Legally Blonde

What do people think about children in church? Seen and not heard? sweet so long as they aren’t real children? A nice idea in theory but doesn’t work in practice? I’ve been made to feel selfish and unhelpful by “well-meaning” “Christian” “friends” – people who say one thing and mean quite another. It is possible that I am over-reacting but at the moment I am feeling confused, angry and very hurt.

and don’t know about church in general and “mine” in particular any more.

I had an absolutely lovely mothers’ day surprise waiting for me when I came home from church. Benjamin had (with a little help from friends*) organised a huge bunch of freesias (my absolute favourite!) and pink roses (very sweet) without a hint of gyp (my pet hate!) to appear magically on the table while we were out, along with a card which he’d signed himself!

I was overwhelmed, not to mention a little tearful. He thought it was a great laugh.

*not all of whom have websites, but I know who you are even if you aren’t linked, and thank you x

After the 5th person in 4 days prodded me about not being here for a bit, I thought I’d better post a slightly better effort than the entry below! Be warned though, my head is a slightly scary muddled place to be at the moment, and the outpourings may reflect that….

I’m aware I may well have spouted about this before, but here I go again. I’ve not been very good about Lent recently – or, indeed, God. Reading Fishsoup, Tractor Girl and Ship recently have made me notice, and mind. Having over the years tried the making time out for God route and failed miserably, I’ve finally worked out I’ve been approaching it backwards. It’s not time out, but time in that I need. Letting God into the time available, the rest of the time, all the time. Not trying to carve out minutes to meet Him but involving Him utterly in all my time.

(Not having particularly formulated much of this into words before posting, bear with me if I get a bit woolly here.) Tonight I thought I’d have an early night and make sure I had time (there it is again) to read and pray before passing out through exhaustion when I get to bed. At the same time, I wanted very much to hang some washing to dry, finish the washing up and deal with some paperwork so that they wouldn’t be depressing to meet first thing at the weekend. But while I was washing up, it struck me – all of that can also be prayer.

Psalm 51 has long been a favourite of mine, probably since choir always sang it on Maundy Thursday (have I mentioned recently how much I miss choir? another story…) in a service I found so moving. “Wash me throughly from my iniquity” – the language seems archaic to some but to me any more modern rendering loses the depth, the poetry, the emotion, the meaning, without achieving any more clarity. And I thought about the emphasis on washing throughout the Book, even as I was washing last night’s saucepans. Random phrases floated through my mind, not all of which I was aware I knew, and certainly not that I could reference. A quick search on washing comes up with 151 contexts: washing to cure illness, or for ritual cleanness, in rivers, in blood, washed white as snow, purged, clean.*

Usually, I'm ashamed to admit, I would quickly scrape out the burnt pasta, give the inside a cursory going-over with the brush, rinse and leave it to drip-dry. Tonight, in my reflective state, I put extra effort in, pulled out the “wire wool” and cleaned the lid, the outside and even the bottom properly too. Apparently, the saucepan I'd assumed was black is actually copper, but has been coated in soot for too long for me to have had any idea. (just in case my mother's reading: I'm exaggerating slightly, I promise!)

And I thought, the difference between usual washing up and seriously scrubbing is probably a fraction of the difference between what we think of as forgiveness** in human terms and what God is offering us if we could but envisage and ask him for it.

There was, though, a serious amount of effort and elbow grease needed to achieve the shiny pan – far more than the usual nightly. Prayer and relationship with God need working at, just as any friendship or relationship needs contribution from both sides. (Sometimes I feel as though God is simply another of my people with whom I ought to be keeping in better touch – Lisa T, Lucy, Rachel, Alison, Jean, Jo, Vee… emails and letters on the to-do list even as I write!)

The colour of the water afterwards was absolutely vile, a sort of rusty brown with black bits floating in it. All that really gross bleurgh that I'd never even noticed as not being part of the pan was washed away and the object left behind was, though still an ordinary kitchen utensil, suddenly extraordinarily beautiful. I was as excited as Benjamin with a new drum. I thought of God doing the washing up on me – and was strangely reassured. Yes, it'll take effort, but think how much freer I could be with all the outside burnt-on ick scoured clean away. Shiny Beautiful Bright as New…

Maybe I'm taking the analogy far too far and can be safely written off as delirious from lack of sleep, or maybe I'm engaging with Lent a little this year after all.

*(The irreverent me thought “what dry skin I’d have with all that washing, I hope there’s gak in heaven.”)
**(or love, or anything else you happen to care to substitute.)

Yes, I’m still here. No, I know I haven’t blogged for a fortnight. Sorry. Busy. Thanks for noticing and asking though!

Well, I had to do something this weekend rather than just not go to the Conference, didn’t I?! Someone in work offered me spare tickets to Wales Italy tomorrow afternoon wasn’t a difficult decision I promise…!

Some long time readers may remember my Swansea father Ian died not quite 18 months ago. Saturday night St Mary’s, the big city centre church, is having a tribute concert including a presentation to Barbara in his memory. It’s going to be lovely, but also really hard work, emotionally. I’m not singing, but have persuaded a friend (one of the few left in Wales this weekend!) to babysit so I can at least go and support it. It’s Fauré’s Requiem, which I’ve sung so often and in so many contexts (school, home church many years ago, Uni choir…) that it has memories of its own, let alone that it’s “for” Ian and Requiems always really affect me. Also, “my” church choir here is one of the ones leading (3 big church choirs and anyone who’d like to, from scratch, rehearsal all afternoon, concert in the evening), and since I stopped singing with them (the summer before BB was born; also the summer before Ian died) I’ve found choral services difficult/weird/different/not belonging. I say, “I sing,” as if it’s part of who I am and what I do, but if I’m honest, I haven’t done since June 2004, apart from in the normal congregation way of things. And I don’t even seem able to do much of that these days, my voice has given up through neglect, my recent throat/chest/evil diseasle thing has conspired against it, I’ve not been going to housegroup and when I do we’ve not been singing… I think it will be lovely. I hope it will, to be a real tribute to a man who was so much to music, and church, and church music, in Swansea and Wales. I hope it won’t be too sad. Pray for Barbara and his real family, as well as one of their adopted waifs and strays (me)!

I spent what should have been (the best laid plans!) a quiet day (well Tuesdays usually are at the moment) intending to read Ut Unum Sint (in translation, mind – my Latin A Level was a over a decade ago!); I did read some of it, but only snatched paragraphs between phonecalls, patients, practitioners and dashes to the post office in the rain. It is, on one hand, a v g thing the Clinic is busy again; on the other it’s just a slight bore that the improvement coincides with a time when I decide I can easily do coursework reading at work!

S and I are both so much better. Everything’s relative; we aren’t particularly well, just an awful lot less ill than a fortnight ago. Tonight, though, Baby Blonde (who brought us home this lurgy in the first place) has started to cough again, and it’s getting worse. He’s woken himself up twice this evening; interrupted sleep is the last thing I need now to aid the convalescence! Pray for this plague house ….

I spent Thursday afternoon and evening, all of Friday and Saturday til lunchtime on my course, which is really exciting and Good News but also means I’m knackered, and have so much to read and get my head round. I’ve been feeling for a while (not quite as long as B’s been alive, but almost) that my brain is like any other muscle – it gets flabby and unfit through underuse, and aches lots when pressed back into action. At the same time, I mind more and more recently how vegetative I’ve become. I enjoy work, though it doesn’t stretch me. I haven’t had to think in any real way for far too long. I remember enjoying my degree and the brief time I was doing my Masters before I had to suspend two years ago. I like being interested, engaged, having to think, to read, to learn, to criticise etc – and though I’m absolutely bushed after the last three days, I’m also fired up, raring to go and excited about having to get my brain out of storage, blow the cobwebs off and start putting it through its paces again (apologies for a very mixed metaphor). I don’t know how I’ll find the self-discipline and motivation required to dedicate evenings to coursework, but I do want to give this my best shot now I’m back on the course. Please pray for me, that I find the willpower and energy after B’s in bed to get down to proper studying, and that I can keep the enjoyment and end result in mind when the going gets tough and I’m tempted not to cope – thank you!

1) Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Coyote Ugly, Pride and Prejudice

2)

3) 3 and 2

4) University Challenge

5) Rare steak, a baked potato and steamed broccoli

6) 12th August, 25th December, 11th January

7) Domino’s

Spring

9) nope, couldn’t quite get this one

you know who you are…