of thinking, 'Bother.  I forget to buy more milk...'.  Even the one very small thing that I am doing - sponsoring a girl in Uganda - I'm pretty rubbish at because I forget to pray for her and pretty much never write.  I then feel incredibly guilty when she sends me letters saying, 'God bless you and your family.  I pray for you every day...'  Gulp.

I fit any Bible reading I need to do in to the time it takes me to eat a bowl of cornflakes (and even that gets shortened when my son decided to throw his bowl on the floor and I rush to clean it up).  I pretty much never memorise Bible verses, the phrase 'meditate on the Word' scares me (any form of silence and I'm pretty much asleep) and don't even get me started on fasting.  I do pray.  But it tends to veer towards crisis-management style prayers.  "God, I have no idea what I'm doing here.  Should I make him eat his scrambled eggs or just let him get down and play?  Help!'.  Whilst I find it commendable that the Apostle Paul seemed to pray for every Christian individually and by name in the ENTIRE province of Asia but I suspect he wasn't the primary carer of a 15 month old.

I am really, really good at developing the gifts of the Holy Spirit.  Providing I am on my own. And I've had more than 7 hours sleep.  And I've been well-fed.  Stick me in a car in rush hour traffic with an irritated toddler who wanted his dinner 30 MINUTES AGO and any thoughts of kindness and peace, let alone patience, vanish in a puff of smoke.  Especially towards other drivers who CUT IN AND IGNORE THE FACT THAT I HAVE A "BABY ON BOARD STICKER".

I could get depressed about this.  Actually sometimes I do.  But, by enlarge, I've been encouraged of late.  My life looks considerably less holy than it did when I was a single 23 year old with ample time to spend on quiet times and sleep.  But that's okay.  God knows that this is a tough season.  He knows I'm perpetually exhausted.  He knows I love my son - even when my voice is going up an octave and I'm shrieking "Why on earth would you want to throw your porridge on the wall?  Why??!!'.

He knows me.

"My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me." [emphasis mine] John 10:27

I recently read this, 'Any first century listener would've recognised the nuances of a shepherd calling his sheep.  A shepherd was intimately acquainted with every single sheep in his flock.  He knew their habits, their personalities, and their tendencies.  In fact, he developed a specific call for each sheep. A shepherd could stand outside the flock and make a particular call, and that one sheep would separate from the flock and come to him.  Every sheep had its own special language with the shepherd.' (Out of the Spin Cycle by Jen Hatmaker)

Throughout the constant noise that is my current life, I'm realising that the Shepherd is still talking to me.  I may not always hear him, but he is there.  Guiding me.  Laughing with me.  Holding me.  And most of all teaching me.  He still knows how best to get important life lessons drilled in, and he still knows what's the best way to teach me.  He has a specific language for me and a specific call for me - in spite of my many, many failings.  And for that I am immensely thankful.

Gardening

Before I got married I had a dream that one day I'd live in a big house with a fabulous garden.  Roses, peonies, lilies, a meadow, possibly a stream and lots of nooks and crannies to sit and read.  The lot.  I imagined myself in a floaty summer dress (probably from Boden or some other such English institution) strolling through the garden at dusk with my wicker basket and scissors gently picking roses for a vast floral display which I'd artfully design similar to those featured in such heady publications as Country Living.

I married a man who is passionate about gardening.  One of the reasons we brought our current home is because we both loved the garden.  It is, by town standards, vast.  However his understanding of the verb 'to garden' and mine differ somewhat.  That is because his is rooted in Reality.

Within a week of moving in any thought of Boden, peonies and wicker baskets had vanished.  In their place were wellies (nope, not even pink), mud, rubbish piles, trips to the local Tip and basically Death.

You see much of gardening is about Death (stay with me, I've not lost it).  The garden we moved in to hadn't been properly gardened in years.  Which meant (she writes, eager to demonstrate her newly acquired Gardening Knowledge) that the soil lacked nutrients, the plants were stunted and there were A LOT of weeds.  Some of them even looked pretty.  But they were weeds nonetheless.  So we spent the first year digging up everything.  And I mean Everything.  There was many a time when I'd beg my husband, 'Oh please not that one!  Look at it's gorgeous purple flower!".  To which he'd reply, "Bekah, it's a thistle.  Get out of the way."

At the end of the first year our garden looked like.. well the term mud pit is probably too kind.  As I stared out at this barren wasteland I thought, "Ah well.  At least I can now get planting my flowers."

Nope.  Turns out that was Not A Good Idea.  "Vegetables!" cried my husband with a slightly terrifying gleam in his eye.  "We need vegetables!  Lots and lots.  They'll help break up the soil, return the nutrients and we can live off them too!  Can't say that about roses can you?"  For a man who hates shopping, he managed to spend an alarming amount of time and money at our local gardening centres.  And the result was a field of potatoes.  Different varieties, mind you, but potatoes nonetheless.  There's not too much beauty surrounding the common garden spud.  I'd like to say I got quite proficient at creating new and exciting dishes using our produce.  But that would be a lie.  Anyone visiting our house during that time left struggling under the weight of our excess vegetables.

Anyway, whilst this is all very therapeutic for me you might be wondering a) whether we actually have any flowers now and b) what this has got to do with... well, anything really.

Okay, a) we do now have flowers.  Lots.  And grass.  And a very small enclosed space for the odd vegetable.  But no potatoes.  If Sainsbury's is good enough for the rest of the population, it's good enough for me.  And every time I step out into our garden, my spirit soars.  And I've learnt so much that I'm now tackling our front garden All By Myself.  Yep, there's absolutely no planting going on.  Just lots of death and destruction.  For now.

b) which is partly what got me thinking.  Gardening is hard work.  I mean, I had no idea (clearly).  Roots go down deep.  And it takes a LONG TIME.  Digging, sifting, levelling... it's an investment.  The easier option would definitely be to leave it all alone.  But I have a vision for my garden.  Although it's overgrown I can see all it could be.

God is invested in us.  He sees all that we could be.  And he's not prepared to stop digging and uprooting and challenging and killing stuff in us until we're made more and more like Jesus and growing pretty awesome fruit in our lives (Galatians 5:22-23).

But when God's working on a particular part of our lives it can feel incredibly painful.  Stuff has to die.  We realise we're not as great as we thought we were.  The landscape can look barren and the timescale indefinite.  But if you're experiencing that, I want to encourage you.  God's not a random gardener and he doesn't get things wrong.  He's clearing the ground ready for something far more beautiful and life-giving and fruitful than you could ever imagine.

Up!

On Monday we visited Anglesey Abbey.  It's a great National Trust property (yes, I've reached that age) with acres and acres of grass, trees and even the odd quasi-classical sculpture (which is irrelevant to this post, but I just fancied using the word 'quasi').

My mother-in-law trotted off to admire the gardens.  Her knowledge of Latin plant names is vast and she very sweetly asks my opinion every time she's identifying a plant: 'Do you think this could be a platanthera chlorantha, Bekah?  Or maybe a cardamine pratensis?'  Whilst I'm flattered that she asks, I am wondering when she'll realise that my furrowed brow and 'mmmm' noise actually don't mean I'm genuinely thinking about the puzzle...  But I digress. My son and I stayed to play on the grass.

He is still learning to walk and gestures impatiently for my hand whenever he wants to explore somewhere new.  So together we trotted through the daisies, played peekaboo round the fir trees and then he discovered a narrow alleyway.  On one side was a wall.  On the other was a very large, very spiky fir tree.  He adopted his 'I am determined to go this way' face and pulled me toward it.

The sharp branches were exactly the same height as his eyes and he very quickly realised that he was In Trouble.  Still holding my finger in his vice-like grip he looked up at me and gestured: Up.  I want to go up.  So I picked him up and we walked through together.

You probably won't be surprised to hear that this got me thinking.  The reality of his situation hadn't changed.  The gap was still very small.  The branches remained thorn-like. But his position and perspective had shifted.  He was still going through the gap, but he was being carried.  And he could now see that what had seemed like an indeterminate tunnel of pain was actually just a short gateway beyond which lay more green grass.

Recently there have been some things in my life that have very much had the potential to be overwhelming and fear-inducing.  And one of the ways I've been trying to deal with them is to remind myself of God's perspective.  His plans.  His power.  And I suppose in a way the root of my prayer has been like that of my son's request: Up!  Father, lift me up.  Help me to see things as you see them.  Carry me through this patch.  Remind me that it won't last.  Up!

We often cite Isaiah 43:2 when people are in difficulty:
'When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.'

It's a comforting verse, but what struck me recently was the picture of being carried.  The only way a river is not going to sweep over you is if you are above it, safely being carried by One who has the power to stand in the face of sweeping rivers and all the horror they can bring.

To return to Monday, on our return home I noticed that my son hadn't escaped his trial unscathed.  He had several rather large scratches on his face but then, so did I.

God doesn't promise a life free from obstacles and suffering.  But he does promise to carry us through them.  We just have to ask.

Pride

If you'd have visited my house yesterday afternoon this is what you would have found: My son eating his dinner with relish and managing to keep most of it off the floor.  The kitchen perfectly tidy: washing up done, roast chicken ready to be put in the oven, potatoes peeled and the floor swept.  Later you would have seen my son and I engaged in fun, educational play with a hand made toy.  Then you would have observed my son happily playing by himself whilst I sent some emails and generally got organised with my life.

And I hope, on seeing all those things, you would have been Impressed.  I was. I confess that the thought even popped into my head, 'If only someone would call round now.  Just so they can see how competent and together I am.'

However, yesterday morning was a different story.  If you'd have come round then you'd have found my son standing up in his cot screaming and refusing to have his nap.  You would have seen me still in my pyjamas sobbing that it was all too difficult and that I'd had enough.  The sitting room covered in toys and Weetabix.  Mountains of washing up to be done.  And I suspect that you would have been Concerned (especially if you don't have children of your own).

It can be hard allowing people to see that we don't have it all together all the time.  One of the biggest hindrances to me going up to get prayer at the end of a church service is the thought, 'What if people think I have a porn addiction or a problem with self-harming or am just really struggling with life?'  Basically what I'm worried is that they'll move me from the category of 'strong and got it together' to 'weak and vulnerable and (heaven forbid) needy'.  And at the root of that is pride.

It's humbling to let people see your struggles.  It's humbling to admit, 'I don't have it altogether'.  But whilst the process of learning humility can be painful, it can have incredible consequences.  I've read many different definitions of humility but the one I like most is 'Humility means to think less about yourself and more about others'.  When we have the humility to admit that we are far from perfect - no matter how things might appear - it creates a safe space for others to take off their masks and admit that there are areas that they too find hard.  As C S Lewis wrote, 'Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What? You too?  I thought I was the only one!"

Demonstrating humility can be costly, but it becomes easier when our identity is sorted.  Jesus demonstrated extraordinary humility.  In Philippians 2 Paul describes the depths that Jesus was willing to go for others.  He put aside all vestiges of his glory and power and became a human in a remote, enemy-occupied, poverty-stricken part of the world.  He died an excruciating death.  And he left himself vulnerable to misunderstanding, abuse and wrongful judgement - and still does.  But the reason he that he could take the menial job of foot-washing - as well as the vast job of human salvation - is because he was certain of his identity.  He knew what God thought about him, 'This is my Son, whom I love' - and that left him free to demonstrate humility.

I am God's child.  He loves me irrespective of whether my house is perpetually in chaos or whether I raise the next Einstein.  And that means I can stop trying to be perfect, start showing humility and hopefully allow others the chance to be free from the stifling expectations that they carry - whether placed there by society or themselves.

Stairs

My son's current 'thing' is stairs.  Loves them.  If a room contains something even remotely resembling a step he's able to gravitate towards it with alarming speed and persistence.

Yesterday I was preparing his lunch in the kitchen.  Despite being left in a room full of toys, he gripped the stair gate for 10 minutes and screamed.  And screamed.  I think he may have even hit the gate at one point - it was certainly Tested.  As was I.

'Why,' I thought as I waited for the microwave to ping (because I am a domestic goddess), 'on earth isn't he enjoying all the things he has got instead of the one thing he hasn't?  He has toys beyond number.  Crayons, chairs, a bookcase that he usually loves to empty and access to the garden.  There's a whole world out there! He's missing out and wasting a huge amount of energy.  All because he wants the one thing he can't have.'

I ridicule but so often I act in the same way.  I so often focus on what I haven't got that I fail to enjoy all I have got.  At various points in my life I've wanted the following: to be married; to be married to that boy (and then that one, and then that one....); to be thinner; a job; a better job; more money; for the baby to just arrive because I'm tired of pregnancy and feeling tired all the time... for the baby to be somewhere else because I'm tired of being tired all the time; for the baby to sleep through the night; for the baby to eat solid food...  Some of these things became real obsessions for me and I missed out on so much!

Psalm 118:24 says, 'This is the day the LORD has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.'  Today - with all it contains - has been given me by God.  Some things are not as I would wish.  Others are beyond anything I could have imagined.  But instead of focusing on what I don't have I need to focus on and enjoy all I do have.

Getting my son to sleep through the night was a really big deal.  I'm basically not a nice person when sleep-deprived.  I remember one night when he woke up yet again and I remember the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.  'Grief.  Why can't he just sleep?  WHY???!!!'  I pulled on my dressing gown, staggered into his room and picked him up.  And then suddenly - and I'm still not really sure why - the thought popped into my head, 'This phase won't last.  He'll grow up.  And then you won't get the chance for these night-time cuddles.  So why not enjoy them?'  So instead of pacing round his room rocking him I just took him back into our bed.  We sat with him and played together for half an hour.  I stopped worrying about his not sleeping and just enjoyed the moment.

And now looking back that is one of my favourite memories.  A tiny bundle of awake-ness and his two doting parents, all huddled together in the pitch-dark of 1am giggling away while the rest of the world slept.  For the briefest of moments I was able to turn my mind from what I didn't have to what I did.  And it was awesome.

Psalm 91

This morning as I gulped down my cereal and made sure my son ate his (rather than throwing it on me) I glanced at Psalm 91.  "Very nice," I thought.  "Now, what's next on my agenda?  He needs a nap, the washing needs to go on, I probably should get dressed and sort tonight's meal and..."  All too quickly Psalm 91 and all it's niceness got swept away on a tide of busyness.

But I felt a bit sad about that.  It seemed like such a rich Psalm.  So later in a moment of quiet I sat in the sun and read it again.  Here are some of my thoughts on verses one and two (yes I only managed the first two verses - that was the amount of time I had before the washing was ready to be hung out... but I digress.)

'Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty."

- this is not talking about people who occasionally stop by and give the odd 5 minutes to God.  This is a promise for those who make a conscious decision to spend the whole of their life in His presence.

- 'shelter' is apparently a reference to the Temple.  The place where God's glory dwelt.  Again a place where people had to make a conscious decision to visit.

- they 'will' find rest.  A promise not just a hope.  A certainty which is true irrespective of feelings and circumstance.

- 'find rest'.  Something we need to actively seek when in his presence?  Rest: stillness, peace, restoration.  A state of being where we don't need to do or be anything.  And rest, presumably, from all the things which cause our exhaustion.

- 'Most High' and 'Almighty' are both names which remind us of who God is and what he can do.  Because he is the Most High and because he is Almighty we can trust him.  We can rest.

"This I declare about the LORD: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God and I trust him."

- 'I declare' indicates a decision not a feeling.  I choose this, again irrespective of my feelings or what's going on in my life.

- 'He alone is my refuge' - not money, not my career or my intellect, not my achievements or my status or my family.  My refuge is God.  Refuge: a place of safety from danger.  No indication that belief in God results in a life free from danger.  But rather that within the danger and worry and fear we experience, God stands as a shelter.

- 'He is my God'.  This is a personal decision.  A decision made and a relationship formed.

- 'and I trust him' and there are consequences to this decision.  Trust: reliance upon and confidence in. Trust is a decision and an action.

Banana skins

A few weeks ago I was sitting reading my book when I suddenly realised I couldn't hear anything.  This is never good in a house containing a toddler.  I jumped up and found my son sitting on our kitchen floor surrounded by the contents of our bin and happily munching a banana skin.

Sighing I reached out to remove it from his mouth.  He found this unacceptable.  And I would imagine the following thoughts (were he capable of thinking in coherent sentences) went through his mind:

"Why would mummy not want me to eat this?  It looks like a banana.  It tastes like a banana.  Bananas are good.  Why can't I keep this one?  Why is mummy being so mean?  Doesn't she love me?  Doesn't she pander to my every request and voluntarily give me bananas?  Doesn't she want me to be happy?  She is a mean mummy.  And I intend to express my displeasure now by screaming, then going rigid and then sulking.  And nothing is going to stop me from demonstrating - ooh?  What's that?  A wooden spoon AND a saucepan lid?  How exciting!  I wonder what will happen if I..."

What my son couldn't understand is that whilst he found something that looked like it might satisfy in the same way his breakfast bananas do, it was actually merely a shell.  It contained very little of substance and it was never going to give him what he actually wanted.  It was never going to build him up and, if chewed on for too long, would have made him feel pretty ill.

It seems so obvious and yet all too often I find myself behaving in the same way. Being a stay-at-home mum is pretty exhausting.  In those rare moments when my son is napping or otherwise occupied by kitchenware, it can be so tempting to metaphorically (and literally) snack on anything that's going to give me a bit of light relief.  When I feel lonely, I turn to Facebook.  When I want escapism I browse i-player or dig out an old Agatha Christie.  If I feel my life lacks glamour (a pretty perpetual problem when you're usually covered in food or snot) I whip out Hello! magazine. And yes, when I want a shot of energy I reach for a chocolate bar.  Or two.

These things all have their place.  And I'm certainly not suggesting these things are bad - sometimes they're just the ticket to keep us sane.  But I know that if I live on these things alone pretty soon my energy levels are going to fail and I'm going to feel disillusioned about life.

And so at present I'm trying to occasionally slip in some nourishing 'real banana'.  Instead of always watching a film when I iron, I might occasionally watch a sermon (it's not that holy - there are some really good ones out there.  Honest.  Try HTB's website as a starting point...).  Sometimes I'll read something other than a novel - previous posts will tell you that I'm a big fan of Eugene Peterson.  And then of course there's always the Bible as a good antidote to the fake glamour of Hello!...

It's slow going.  [And just in case you're rolling your eyes imagining that I'm some holier-than-thou idiot, I spent this morning at the cinema while my son was at the childminder.  It was amazing.  Even if I did get some strange looks from the rest of the school-age cinema goers...]  Banana skins are easy and accessible and sometimes downright fun.  But you know what?  I find I'm a better mum when I'm not so ravenous.  And that's true both metaphorically and literally.

Sheep pens

I read these verses from Psalm 78 this morning:

'He chose David his servant

    and took him from the sheep pens;

from tending the sheep he brought him
    to be the shepherd of his people Jacob,
    of Israel his inheritance.

And David shepherded them with integrity of heart;
    with skillful hands he led them.'

Sheep pens are smelly, generally fairly unpleasant places.  And being a shepherd was considered a job so menial that it was fobbed off on the lowest and the least.  Being the youngest of eight brothers, meant that this task fell to David.

I suspect that as David spent day after day after day watching the family flock he probably wondered what on earth his life could amount to.  There was little hope for promotion or even change.  That was his lot.  And so he had a decision to make.  Was he going to spend his life frustrated and angry, or was he going to embrace his role and do it to the best of his ability?  He went for the latter, little knowing that God was waiting for him to develop all the necessary skills he'd need for the astonishing plans God had in store.

One day, on a day like any other, his life suddenly changed.  He went from being a shepherd of sheep to a shepherd of men.  He was anointed King.  A nobody to the biggest Somebody.  

If you're a mother then your days will probably be spent like mine: clearing up toys, cleaning food from walls (my son's latest 'trick'), putting the washing on, taking it out, changing nappies...  It's fairly unglamourous work, but it needs to be done.  And yet we have a choice about our attitude when we do it.  Singing 'Yippee!' as we face the fifth nappy of the day might be a tad unrealistic, but thanking God that our child has a working bowel system (even as we wrinkle our nose) might not be (and if you snort then watch Born to be Different on 4OD).  

And who knows what these days are preparing us for?  God has plans for our lives and you never know when the ability to change a nappy whilst preventing a small child from crawling away might just come in very handy... 

It's a trust thing...

Last night in bed (at 9.25pm - I live a crazy life) I read this:

'We are not made to live in cramped conditions.  We are not so constructed that we can be satisfied with feelings of impotence and insignificance.  We are made 'little less than God' [Psalm 8]' Eugene Peterson 'Travelling Light'

I can relate to this.  One of the biggest daily battles I face is, 'Is what I'm doing important?  Does it matter?'

Peterson goes on to talk about the different ways that we seek to get in control of these feelings.  We buy an outfit in the hope that it will make us feel more glamorous (and, in my case, look a leetle bit more like the effortless French mummies I see around the place - how do they wear heels and chase toddlers?  HOW??).  We read the latest self-help book, go on the latest diet, post a photo on Facebook in which we look particularly yummy and yes, some of us may even blog about our lives (ahem!).

It's not that any of these things are wrong, but our motivation behind them might be.  Ultimately it's a trust issue.  Do I trust that God knows what he's doing in placing me here and do I trust that God can get me to where he wants me to be in the future?  Do I trust that he can be trusted with my life so I don't have to have all the answers?

Yes blog (in my case), but if no-one reads it, don't panic.  Buy the dress, but know that your beauty and importance come from who you are not what you wear.  Diet if you must, but realise that the answer to 'do I have significance?' will never be found on the dial of your bathroom scales.

When we trust we gain freedom.  Freedom from the fear of impotence and insignificance.  Freedom from trying to have it all sorted.  Freedom from comparison with others.  Freedom to enjoy the now rather than worrying about the 'what's next?'.

I'll give the last word to Peterson: 'Freedom comes from trusting, not from manipulating, from leaving matters to God rather than trying to be in control.'

Unconditional love

I've had a pretty horrible cold of late.  The kind which infiltrates your sinuses, disables your taste buds and makes you want to crawl back under the covers.  A few days ago I woke up and summoned enough energy to sit up in bed and watch with apprehension as the wiggling mass of energy which is my son was plonked on our bed by Mr F.  "Hello darling," I croaked faintly. "Mummy's feeling a little delicate today, so can you be loving and very, very quiet for her?"  My son grinned up at me, lifted his pudgy little hand and slapped me.  Right on the nose.  It hurt.  A lot.  And yes, I cried.  Mr F, seeking to reassure me, brightly remarked, "He's only 13 months Bekah.  He doesn't know any better.  And it's probably his way of showing love." I glared at him and stalked off to find solace in a cup of tea.

But it got me thinking about the nature of love.  As a parent our role to to show unconditional love to our children.  Literally, love without conditions.  My love for my son is not conditional on whether or not he tidies away his toys, learns to walk, gives me kisses or sleeps through the night.  If he throws his food on the floor, I love him.  If he digs up my newly planted petunias, I love him.  And if he slaps me - unintentional or not - I love him.  Now, don't get me wrong: there's a bigger discussion to be had about discipline and consequences.  But aside from all that, my love for him is without conditions.  There should be nothing he can do or say that will make me stop loving him.  I might not like him at times, but I should always love him.

I know that God loves me unconditionally.  And yet sometimes, when I'm having a particularly grumpy day, I can't help thinking that God's love comes to me with conditions attached.  'Oh that Bekah.  She's lost her temper with other drivers seven times today.  Seven!  Shocking.  It makes me love her a little less.'  Or, 'Why on earth does Bekah insist on comparing herself with other mothers?  She knows that it only plays on her insecurities and makes her irritable.  Grief, if I've told her once I've told her a thousand times.  Honestly, I really don't love her when she's like that.'  Or, 'Bekah hasn't read her bible today.  Or yesterday.  She can't really love me all that much. Well fine.  I don't love her that much today.'

Ludicrous isn't it?  And yet...

God loves me unconditionally.  Without conditions.  Yes he'd like me to stop proverbially slapping him and start showing him more love.  But his love for me remains the same whether I do that or not.  And that is awe-inspiringly amazing.  And pretty darned humbling.

Hidden mess

A few days ago I had just finished giving my son his lunch.  He's now eating for himself and this usually results in an enormous mess.  But not this time.  Nothing on the floor.  Nothing left on his plate.  I was feeling pretty smug and congratulating myself on my parenting techniques.  But as I removed his full-sleeved bib, congealed scrambled egg suddenly just appeared.  He'd managed to hide it up his sleeves, in the front pocket, underneath the bib - I even found some tucked away behind him on his highchair seat.  I reckoned he'd squirrelled away 90% of his meal.

As I went to get a cloth I began thinking that he'd perfectly illustrated how we so often do life.  To a casual observer most of us look like we've got it together.  True some of us have more yoghurt stains on our clothes than others (it's the tell-tale sign of a mother with young children), but by-in-large we all manage to look like we're Doing Fine.  

But the problem is, although not many people can see it, our mess remains.  My quickness to snap at those I love most when I'm having a bad day.  My internal critique and judgment of others.  My failure to act in the face of another's suffering - even if that suffering is simply loneliness which could so easily be alleviated with a phone call.

I could have ignored the remnants of scrambled egg and encouraged my boy to run along and pay and not worry about it. But had I done so I would have been doing him an immense disservice.  He needed to get cleaned up so that he could be free to enjoy his afternoon.

We all have hidden mess.  And it's only by acknowledging the mess and getting it cleaned up that we can be free from the guilt and stink that Ignored Mess quickly becomes.  That's where Jesus comes in.  He's not fooled by our attempts to cover our failures.  He looks us in the eye and says, 'Little one, you're a mess.  But if you let me, I can clean you of this squalor so you can be rid of it and get on and live life to the full.'

Learning to let go

Recently I've been reading about the Sabbath.  Essentially taking time out from how you normally spend life so you can be still, focus on God and remember that the universe does not revolve around you.  This is not an easy thing to do as a mummy.  Yet even when I'm offered a chance to take time out, I still find it hard to let go.  I keep checking that my husband is doing things in the 'right' way with our son.

But then I read this: 'Sabbath keeping s a publicly enacted sign of our trust that God keeps the world, therefore we don't have to... If even God trusted creation enough to be confident that the world would continue while God rested, so should we.' Eugene Peterson

When my husband cares for our son, I often have an internal dialogue something like this:

"Does it really matter if our son goes out in an outfit consisting entirely of beige clothes?  No.

Will he survive for one day on a breakfast consisting of Weetabix made with too much/too little/no milk?  Yes.

Do I need to check every single nappy that my husband puts on our son?  No.  We own a washing machine."

It's important that I care for my son in the best possible way I can, but it's also important to remember that the universe doesn't revolve around me.  God's in charge.  And remembering that - through Sabbath moments -  is a great relief.

Placement

Being a mummy is not usually about fast paced excitement or glamour.  And I struggle with that.  The weekly routine of play groups, chores and clearing up food.  It's easy to want to be somewhere else.  For me that's usually anywhere by myself with a good book.

Recently I read the story of the 4th century Bishop, Gregory of Nyssa.  His older brother Basil (himself a Bishop) arranged for Gregory to become Bishop of Nyssa and Gregory was not impressed.  It was an unimportant and obscure place.  Gregory wanted glamour and prestige.  Basil, however, told Gregory that he didn't want him to obtain distinction from his church but rather confer distinction upon it.  As Eugene Peterson writes, 'Gregory went where he was placed... [and] The preaching and writing that he did in that backwater community continues its invigorating influence to this day.' (Christ plays in Ten Thousand Places).

My home and the playgroups we attend are where I have been placed.  My choice is whether I merely tolerate them, or transform them into places where God is working and where I am being changed.

Emotions

I've always been an emotional person.  Tears come easily, as does laughter.  I'd like to say that pregnancy and motherhood changed that, but I'd be lying.  It is scary how quickly I can change.    This morning, for example, I woke up with a cold.  Nothing that serious, but serious enough to make me pull the covers over my head and wish I could pull a duvet day.  My husband very sweetly went and got our son up and gave him his milk.  Despite that I had managed, within the space of about 10 minutes, to start a row which ended with the line, 'I just don't feel like you love me'.  Cue tears.  Irrational, unwarranted and far too emotional.

In an effort to combat my emotionalism I've just finished an amazing book called 'Living beyond your feelings: controlling emotions so they don't control you' by Joyce Meyer.  It is awesome and now full of lots of pen marks (I used to underline in pencil so I could rub it out... but after years of doing this I never rubbed the lines out so I thought I'd be a bit rebellious and underline in pen.  Just one of the ways I'm living on the edge.  But I digress.).  There s a lot of wisdom in this book - too much for one post - but here's a few of the things I've taken and am trying to do in order to be slightly less emotion-led.

1.  Meyer defines wisdom as 'doing now what you will be satisfied with later on'.  Starting (or finishing) an argument may seem satisfying.  And I may make my point.  But I'll later regret it.  So I'm trying to focus on how future-Bekah will have wanted to have acted.

2.  When David wrote, 'This is the day, I will rejoice and be glad in it' he was making a conscious decision.  He didn't get up and wait to see how he felt.  He decided - irrespective of circumstance - that he was going to rejoice in the Lord.  An early baby-related wake up call is usually followed by day in which I spend a lot of time complaining.  But I have a choice. I can rejoice.

3.  Refusing to let my emotions dictate my day is Hard Work.  But I have made a choice to walk the narrow way which leads to life.  The Amplified Bible puts this verse from Matthew 7 as 'narrow [contracted by pressure]'.  I will experience a lot of pressure when I attempt this, but it's the way Jesus went.  He didn't let his fear or apprehension about the cross sway him from walking that path.  And it's in His footsteps that I am attempting to follow.

Keep going...

My son is currently learning to crawl.  Some days he seems quite keen on the idea and he'll stretch and lunge and push himself up on his knees and really put in effort.  Other days he's not so fussed about the whole thing, and he'll happily just sit and watch the world (or his musical ball) roll by.

I spend a lot of my day saying encouraging things and moving his toys just slightly out of reach.  I'm so proud when he tries.  "Keep going!", seems to be a natural phrase.  Along with, "Well done!  Who's my clever boy?"

I love that he's trying and I don't expect it him to master crawling overnight.  Nor is my love for him dependant on how hard he tries or whether he will ever accomplish it.

This sounds like a ludicrous statement, and yet all too often I treat God as though he were a perpetually disappointed parent.  The feeling of guilt when I mess up comes far too readily.

Yes it hurts God when we sin.  Yes, he wants to grow in spiritual maturity and make the right decisions.  And yes, we should never abuse his grace.

However, God is immensely proud of us.  Of our growth and desire to change.  And his love for us is not dependant on how much progress we're making spiritually.  He's there saying, "Keep going!' and "You're doing brilliantly - daddy is so proud of you!".

Provision

'The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need.' Psalm 23:l

Today I have needed patience, energy, wisdom, patience, generosity, joy, compassion, selflessness and did I mention patience?

God had everything I needed.  Shame I didn't always make a withdrawal from the immeasurably vast bank of his resources...  Thankfully he also has all the forgiveness and grace I need as I finish today and look forward with hope to tomorrow.

Job Titles

I suspect that growing up, Moses didn't imagine he'd become a shepherd.  He was educated, wealthy and had great connections.  A career in politics maybe, or ruler of a small province.  Instead he found himself on the run, living in a foreign land and tending sheep.  Not glamorous.  Not somebody.  And not what he expected.

When he encounters God in the burning bush, God asks him what he's carrying.  "A shepherd's staff", Moses replies (probably rolling his eyes).

Yet several verses later (Exodus 4:20 to be precise) this same staff is described as 'the staff of God'.

What happened?  The staff was still the same.  But Moses wasn't.  He'd met God.  He'd been transformed.  Yes he was still nervous and terrified of public speaking, but his life had a new direction. He was still going to be a shepherd, but this time he'd be shepherding people.  God's people.  On a mission that would take him the rest of his life.

I regularly get asked what I do.  Most people are incredibly enthusiastic when I reply that I'm now a full-time mummy (not that there are any other types - I just don't have a paid job on top).  But inside a little part of me wishes that sounded a bit more glamorous or exciting.  I don't wear heels and a suit.  I don't have business meetings.  I don't own a blackberry.

But I wonder how I'd feel if I saw my role through God's eyes.  How would I answer the question 'What do you do?'?

Imparter of Spiritual Truth?  Guide?  Role model for the God of the Universe?

Put like that, I'm somebody rather important!

Changes

One of the most stressful things I find about having a baby is that they are always changing.  Just when you think you've finally got this parenting stuff sorted, a routine in place and your weekly activities chosen, your little cherub goes and decides that he in fact now doesn't like broccoli.  Or actually wants to wake at 3am for a chat.  Or now hates creche (why? why?!  When he'd previously loved it!).

Our current saga (and I use the word intentionally for with children it seems like everything gains epic proportions) is nap time.  Until a week ago my baby was good at nap time.  One at 9.30 - 10 and another after lunch for an hour.  A blissful hour of me time (and by this I mean getting all the jobs done that I previously hadn't managed to).  Now, however, he has decided that an hour is far too long. 20 minutes will, in fact, suffice.  Which results in mummy getting disproportionately stressed.

Two days ago I read the story of the wise king who called his counsellors together and challenged them to summarise all the wisdom of the world into a single sentence.  After much thought they came back with: This too shall pass.

In between nappy changes and feeds I've been pondering that statement and have concluded that it is very wise.  It gives perspective.  And a timely reminder that all too soon my cherub will be taller than me, the owner of a mobile and probably sleeping far too much for my liking.  And so I've been trying to adapt.  And relish the extended time I now have with my boy.  For surely, all too quickly, this too shall pass.