Friday 26 July 2013

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.




Thursday 18 July 2013

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

Thursday 11 July 2013

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.

Thursday 4 July 2013

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.