Wednesday 26 November 2014

Looking good...

I am a total sucker for Hello! magazine. Give me a latte, packet of peanut M&Ms and copy of this week's Hello! and you've pretty nearly provided me with paradise. What can I say? I'm a cheap date.

The other week I was reading about Tamara Ecclestone who, for those of you with better things to do than read about the lives of other people, is the daughter of the billionaire Bernie Ecclestone. Tamara has recently had a baby girl and so the 14 page photo shoot was full of delightful  shots of Tamara and her daughter dressed in 'casual' cashmere and lounging around at their £60 million London town house (yes, £60million).

As much as I love Hello! you do have to be a teensy bit careful as you read it, especially if you're sleep-deprived, not back to your pre-baby weight and have just noticed a Weetabix stain on the sleeve of your favourite jumper...

In short, looking at photos of an exceptionally glamorous woman holding her baby and dropping such gems as '"People think I have everyone doing everything for me. I don't. We don't have a cook, I cook. We don't have a nanny, we have me. I do absolutely everything with Sophia." isn't always wise.


So for those of you who, like me, find it a tad dispiriting when you hear celebrities croon that it's 'simply breastfeeding' which accounts for their phenomenal and near-instantaeous pregnancy weight loss whilst frolicking along a beach dressed in the merest hint of a bikini two weeks after giving birth, I thought I'd provide a nice reality check.

Here is a picture of me taken five years ago when I was living in China:





No, I hadn't fallen asleep. I was apparently looking 'mysterious'. Don't ask.

And here is me attempting to recreate said photo this afternoon:


Okay, so in this one I may actually have fallen asleep, albeit briefly...

It's the same subject matter, so why the huge difference in photos? Here's a couple of reasons:

1. I do not have a professional photographer, lighting technician, studio, make-up artist and wardrobe mistress following me around in normal life. I do everything by myself (including take selfies which feature my shower curtain in the background).

2. I am no longer 25. I have't had an uninterrupted nights sleep in approximately three years. I regularly forget when I last brushed (let alone washed) my hair. If I wear mascara I feel like I've made an effort.  And I simply don't have six hours of my life in which to spend striking an alarming number of poses in order to find my 'best side' (this photo shoot took about five seconds).

Hello! is fun only as long as I view it as escapism. I am not looking at real people. I am looking at people who have an entire team employed to make them look good

And that's fine. But how good we do (or don't) look is only part of the story. Our appearance doesn't explain what's going on below the surface. It may hint at it (or, in the case of my under-eye bags, scream at it) but our appearance isn't the total sum of who we are. Thank goodness.

There's a rather fabulous verse which comes in the Old Testament. God sends the prophet Samuel to anoint a new king and the moment Samuel sees the eldest son of the family he thinks, 'That's him. That's our guy. Strong. Sexy. Self-assured. Everything about him screams 'Follow me!' '. But God said, 'Nope. That's not the guy.' 

So then the next son turns up. And Samuel thinks, 'Okay. Less braun but clearly more brains. He's wearing glasses so must be clever. Smart tailoring, clearly successful in business. A self-made man. This is our next king.' But again God says nope.

Finally after viewing seven sons, the youngest is brought before Samuel. His father had nearly forgotten about him. But the moment Samuel sees him God says, 'That's him. That's my guy.' 

And God's reason for choosing this chap (David of in case you're wondering) is this, 
'The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.' 

So when others see a tired mother in slightly shapeless clothes (or casual cashmere - I don't want to assume...), God sees your passions, talents, secret desires and so much more. God sees the real you. And whilst others will undoubtedly be making judgements based on your appearance, can I suggest that the only judgement worth caring anything about is God's. 



Sunday 9 November 2014

Pain

It is 1.38am and I am awake. There's not anything too unusual about this - I am, after all, the mother of a baby.

What is unusual about this morning is that she is happily snoring next door.

I am awake because I have acute earache. And by acute, I mean toe-curling, pillow-pounding, silent tears streaming earache. And I've now had this pain for over a week. Despite being prescribed a selection of antibiotics and taking a cocktail of painkillers, nothing seems to be able to stop the relentless pounding in my inner left ear.

As a generally well person I've never really had much cause to think about illness or pain. Whenever the odd cold or strained shoulder has entered my life I've gobbled a couple of paracetamol and happily trotted on with my life.

Now I don't profess that my current week-long, non life threatening earache in any way compares to the millions of people currently suffering serious illnesses, but it has given me cause to pause and reflect on their lot. Here are some of my thoughts:

- illness is a lonely thing. Not only can others simply not understand the pain that you're feeling, but, very often, they don't really want to. No matter how well meaning, when someone asks 'How are you?' they don't want a graphic description of the agony that you currently feel. It puts them in an awkward situation: what do they say? What should they say? And so you start minimising what you're feeling saying things like, 'Oh I'm okay. Bit sore. But mustn't grumble.' All of which builds barriers between you and them.

- illness strips you of hope. In my rational, pain-free moments I know that earache is a generally fixable problem. It really won't last forever. But at 3am when the pain overwhelms, dark thoughts so easily creep in. 'What if this is it? What if I never get better? What if the doctor's can't fix it?' And you begin to resent those who apparently have pain-free lives.

- illness really ruins good theology. The moment I'm in pain I start to question whether God really loves me. 'Why would he let this happen? Aren't I a good person? Is he punishing me? Why doesn't he cure me?'. I no longer want to debate the now and not yet of the Kingdom, I just want to get better.  End of.

- it's hard to be a nice person when you're ill. I have lost my temper so often in the past week simply because I am in so much pain. Grappling to put on my toddler's shoes isn't just irritating, it's agony. And so I snap and verbally lash out and then feel overwhelmed by guilt.

Which is all well and... depressing, frankly. So what now?

To be honest I'm not in the mood to 'learn' anything from my earache. Ending with a cheery, 'And so the lesson of this story is...' would be far too false and take too much effort.

But deep down (in those moments when my pain killers are taking the edge off the throbbing) my hope is that this experience would soften me. Make me more compassionate to those that are ill. I hope that in time I would insist on an honest response to my question of 'How are you?' and then not shy away from the answer.

Essentially I hope that I will learn to 'weep with those who weep' and, in doing so, become in some small way more like the One who is with me in the early hours and who weeps with me.