Barred of soap

Gifts. Gifts are special, special to receive and special reminders of who gave us them. Usually gifts are welcome and appreciated but we all have experience of a gift that we might not have liked, or even one that insulted us in some way.

I love giving and receiving gifts and I try to take as much care of those I receive as possible, and to appreciate both the gift and the giver.

Today I have thrown away a gift. I've half-used it, disliked it, and thrown away a perfectly good gift. In the bin. Gone. Dissolved, deleted, eliminated. Oh what bravery!

It was a bar of soap, a simple bar of soap. Being a lady who appreciates lovely smellies as gifts - soaps are treasured. As children my sisters and I were well scrubbed with a bar of rough red stuff called carbolic (excuse the spelling if you know better). I can smell it now. Very coal tar - ish. I quite liked the smell. We would watch TV adverts for more beautiful and less utilitarian soaps such as Lux or Camay. Camay came in PINK. Important to three sisters used only to rough red slabs of scrub-a-dub-dub, cold water, kitchen sink and a shared towel. How we dreamt of such luxury as Camay.

'It's scenty' my mother would say 'No good for your skin. It will give you spots'.

Now children know what spots are. Itchy things with names such as Chicken Pox or German Measles. We'd had them and we didn't want them again, so we acquiesced and stopped piping about Camay and Lux, and, luxury of luxuries - Pears.

As teens luxury soaps became ours as friends and families moved their gifts to us from toys to more adult offerings. How we delighted in them. They were indeed 'scenty' and needed to kept well away from one's glorious complexion, but we loved them all the same.  Later I became an Avon lady and would furnish my bathroom with soaps which reflected the changing seasons, always of course using a mild and gentle soap on my own babies and certainly not carbolic.

The gift I disposed of was a scented bar of soap which my subconscious presented as precious and needing to be used to the last tit bit . It was given by a Not Friend. That is someone who pretended to love me but didn't. This Not Friend was only too able to target me as someone to emotionally blackmail and bully...yes, you have read about her before. Anyway, the Not Friend has gone now but sadly some of the damage she caused lives on still. Why is she a Not FRIEND? Because she told me how fond she was of me whilst wreaking her trail of destruction, that's why. A friend? Not.

Remember the song 'I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair'? Well, using the soap I thought would wash the Not friend out of my mind. It hasn't. It serves as a daily reminder, and not only that, it has dried the skin of my hands into wrinkly claws. So begone, you demon. I want to be mended. I want my hands to be nice again and I want my mind to be fixed again. Into the bin you go. I don't want you, I don't even need you... there are other, less pretentious soaps in my repertoire that will be kind to me. And so, out with the trash went the soap. Finito. The emotional scars may take a while to surface properly and then dissipate but hey ho, they will go!

Imperial Leather. That's what you would normally find in my bathroom. I have used it since leaving my parent's home in 1978. It is simply the most gorgeous soap with a clean and crisp scent. Opening a new bar instantly transports me back to the camping days and my dad getting washed in the tent. He always had Imperial Leather on camping trips. Add to that memory those ones of my children playing with the lather and I have a lifetime of pleasant thought and happy memories to scrub out the Not Friend unpleasant ones.

Gifts. Good to give and good to receive, especially when they are given and received with love. Those precious gifts given by God may hold a few surprises, but they will be good. His most precious gift, that of His son Jesus Christ is one which will last a lifetime and beyond. Accept it and wash away the cares and the sins of the world. A true friend and a true gift. Enjoy.

Alas me Hearties!

When you've got a pain midships and it feels like you're coming to the end of your keel row you know that you may get hoisted by your own petard. I'd no wish to descend to Davy Jones so visited me old bosun at the health centre. Nothing wrong. Still the old pump kept being a bother and it seemed to want to cause chaos in the engine room. Easily solved me hearties! A little less stress and the engine purrs like a kitten. A brand new set of rigging in a slightly smaller size for the heavy ballast midships and Captian Jack! No more problems.

And the moral of the story is: ladies on diets who get chest pains - try a smaller bra. (and visit ye olde bosun too just in case).

Weeza and the Terrierists

Blessed as I am I have many wonderful friends to compliment my darling family. I have my precious God Sister - that's she with the many children and then my much valued Christian colleague who keeps me grounded and sane. I have another friend too and she is gorgeous and funny and sunny and golden all the way through. She is Weeza and she has a pair of terriers who are absolutely adorable.

I am so blessed that I know that I am loved. That is an amazing feeling. In my younger days when I wasn't sure what love was or even how love (in the agape sense) was demonstrated, I was probably badly behaved in response and very insecure and lacking in self worth. No longer. I cherish my beloved family and friends and I am cherished in return. Weeza too is a 'cherisher', she loves wholeheartedly and unselfishly and she is loved and cherished in return.

When someone loves and is loved then carries the confidence that goes with it, they are able to offer the treasure of their love outwards drawing in those who don't feel loved. That's a great gift, one from God.

Sadly, not everyone responds well. I remember a former colleague who seemed to despise me and I could never understand why. One day, after treating me with the utmost contempt she said that I had too many friends and she wasn't going to be part of my falseness just for the sake of it. If only she knew! If only she had taken the love offered! Another response is jealousy. Some people try hard to be liked but aspects of their character are hard and spiteful and when they see a popular person, the need for them to be the centre of attention creates hard and spiteful actions. Others do not want to suffer the same fate as the popular person, so they join forces with the jealous one so that the jealous one does not turn on THEM. Contrary to popular belief, those of us who are loved don't always have an easy time of it!

This is happening to Weeza right now. Right now she is under attack from the Spiteful and Jealous Ones. Right now her beautiful sunny nature and her generous loving spirit are being jet-washed with nastiness. Right now she needs our support and our prayers.

 It is the love of God that people like Weeza and I try to reflect. If we are commanded by Jesus to be like him, then anyone should be able to look at us and see His light reflected there.  

On your kneeza for Weeza - right now!

Just been mangoed.

I've just been mangoed. Patience now whilst I try to explain. Our House has had a brand new fitted kitchen. My very first kitchen that hasn't belonged to somebody else, in that it was ripped out of their kitchen and made to fit mine. This kitchen is mine, all mine and I chose it, even down to the rather pretentious tap which appears to wing its way out of the draining board and take flight across the kitchen like some sort of stainless steel swan. The work tops are laminate... its no use a spillalot like me having the real thing, granite and wood would be ruined in no time. There is underfloor heating - gorgeous - and an absolute plethora of spice drawers. Fifteen in fact. Two of them even have spices in them. All in all it is a beautiful addition to our home and His Majesty and I are well pleased.

His Majesty likes mango chutney. More than likes, in fact I would say that His Majesty ADORES mango chutney. He would and does eat it with just about everything. A jar doesn't last very long in our house. In order to catch the last little drop in the jar he stands it upside down in the cupboard so that the chutney has drained downwards towards the lid and can be got at easily without the aid of a spoon.

And drain it did. All the way down and out through the carefully left unscrewed lid, across the brand new cupboard shelf and down the side of said shelf onto the one below.

I may be of a substantial width but I am nonetheless of limited height. Therefore the cleaning up of His Majesty's mango necessitated the fetching of a chair from the dining table and a precarious mixture of balance and scrub.

Am I at all rattled by the migration of mango?

You bet!

A brand new kitchen starts beautifully clean. Without this incident, I shouldn't have needed to take a cloth to it until at least 2015.

Now there's a hiatus

Hmmmmm. Problematic hernias. Always caused by obesity apparently. Of course being twelve and a half stone I am morbidly obese, a quivering lump of frightened jelly waiting to expire in a moment from heart attack or stroke. I've grown quite fond of my hernia over the years. It gives me good warning of calorific overload and serves as a constant reminder of how weak willed I am when it comes to food - for my hernia is of the hiatus kind, the valve between stomach and oesophagus is a little wonky.

Consultant and GP alike blame ME. I did it. I am responsible. I am the careless twit who threw her health away on several (how I can lie) bars of chocolate delight and a walnut whip or two. I have gotten quite sick these days, not on chocolate though that would be rather nice, but on the victim blaming culture of 'oh well, I am so sorry you are suffering, but it is your own fault you know, Mrs Very Bad Person'.

Well stuff you. With chocolate. I didn't get the dratted hiatus hernia from eating chocolate at all........ if I turn the clock back twenty years I can see where it came from.

Imagine this.... a very slim woman of around thirty has a wonderful job in a preschool. Every morning, lovely slim lady and other slim friends turn up at the local church hall and set out all of the play equipment for the day. Some of that play equipment is HUGE, heavy wooden climbing frames of superb quality wood, filled to the brim sandpits loaded with scoops and rakes, dressing up boxes complete with the very latest in cast off ball gowns and rolled up carpets to spread beneath the bounty and protect little hands, knees and feet.

I remember the pains. For a couple of days I would live on arrowroot biscuits and Earl Grey tea until they settled down. Not for a moment did I think it was a medical condition, in my ignorance I thought I kept catching tummy bugs from the children!

So, those of you who tell me to lose two stones and it will go away, remember that heavy lifting is a cause too. I think my hernia is much more stubborn than two stones. It could be here to stay.

ANOTHER HIATUS:

Hmmmmmmm. Well, there's a thing. Another hiatus actually. Poised on the brink of actually CHANGING MY MIND I've hesitated. I love my job. I get to be as creative as I can be, I get to help people through some of the worst times in their lives. I get to send people into a rewarding and fulfilling future and begin them on a learning journey that should last for the rest of those lives. And am I happy? No.

Happiness is subjective of course so I will try to explain. I am happy standing in front of my class watching the learners light up with enthusiasm. I am happy when they grow and develop and learn and a whole new vocabulary and perspective becomes theirs. I am happy in the staff room with my wonderful colleagues. I am not happy being part of some big game where those of us who carry the good name of the learning establishment on our shoulders are being robbed of precious management and preparation time by the vicious greedy swipes from  above. Efficiency? Stinks of immorality and bullying.

Here's the hiatus: do I stick with it and gradually let my physical and mental health get squeezed thinner until I disappear altogether? Or do I make a move to another job?

There is another job on the horizon and it could be mine. It is a very different job involving a very different set of skills and it is with a company who actually care for their customer and care for their staff.

I would still be making a difference. A very different sort of difference, but a difference just the same. And a special one involving people at the very extreme of emotional distress. Therefore no more creativity with classes of students, mass hilarity or elated success.

I do so want to make a difference, that different difference. But I'm scared. What would YOU do?

Thinking about being squeezed, I think it's about time I tried another slimmers cupasoup. Yum.

Happy anniversary for the 28th my Lovely Pops! Kiss kiss kiss xxxx.
the spell check has stopped working. Soryr.

Postscript added February 2012. I didn't apply for the new opportunity, my Pops wasn't welcome and she would have been left alone for far too long during the day. There are lovely dog-carers to help out, but I am Pops's primary carer and she is my beloved little friend who I won't abandon for the sake of change. When the time for change is right, God will provide and equip. I wait.

Poppies lift, firm and separate!

http://www.legionshop.co.uk/shop/jewellery/poppy-jewellery/the-buckley-poppy-brooch.aspx

Isn't that lovely? I bought mine and am wearing it with pride. Exactly WHERE I  wore it yesterday it will be made clear in a moment.

Yesterday was graduation day. You would think I would be used to it by now, yesterday was my third, and although they have all been greatly different, this one came with the required outfit of academic gown, hat and hood. Thereby hangs a tale. I should know by now, as a regular wearer of an academic hood (mine is added to my clerical gowns for special occasions), that I would know how to fasten the thing on.

In preparation I wore a blouse with buttons. Correct. The blouse was made of flimsy material though and the hood began to slide down my back, lifting my blouse and threatening to cut off my circulation. It wasn't a pretty sight I can tell you. My better half was highly amused.

A kindly colleague gave me a tip.

'Fasten it to your bra with a pin' she said. Super idea... but where to find a suitable pin?

The only thing I had vaguely resembling a pin was my beautiful poppy brooch, carefully pinned to the outside of the gown. Off it came, and standing in the shadows of a rather grand town hall staircase, I managed to pin through blouse and bra and hold the hood down.

Immediate and marvellous effect. The threat of strangulation removed I stood tall. At least five feet two. My back straightened, my chin came up and I looked (but not felt as I had a steaming cold) ten years younger.

I discovered that the lift and separation of a poppy brooch bearing the weight of an academic hood rivals that of any other bosom upholstery. Lift and separation were mine, in abundance.

Eat your hearts out supermodels! I stood proud, in more ways than one, and took my place on the platform, safe in the knowledge that NOTHING was going to let me down.

You know, they didn't let us down, the ones we remember on Poppy Day. They held us up even unto their last breath. They didn't know us but they knew that we would come in the future and they died to protect that future for us. We live in now, this very moment, the future that they gave their lives for. Don't waste a second of it because it came at a great cost.

And, returning to a familiar theme, our lives and out eternal life are secured by another sacrifice, a life freely given that we might be forgiven and have, when our earthly time is over, everlasting life.

Dear Jesus, help us not to  waste a second of our lives.  We are lifted up before our God and we will never be separated from Him. Because of You. 

It's hard to forget

Remembrance Day soon isn't it. Poppy Day. And then it will be Poppy Day again as we celebrate a whole year of gorgeous chihuahua - ness, and look back on how she came to us, settled in and now runs our lives. Poppy Day.. the reality of what it really means is etched into the face of every member and every former member of the armed forces. Look into their eyes and you can see it.

I can't take the credit for the poem, it is a very famous and often quoted one, and I am sure that during my studies I must have picked up ideas from others. So I thank you, those who have made me think and weave together the thoughts below...

 ‘In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.’

As a child, living in a crowded town in an area where there were row upon row of houses opening straight onto a pavement, things that grew were cultivated, they didn’t get there by themselves. I had lots of experience of fields and farms unlike the other children around me, and I was intrigued by growing things. I knew that things in the country grew by themselves so to speak; I knew that things in the town grew because someone planted them. Poppies were an enigma. They grew on bits of waste ground, bits of grass that hung around on the edges of spaces, around crumbled buildings, and were there was a gap between houses that nothing filled. I loved them; I loved the red of them and the shape of them and the fact that they, like me, seemed to hang around where no one else seemed to want to be. They seemed brave somehow, pushing up through the hard ground and flaunting their loveliness in the dereliction around them. I had little to no idea of the significance of the poppy of course; they were just my flower, bright and lovely. Although I gathered up buttercups and daisies, I never broke the stem of a poppy, it seemed wrong to do so, as if I would be removing a badge of courage from the ground. As a child, I reasoned this, I felt this. Somehow, my childish reasoning must have picked up on Remembrance Day and built in me a subconscious reverence for the flower and its meaningfulness.

Remembrance Sunday isn’t a looking backwards day because when we remember those who died, it brings them into the present-day. As long as we do not forget them they are part of our human community here and now. Their lives and their deeds are still meaningful  to us. If we ever forget them then they will truly be left in the past. So by remembering those who gave their lives for us as we do today we are not living in the past –we are enriching our appreciation of the present..  

Remembrance Sunday is a time for looking forward too. There is a close relationship between remembering and hoping. Hoping is like the future tense of remembering.

 When we hope for something which is yet to happen its like remembering what we believe in and trust in – and so the thing we are hoping for also becomes part of our present day – because what we hope for guides our actions here and now

If we remember the dead but have no hope for them; again it is as if we had left them behind in the past. So as we remember our war dead also we have many hopes. We hope they will never be forgotten in the future. As we remember why they died, we hope that their death will not have been for nothing. As we remember the scale and the horror of war deaths over the last 100 years and all the misery and destruction that flowed from these wars also we hope that there may be no more wars like those in the future.

The Scriptures urge us not to grieve over the dead as if there was no hope. We are to remember what and in whom we believe and have hope – remember what happened to Jesus – he died but we believe he was raised from death. So Christian hope is the dead will rise again. As we remember God; who holds all life in his hands; as we remember Jesus and what he taught and what happened to him; then may we hope that the dead will see a day when they know that they are not forgotten but are forever alive in the love and memory of God.

Remembrance Sunday helps us to make that vital link between people in the past who served us well and our hope of peace in years to come. Today is an opportunity to make the link -as we honour those who died, as we support the work of the British Legion, we are in some way securing some sort of future peace for their families and friends at home. In addition, we honour them by working towards a hope for peace in the future.

Remembrance day reminds us that the peace that we have enjoyed for the last 50 or so years here in Great Britain was not bought cheaply.

It is not just a reminder of those who died in the First and Second World Wars - important as they were. It is also a reminder of other conflicts that our armed services have been in

The Korean War
The Aden and Malayan Emergencies
The Falkland War
The Cyprus Conflict
The Northern Ireland Police Action
The 1st and 2nd Gulf Wars
The Afghanistan and Iraq Conflicts

And it gives us an opportunity to say “Thank you” for the sacrifice that so many made - so that we in the United Kingdom can enjoy peace and we can do so in an informed and thankful way. As Christians we have our book of memories to help and guide us towards the ways of peace and righteousness. Our Bible is a book of memories.

There we can recall God’s goodness to his people starting with the stories of the Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the Old Testament.
There we remember – in the New Testament – the story of God sending his own Son Jesus into the world to bring mankind back into a right relationship with God - culminating with the ultimate sacrifice that Christ made on our behalf on the Cross. Thus a book of remembrance, a book of the present, and a book of, and for, the future, our future and the future of all humankind.

For every one who suffered, Christ suffered too. For everyone whose body was bloodied and torn, so too was his body. For everyone who was wracked with pain so too was he. For everyone who cried out with despair, so too did he cry out. For everyone who entered into a living hell, so too did he, and he took on the hell of the dead, and was victorious, for them, for us, for always.

‘In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.’

When fighting ceased in 1918 the mud of the battlefields was allowed to rest and nature began to be restored and before long the wild flowers grew and bloomed including the poppy. The colour of red reminded people of bloodshed and the sacrifice made by millions of brave soldiers. And so the poppy became the symbol of sacrifice.

We, in the Christian Church, also have a symbol. It’s the Cross of Jesus. One of His great sayings is: ‘Greater love has no-one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends’ (John 15:13). And that’s just what He did.

Amen.