Third on the right!

Can't believe it's been so long! Where is the year going?!

Looking at the title, some who know me might think this is about my well renowned sense of direction - or lack of! But no, not this time!

Some reading this will know that during last week I got my singing voice back - more of that another time - but you won't know about the 'third on the right'

First day at the New Wine Ireland conference last week I bashed my toe badly in the bathroom and it turned a very dramatic shade of black. With my 'spongey' bones history, I even wondered if it was broken. I hobbled on and it certainly didn't hold me back.

Then at the same session where someone prayed for my voice, another person said they wanted to pray with someone who had a damaged foot - yes, you go it - 3rd toe on the right foot! My black toe!

Now I know for some this sounds nuts. It even makes me laugh. The thing with my voice kind of took over and I forgot about the tootsies. I have to admit the bruising vanished quite quickly with no broken bones.

I pray for healing for quite a few people and not many, I have to admit, are healed as we would like. My tiny toe would be well bottom of even my list of priorities. I certainly don't understand all there is to know about healing God's way. I know he heals but I also know that things don't always work out as we would like - but I do know that God knows.

As I listened to words that certainly described very accurately a couple of things wrong with me, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that God knew and God cared - whether it was about my quite serious voice problem - more of that again! - or the tiny '3rd on the right' toe!

When I was telling someone about my voice returning, I was describing that the first sense I had from God was him saying 'I know' and that was such a reassuring feeling that it would have been enough.

Whatever is going on; whatever happens in our lives, God knows. Whatever lies ahead God knows and is in control. God knows.

A New leaf

Among all the New Year messages drifting about I read this - 'Today is the first blank page of a 365 page book. Write a good one!'

I keep diaries on and off and was thinking that this year I'll give it a go again. This comes from the 'fun' I've had reading bits from diaries from the past - part of another big clear out! I've also done photo a day stuff once or twice - also great fun to look back on.

Of course if you keep either of the above honestly, there will be a mix of things there - really happy, joyous moments along with sad times and difficult spells. But it's all you, and actually looking back and seeing it all there, in black and white as it were, helps put everything in perspective.

And now I have the challenge from the quote here - 'today is the first blank page of a 365 page book. Write a good one!' That is not so much about keeping a diary - it's more about living life well day by day - like writing a book with my life. As a Christian I believe God has my 2015 planned out. He's with me as I enter it, but at the same time ahead of me preparing the way. He 'knows the end from the beginning'. I also believe that my life is in some ways like a book, available for others to read and that what I 'say' by my life is important.

But just because I believe God has it all planned doesn't mean I simply sit back and enjoy or endure the ride - and knowing my life so far that should read 'roller-coaster ride'!  I am a very active participant in my story or book. Even with God at the helm (we seem to have moved from roller-coaster to boat!) I will have decisions to make along the way, directions to move in, choices to make. God 'directs our paths' He 'makes our ways plain' but he also gives us free will and leaves part of the writing of our 2015 story to us.

I have no idea what 2015 will bring. None of us does. Apart from the things that will happen to me - way beyond my control - I'm sure I may well make some silly decisions, take some wrong roads and make some poor choices - but it will be my story and God will be there to forgive the mistakes and re-direct where necessary! 

I've always liked writing and I used to love really nice paper - the kind with a lovely faint watermark or pattern to it. As I open my 'Miriam 2015' blank book I like to think that each page is stamped with the presence of God, and that as I 'write' the latest adventures of me this year, I will be living my life to the full with and for Him.

Well, today's diary entry would be full of normal, ordinary things - bacon butty, grocery shopping, daft dogs, dafter bestie - but also a wonderful consciousness of God's presence on a day when I remember my dad and those last moments of his spent with me and his maker as He took him home one New Year's Day. Lots of smiles and laughs remembering him. And lots of hope for what's to come.

Happy Christmas!

My memories of childhood Christmases are good. 

It wasn't about the food. After catching my mum gutting the turkey one year both my brother and myself refused to eat turkey for the rest of our days at home! Best Christmas food memories involve chocolate - now there's a surprise!

It wasn't about presents. I did have some good ones. I absolutely loved the new set of colouring pencils I got each year. I remember being just a wee bit disappointed when what I thought was a red handbag turned out to be a nurse's kit. The disappointment didn't last long though when I realised how much fun I could have sticking needles into my guinea pig brother! And was I ever the red handbag sort of girl anyway?!

Christmas was all about Jesus. We didn't go to church at Christmas as kids. We were always taught that Christmas was about Jesus being born, but if I'm honest, he didn't figure hugely on the day itself.

But thinking about it now, I always knew he was there. I felt very unsafe during much of my childhood. I lived with a constant sense of danger and threat. But Christmas day was different. There was something inside that told me it was safe. Nothing bad was going to happen. I was safe.  Christmas Day was a happy day; it was fun with no sense of danger; it was safe. I can't explain why, but what I know is that when each Christmas comes my memories are happy, and I totally love the day.

Jesus came at Christmas and stayed. He can make the most amazing difference to a day - any day. And even if this Christmas is more than usually sad or dark or uncertain for you - Jesus is there.

So, Happy Christmas everyone. I don't think I'll be having colouring pencils - I hope not, Santa! Or a nurse's kit! But there is chocolate in the air! Happiness all round!

No room at the inn

'Thank you so much for the support you give us every time. My mother got the money for rent and we are so happy. They were almost throwing us outside but God is good'

'Thanks for the Rwf 90,000 you have given me. My landlord almost threw me out of the house'

Life for many in Rwanda is a daily struggle for food and shelter. Existence is often literally a hand to mouth existence and each day's activities are centered around finding food and keeping shelter.

We had a couple of letters just yesterday acknowledging some gifts we had given to cover rent for 2 families. I have to say a huge thank you to all of you who support us in any way, as the money for these rents came from money many of you, and many others, gave towards our last trip. 

Together we have made sure that for now at least these two families have kept a roof over their heads - and while we continue to pray that mums find work and can provide better for their families - we thank God that they have shelter today. 

But even more than shelter, we have given hope when it was almost gone. We have given a sense that someone is not alone. And a reminder to Tonia, who wrote the first letter above, that God is indeed good.

Both these letters seriously moved me. The first, maybe especially because it is written by a child - a little girl who shouldn't be going to bed at night, not sure whether or not she'll have a home next day.

The second is written by a mother of twins, and while no little girl should be worrying about having a home or not, it struck me how tough it must be for a mum not to be able to provide for her little girls. She goes on to say this - 'I am the single mother of twin girls. I am an orphan and I have no relatives. My girls are, you and your friends are the family that I have. I am jobless too, but I pray God helps me I find something to do that at least will provide my kids with food'

In case you hadn't noticed, it's Christmas, and the Christmas story tells us of another family seeking shelter and finding 'no room at the inn'. And this story is of the one who would later speak these words in Matthew 25 - 'I was hungry and you fed me; I was thirsty and you gave me a drink; I was homeless and you gave me a room'

Happy, blessed Christmas!

Lest we forget

November 11th was my dad's birthday. Had he lived he would have been 100 years old today. We have had lots of laughs remembering him, sharing stories and celebrating - not his birthday, but his life. Sally never knew my dad, but I'm sure she thinks she does and could tell all my stories as well as I can! For as long as I can remember, each year coming up to his birthday, he would say 'November 11th - lest we forget' As if we would forget - or be allowed to! As he grew older and was showing the first signs of dementia he had 'the interview' with a doctor. He asked the usual questions - name, year, name of the Prime Minister - and 'what is your date of birth Mr Hull?' It has to be confessed that he didn't do too well in this particular 'test', but to this last question he answered 'the 11th day of the 11th month - lest we forget'. It was to be the first time I had to smile at the first of many wacky, funny things my dad would say over the rest of his life.

Today has been a good day, doing little silly things that no one else would understand, that remind me of my dad. Of course I've shed a wee tear, but the laughter and fun have way outweighed the tears. I choose how I remember my childhood, which includes my dad. I choose to remember the happy times, the fun and the best moments. I could choose to remember differently, but then I'd have lost out. The memories would be purely bitter and I would be robbed of the little, silly things which never fail to bring a smile to my face - especially on a day like today. 

It's an amazing thing when you stop to think about it, but we have the power to choose in lots of circumstances of life. Through the Bible we're urged to 'choose life' and that is the major choice any of us will make. But as a result of making that choice we are then free to choose - forgiveness or bitterness - love or hate - imprisoned or free. Today I remember with love a dad who loved me and did the best he knew how to be a good dad. And today once more he brought a smile to my face.

Tonight's celebration of my dad involves chocolate - come on, you might have guessed! He wasn't a big lover of chocolate or sweets - how could he be my dad, I wonder?! But he loved Bounty bars and I bought them for him regularly - including a Bounty egg at Easter. So tonight - chocolate here I come Thank you dad - like I need an excuse for chocolate!

Light and dark

I saw a couple of little girls the other day playing with dolls and prams. When I was their age no one would have commented on that. It would not have been at all unusual. I clearly remember my dolls. I vaguely remember Belinda. I think she must have been my first doll, given to me by my grandfather. Sadly my memory of her is with a bashed in head!  I remember Elizabeth who lost her hair courtesy of my younger brother. If you had one of those - younger brother - you might know how it is! I remember Carol. She was a much later doll - and she could walk - kind of! And favourite of all, Glenys. She was named after a cousin. Where the other names came from I have no idea. But Glenys was special and I still have her. She's in bits at the moment, waiting for a trip to the doll hospital. In spite of all this talk of bashed heads and hairless dolls, I loved my dolls. I mothered them, was their nurse, doctor  and teacher, and walked them regularly in their prams. They became sadly neglected when our neighbour had a baby and then I had a real live 'doll' to take to the park. I used to knock on their door almost daily and ask to take the baby out. Nuisance or mummy's little helper? Who knows?!

There was something lovely about the little girls playing with dolls - in sharp contrast to the miniature witches and werewolves on the same streets at the same time. The contrast was as great as that between darkness and light. And it reminded me about how important it is to fill our children with good things - things of the light and not of the darkness. I'm conscious of being accused of pouring cold water on all the 'fun' of Hallowe'en. What harm is there after all in little children looking cute in witches' dresses and wizards' hats? All I can say is that year after year I see progressively more darkness about celebrations at this time of year. And we call it 'fun' - and even more troubling - 'normal'. 

And yes, this little doll loving girl thought that one day she'd be a mum. God's plan for me didn't include that. But I have had some amazing children in my life - and still do. And a while back, in Rwanda, guess what lots of them received from their mama - dolls! Giving away these little dolls, knitted for us by an older lady in a Residential Home, was a lovely experience. The look on the face of each child was truly priceless.

Little Girl Blue

I was looking at some photos the other day and discovered that in 4 of my school photos (yes, they did do them in my day!) I am wearing spotty frocks - 4 different ones. I don't remember liking spots - it's all down either to my mum, or to my grandmother who used to send me dresses for gifts. I imagine it was the latter. I vaguely remember some of them, especially the colour. More than one of them - maybe all 4 - were blue.

This year in Rwanda one of our 'hope visits' took us to a very poor home in a rural area where we've visited and worked before. This visit was a tough one. Materially the family were poor. There was almost nothing in the house and the surrounding area looked parched and bare. It was like not only was there no food for now, but little hope of anything anytime soon.

The conditions we found there were not unusual in some ways, but there was something else. Looking at the family, there was such a sense of hopelessness about them. The mother and father looked worn and tired. The older boy looked dark, tough, and even aggressive. When asked his age, the younger boy told us to ask his dad. None of the children had had any kind of education. There was almost a sense of it being too late. We'd got there too late. Of course I know that's not true, and we hope our little time there brought some of God's light and hope into a very dark place.

And then there was the little girl in blue. In the darkness - literally and

spiritually - of that home, there was Clementine. She is the third child in the house, and on the day we visited, stood out, dressed in a bright blue dress. This wee girl had tried to go to school; had been on and off; had been sent home because she hadn't the money. People often say to me that they couldn't deal with going to Africa or other such places because they would have to bring all the children home. I won't go into all the answers to that one just now, but in a way, I do bring children home. One I brought home this year was Clementine. I brought her story home because the little blue dress almost haunted me - in a good way - I couldn't forget her. 

We found Clementine a sponsor - in fact more people asked about sponsoring her than any other individual child. She'll now go to school. Her life has changed forever. And that will help her family's life change too. There is light where there was once darkness. There is hope and a future. And that's how it works - one by one; little by little.

I was often dressed in blue as a baby and then as a child - apparently I looked 'hideous' - my mum's word - in pink. And the jaundice and yellow dress combo didn't quite work either! All these years later one little 'girl blue' met another - and God did his stuff. Amazing!

Skin deep?

We sometimes hear the phrase 'beauty is only skin deep' - often used to 'encourage' (or patronize?!) those of us who wouldn't call ourselves beauties; could never see ourselves doing the Miss World 'what would you wish for - world peace' thing! We're told that real beauty goes beyond skin deep; true beauty is what comes from inside and is so much more important.

Today I read this little phrase in the book of Luke - words spoken by John the Baptist - 'It's your life that must change, not your skin'. He's calling people to turn their lives around; change how they live; leave the past behind - or as Jesus would say later be 'born again'

It's an unusual little phrase - a different slant on John's usual 'Repent or else' message. He's talking about 'skins' because he's calling his hearers vipers or snakes. I suppose that makes the changing skin thing make sense.

Whatever - it made me think today. How much is the change Jesus makes in

our lives just skin deep? How easily satisfied are we with little changes or tweaks here and there? How content are we to enjoy all the surface stuff, but not let ourselves go 'over the top'? 

Recently I have seen lives profoundly changed by Jesus - real change going way beyond skin deep. Skin deep would in no way describe them. In fact, skin deep wouldn't have lasted. The surface make-over would have faded or been worn away by now. Deep change from within is clear in these lives. Nothing else would do. It is wonderful to see.

But I see other lives too. I hear all the right words; even see some of the right actions. Thinking of John's snake picture, I would see these lives as chameleons - they change according to circumstances. I've watched lizards in Africa change colour to blend in with surroundings - and I see people do the same thing. The change is skin deep.

I don't want to be a skin deep Christian - ever. I don't want to be a chameleon. I know the change Jesus made to my life began in my heart and I want that then to translate into who I am and how I behave on the outside. I don't want cosmetic, surface change simply because that doesn't last. And simply because Jesus wants and deserves more.

There's one more phrase while I'm at it - 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder'. Am I glad that my 'beholder' is my Jesus and I am beautiful!

Away with the birdies!

Today I listened to a song and watched a DVD clip of singer Glenn Campbell, who is presently in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease. It was extremely poignant and very powerful. The whole project was a courageous venture for the whole family, laying bare how things are for those suffering, and those caught up in the Alzheimers' world.

Much of it rang so many bells with me, having seen both my mum and dad develop the disease. There is much talk about 'hidden' illnesses - those conditions not immediately obvious or visible - Depression or Fybromyalgia to mention two. Alzheimers has been a bit of a 'hidden' disease too for quite some time, perhaps in a slightly different way. 

The word 'dementia' has unhelpful connotations from the past when people were described as 'senile' or crazy - and were locked up in mental institutions. There was a sense of shame attached. Carers hid the problem, often suffering much behind closed doors, trying to shelter and protect the patient. Many still do, but things are slowly changing. There seems to be more help out there and more of a willingness to talk and share. Perhaps the stigma is on the run. 

One of the most cruel aspects of Alzheimers is the sense of loss suffered by family and friends. My dad used to 'see' things as part of his condition. He would see children in the house and little birds on the carpet. No amount of telling him or showing him would convince him he wasn't right. When life was

becoming very frustrating both for him and for those of us around him, we had a very helpful nurse who told us that these things were a very real part of my dad's new world. He could no longer live completely in our world, so we had to enter his. From then on we all saw the loveliest wee birds on the carpet! And many other very unusual things too as time went on!

But the hardest thing of all was 'losing' my dad. The day he looked at me and didn't know me - I'll never forget. It was painful and sad and would have been even more unbearable had dad not been happy most of the time in his world filled with lovely wee birds on the carpet. 

Glenn Cambell's last song is entitled 'I'm not gonna miss you'. Today it made me realise, after all this time, what I really missed. While happy when he was well and didn't seem to be suffering, I missed my dad; missed having a dad who was there but not there. And deep down somewhere I hurt then because I knew he didn't miss me. He didn't even know me.

I lost my dad a second time, a long time ago it seems, when he died. I celebrate the fact that he is now at peace - in yet another world with sights even more amazing than the loveliest birds on the carpet, with a Heavenly Father who has remembered him and will never forget me.

Out of the comfort zone

Our spell of good weather seems  to have come to an end - for now at least. As I was out this morning, all wrapped up in my winter coat, I couldn't help thinking that in spite of the rain, it was a nice feeling to be all snuggled up in a coat. If you're like me 'cosy' is a lovely word. For me it speaks of a glowing fire burning in the grate, warm jumper, slippers, hot chocolate and contented - even snoring - dogs!

And then, just as I slip into contented unconsciousness, I remember that I'm not meant to get too comfy - certainly not in my walk with God. I'm constantly told I need to move out of my comfort zone - not that I need told as I have often said the same to others! We move and work best in the UN-comfortable zone because that's where Jesus is. He's the one who had 'nowhere to lay his head'; no comfy fire, armchair and slippers. He was the one who walked the hot, dusty roads and went into those homes of awkward, embarrassed silences where no one knew quite what to say. He was the one who was despised by his enemies and deserted by his friends. He was the one tortured and beaten, and finally cruelly put to death. It doesn't come more uncomfortable than that.

And then there's that other side to the word 'comfort' that means to 'give strength to' and when I think of that, it all makes sense. When we step out of our comfortable places we often feel weak and vulnerable. They are places where we can't  always rely on the 'been there, done that' thing. The old and familiar have gone. Even the people we have come to rely on aren't there. And we don't feel like we can rely even on ourselves.

What better place to be?! In this place there is room for Jesus; a need of Jesus that sometimes gets lost. A dependence on him that was long gone. You want awakened out of the dull, daily routine that passes for life? Step out and join Jesus. You might have to leave the slippers - or whatever your particular 'comfort blanket' happens to be - but you'll never be more comfortable than in that place where Jesus is.

But beware - even what we think are the 'happening' places aren't. Our high risk, exciting, 'out of the comfort zone' places all too easily become new comfort zones full of people just like us - and we are so, so comfortable there.

#legend

A lot of people on my fb today seem quite starstruck. And once more the word 'legend' is being bandied about a fair bit. Every time I see #legend I wonder what the particular person has done to qualify as 'legend'. Or maybe it's nothing to do with what they've done - maybe it says more about the kind of person they are. It seems at times like someone can be 'legend' because they've brought you a nice timely coffee during a busy spell at work!

A dictionary tells me that a 'legend' can be so called because they are a celebrity, a star, a phenomenon, a 'big name', a megastar! My problem with this list is that our celebrities, stars etc. are often so short-lived; so 'here today, gone tomorrow'. So 'feet of clay'. Not what I would call 'legend'.

But the same dictionary also describes a legend as a 'wonder' - someone to be wondered at, amazed by or in awe of. Now I think that's more like it. I can remember being fascinated by old myths and legends; heroic tales leaving me lost in wonder and amazement. 

I still have some heroes; people I admire and look up to; people who have inspired me - and still do. Most of their names would be unheard of, but they have given me something to wonder at or aspire to. Most of them wouldn't want the #legend thing. They are simply doing their best to live out the life God has given them, following in the steps of the one true legend - God's son, Jesus. If anyone merits #legend it's Jesus. He certainly gets all my awe and wonder, and I know this is one 'legend' who will never let me down.

I've been #legend myself a time or two. I wobble on the pedestal now and again. Let's hope I don't fall off! Don't take it all too seriously is what I say!

A matter of life and death

You can hardly escape the fact that today, as much as in any other day and age, there is a lot of suffering in the world. The news is full of stories of unspeakable horrors from Iran, Iraq and other places. I have just been checking out my cousin Elwyn's blog from Ukraine with stories of suffering alongside tales of amazing courage and self-giving.

Much - though not all - of this suffering is being endured by Christians as a result of persecution. Again, among the horrific happenings, we hear stories of incredible courage and self-sacrifice. I remember many years back someone, who was enduring persecution, asking that we pray for brothers and sisters undergoing persecution. They asked, not just for prayer for deliverance from suffering, but for the grace not to deny Christ and the grace to die well.

Some years later when I was living under threats and warnings from terrorists in Peru, at a time when several Christian missionaries had been put to death, I remembered those words, and my prayer then was that Jesus would give me the grace to die well should the time come. I don't speak much about those times. 'Normal' life had to continue in some way. They were frightening days, and even now when I think of them, and when I hear or see the sort of  things that are happening today in other places, my stomach churns and I still feel something of that fear.

But what I learned was this. We all die, and we will die well if we live well. I didn't die in the 1980's, but I learned a lot about the importance of living well. I learned a lot about how precious life is; how brief life is; how vitally important it is to live well as in living every moment for Christ. While the manner of dying for some hits our headlines, and is often truly horrific for victims and for family and friends of those killed, the manner of our living  is what should concern us. To live is Christ; to die is gain.

Humanly speaking, of course the manner of my death crosses my mind from time to time - though not as much as those bad old days (which were actually great old days!) - but the manner of my living concerns and occupies me more. 

Go on - give us share!

Been thinking of ideas for a Harvest sermon. I was remembering how my mum used to talk about harvesting time when she was growing up in the countryside; how it was a community event when farmers and growers all turned out to help each other, and how they shared machinery and man-power, and how at the end of it all they shared a meal together. There was a lot of sharing.

Today's Harvest themes are also full of sharing. Especially for us city dwellers there is much food for thought on food banks and sharing what God has given us, especially in these days of credit crunch and recession. We may be a step or two from the fields, but as we 'harvest' in the supermarkets we have the opportunity to share some of what we have with others.

Being in Africa certainly takes us closer again to the earth and to where things grow. Especially as we travel outside the city we are surrounded by those lovely green hills that Rwanda is renowned for - 'Land of 1,000 hills'. We step outside someone's little home to see avocado and bananas and mango growing on trees so close you could reach up and touch them. We see people - most often women - bent over in fields digging, planting or gathering maize, potatoes and maybe even rice.

It all looks good until you learn that although this food might be growing right outside within reach, or that although someone spends back-breaking hours in fields - the food is not theirs to take. The food belongs to landowners, and those who live by it or work to grow it don't see or taste the benefits. There isn't much sharing going on.

But one of our greatest joys in Rwanda does involve sharing. We take what is generously given here, change it for food and share it with those in greatest need. It is a huge privilege and amazing blessing to be those who get to share, but we are always conscious of those who have shared already so that we can share with others - thank you!

What is  really lovely is that the sharing continues. We know that as we leave a home, those who have received that day will share with family and neighbours, because some other day when the tables are turned they themselves will benefit from sharing.

I read this the other day from Paul in his letter to the Corinthians - 'they gave offerings of whatever they could - far more than they could afford - pleading for the privilege of helping out in the relief of the poor'. 

Sharing is good. Can we afford not to?

Who do you think you are?

I am by birth a wee Scot; a wee weegie born in Glasgow. As a child I was very proud of my Scottish birth because it made me different. I already figured I was different anyway, and being Scottish born just added to the mystery that was me! I left Scotland for Ireland at a very young age, but not before, apparently, I took my first steps there and performed my duty as little tubby flower girl at my Uncle's wedding - and no, you are not seeing the picture!

A few years back, on a trip to Glasgow, I went on a mission to find the place of my birth, and how chuffed was I to find the house where I was born - still standing. Unfortunately there was no one at home, so I didn't get a look inside, but just seeing the house and standing outside was very special indeed. It was a lovely link with the past. 

I have a very mixed heritage - a Welsh mother, an Irish father and a Scottish birth - and during these last days and weeks my thoughts have been with Scotland as they made their big yes/no decision about their future in the UK. As I said earlier today, I am glad in a way that Scotland stayed with us, but there is that little rebellious part of me that says - well done Scotland for giving it a go - for making the bid for freedom!

I suppose much of what has gone on recently is about identity. 'Who do you think you are?' is a popular TV show which helps famous people trace their roots. According to the title its purpose is to help people figure out who they are; who or what formed them. Lots of things shape us, including place and circumstances of birth and upbringing, as well as those who have gone before us. No doubt there are things and people in my past that have shaped me.

I thank God for much of that, but I am me and who I really am is being shaped and formed by God. I am a one-off, unique individual; a child of God.

In a word.....

The reason we still go to Weight Watchers, apart from trying to ensure the lost 3 stone plus is never found again, is simply because it is just such good fun. This morning was no exception - full of jokes and laughs and funny stories. Of course we're there to commiserate with each other when things don't go quite right, and encourage one another when targets are reached. Over the years we have made some good friends. But the thing that keeps us going along as often as we can is simply the fact that it is such fun.

One of this morning's funny stories was one Sally shared about an episode during our latest trip to Rwanda. We were visiting some friends, sitting there engaged in polite conversation, when Justine said to Sally - 'Sally, you have become fat'! Remembering where we were this morning, the reaction to the story was a unique Weight Watchers' blend of shock/horror and much amusement!

The thing is, Justine meant no harm. Regardless of whether what she said was true or not - and I'm not going there! - Justine was being complimentary. She was saying that Sally looked well and healthy and prosperous. In her culture a little weight - not saying a word, Sally! - is a good sign. It means you are prospering - to put it bluntly - you are not going without food. Her words in her context were good words.

All this made me think about how we use words. Along with the funny stories this morning were also some horrible stories of cruel words spoken to people which had obviously hurt. We fire words around often very carelessly, forgetting that they can never be taken back. I often cringe at words people use on Twitter or facebook especially. I can 'hide' these words or remove them from my view, but they've still been said - they are still out there.

It's little wonder the Bible has some strong words of its own to say about the tongue -

 'No one can tame the tongue. It is restless evil, full of deadly poison' 

James 3

Thankfully though, it's not all bad news. James also tells us that from the tongue can come blessing. Our words can bless. 

My word for today - 'Bless you!'

Family matters

Today is my little Great-niece Lola's 6th birthday and shortly I will head to Lisburn to see her. I don't have much by way of immediate family and I don't see them that often. Family life is often complex - people say moreso in this day and age. I'm not sure that's true. I think family life has always been complex - I can remember back from childhood when rumours abounded now and again about who belonged to whom in a family. Maybe then we were just better at keeping the 'secrets'.

Family life in Rwanda can be very complex. We have children brought up by siblings or grandparents, uncles and aunts. It often involves splitting children up, and we have a few cases where the children in a family have been divided among uncles and aunts following the death of parents. One boy in particular comes to mind as I remember him saying how much he would like to be reunited with his twin sister. He gave us a photo of her for his sponsor to see. Sometimes children are sent off to other family or friends because a mother can't afford to feed them all, and in some cases children are sent off to work in another person's home for that same reason.

It is hard for us to get this and understand. We want to label everyone; list brothers and sisters; know who's who in a family. Yet confusion reigns when in one house a child calls a boy there her brother when we later discover he is a cousin or another extended family member. In any home everyone is brother and sister - indeed I was told it was disrespectful to see it otherwise. Your grandmother or aunt, if she reared you, is mama or mother. It's like she has earned that right. For us, going in from our neat little family units, complex is the word!

At the core of it all - though at times, like our own families,  far from perfect - is the desire to look after children and give them home and family and

belonging. This last time in Rwanda we came across one remarkable lady. She is bringing up several grandchildren, including one little boy abandoned by his mother. What sets this woman apart, though there are others like her, is that in addition her home is open to any child she finds on the street. Going into her home with our notebooks and name lists is a total waste of time. All we need to know is that everyone under that roof is family. End of story!

I am honoured and humbled to be 'family' in a place or two in Rwanda; to have my picture there (yikes!) and pointed out to visitors as 'family'. It is a precious thing and reminds me that we are indeed one big family. Maybe in our part of the world we need to push out our walls and let some more 'family' in? it might be a bit mad and chaotic - but that's family for you!

What's in a name?

I have a dreadful head for names. I never was much good - facing a new class of up to 40 children when I started teaching was a bit of a nightmare! I had to invent all kinds of tricks to remember names, and make sure that for quite a number of weeks no one moved from her allotted seat. Strange how quickly I learned the names of the trouble makers though! Recently things have not improved - if anything, it gets worse and more embarrassing as it's not only new names that cause the problems, but I find myself struggling an odd time with a very familiar face or two. The good thing about that one is that I'm in the same boat as friends my age and we all attribute it to the wonderful era of 'senior moments'!

I have always wanted to be better with names as I know how important it is and how special it can make someone feel to be known and remembered by name. I am at present putting together a presentation, along with information sheets, for people who sponsor children with us in Rwanda. We try hard to learn to recognise all our children each time we visit, and doing the presentation is a great opportunity to test myself on names. When we go people are often surprised that we know the children by name, but we do try because it's important.

Names are special in Rwanda and carry special meaning. This last time we visited a girl, once on our list of sponsored children, who herself has had a baby. The circumstances surrounding the baby's birth were not easy and not as one would have wished, but she is a beautiful, healthy, special wee creation. She has been born into a life of extreme poverty, her future and that of her mother are full of uncertainties. She is born into struggle from day one. And her name? Irabizi Vanessa. 'Irabizi' means 'he (God) knows'. That name stays with that child forever and is a reminder that whatever the circumstances of her birth, however life goes for her - God knows. He knew her in the womb, knows her every step and loves her. Meeting her, it certainly seemed the most appropriate name ever.

So, I may forget or stumble over your name - sorry - but God won't. I may even one day forget my own name - wouldn't surprise me! But God will never forget. He knows!

Sunday lunch

It'll soon be time. I think it's Indian today. Sunday dinner is waiting. For many there's a whole tradition surrounding it still. It involves family, a roast and a sleep afterwards. For lots of people today it involves eating out. For others it's no longer the traditional big spread, but a day to chill, away from the busy-ness of the working week.

Being not long after my latest Rwanda trip one image stays with me when I sit down to eat. One Sunday we gave a party for sponsored children. It certainly wouldn't fall into the Sunday roast category. There was - among other stuff -  potato, greens, beans, matoke, chapati (the nicest I've ever tasted I think) and the big treat of a little chicken. Plates were piled high, and for this day at least children and adults would certainly not go to bed hungry. There was even cake!

The image that stays with me is of Jimmy. He lives with his mum and brother in some of the worst living conditions we've come across. His mum is a genocide survivor who bears the scars, both physical and mental, of that time. She has bad episodes when she can't leave the house and she certainly can't keep down a job. She is often at the church center, where she joins some other women in cleaning in the buildings and grounds. The church help her with food. Gloria is the best mum she can be, but I know both she and her children go hungry.

Last year we started sponsoring Jimmy. He has special needs educationally and neither boy was in school. Jimmy now goes to school and has the opportunity to at least go as far as he is able. The image that stays with me these days is of Jimmy enjoying his party treat dinner. I have rarely seen a child take such pleasure in food. I could hardly take my eyes off him, and it was a joy to see. But what really moved me was that after he'd cleared his own plate, he finished someone else's. He was one very hungry little boy and ate like he wasn't sure when his next meal would come. 

For Jimmy and many like him, uncertainty, including about food, is a daily feature of life. it can lead to hopelessness and despair - or it can lead to the most amazing trust in God and in his provision. God provided for that Sunday 'party' dinner. Some of you enabled that. And because of it - because Jimmy ate that day - he will grow to trust the God who always provides - even in those scary, hungry moments when it simply doesn't look that way.

Well, I think it might just be time to eat. Indian sounds good! Eat well today Jimmy!

Limbo Land!

Well it's back to this blog, as Rwanda 2014 has been and gone. That's not quite true as I attempt to settle and make sense of all the experiences I've had over the 3 weeks away. Then there's the follow up, and even the beginnings of plans for 'Rwanda - the next time'! This will all keep me very busy for some time to come.

Not unusually for me, at this stage of 'just back' I'm feeling a bit in limbo. There's lots to do, but I can sit and stare at my desk or laptop for ages, not quite sure what to do. There are places to go, but I can't decide where, so stay put. There are people to see, but who? It's a strange, unsettling place to be and I don't like it much.

The journey out of it begins with small steps. I broke my foot back in April and know all about the small steps needed to walk properly again. I know I have to go gently with myself; not rush; not run before I can walk. But I also know I have to step out. I'm not entirely sure what I'm stepping into, but God knows, and that is all that matters.

I suppose I need a kick start again - I know one or two people who might offer to help out there - no thanks! I know God will provide that, and actually even as I write this I'm getting a wee bit excited about what form it might take. 

For now, routine is helpful, and the regular Saturday visit to the chippy has helped! 

Belonging

Wow! It's been a while. I blame the 'incident of the foot' myself, but maybe more of that another time!

It's Father's Day and today I have memories of my dad that make me smile. I kind of lost my dad twice, as for quite some time before he died he didn't

know me and had gradually withdrawn into another world. He may not have known me but I knew him and frequently entered that world of his where little birds sat on his carpet and children (invisible to the rest of us) came to play!

Both my parents lived into old age and when they died there was that not uncommon mix of relief and sadness as they were freed from suffering and went home. But one thing took me by surprise. Once both parents had gone I had this sense of not belonging. I was no longer anyone's child and belonged to no one. I had no husband, and while I can almost hear the outrage of some marrieds who wouldn't like to think of themselves as 'belonging' to their husbands - and while I'm aware of the fact that in some cultures and situations this has a sinister edge to it - there is something warm and cosy about the idea of belonging.

It took me a while to think this through, but I came to the conclusion that in some ways I have never quite felt like I belong or fit in. That can be an uncomfortable place to be in a world of cliques and the drive to 'belong', but then would I have it any other way?! 

As followers of Jesus we don't in a sense belong here and I look forward to being with him, where I know I truly do belong. But for now this is home and where I am meant to be. I have come to see that I belong to Jesus completely, solely and forever. For now I also belong to those he sends my way. I belong where I am for however long that is. This little jigsaw piece fits somewhere! And this little misfit has always, unsurprisingly, had a heart for the different - the other misfits out there! And I certainly wouldn't have it any other way.

Once during the inevitable Rwandan discussion about how many children you have or haven't got an African friend told me I was 'free to be mama to everyone'. I very happily belong to those God gifts me to - now that is amazing!