Reflections at this time of mourning

Gosh, it's been an age since I blogged! But I wanted to do so today, mainly because some people at church this morning asked if I could share again some of the quotes that were in my sermon, and some who weren't there asked for the text. So if you're not from St. Bart's you're obviously more than welcome to read on, but this is simply the text from my sermon, preached at both 9am and 11am today. It's worth saying that though it ends fairly abruptly when written, it was followed up with space and time for prayer.

What an extraordinary few days it has been. What extraordinary times we are living in. We're barely out of our covid lockdown. There's was in Europe for the first time in decades. Yet another Prime Minister has just taken charge of the country. We're on the cusp of an enormous cost of living crisis. And then on Thursday, in the end quite suddenly, in spite of her advanced age, Queen Elizabeth II sadly died.

That moment will become one of 'those' moments - those 'where were you when' moments. Some of you will remember when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, or Martin Luther King. Some of you will remember when Diana Princess of Wales died, or when the 9/11 attacks took place (which in fact was 21 years ago to this very day).

I was on holiday on Thursday, and I put on the BBC news because I could tell from social media that something was different, and not right. And so I remember the exact moment when Huw Edwards made the announcement - in fact I knew a moment before that, because I could literally see it in his face. I came home from my holiday early in order to support us here at church as we opened up to our community as a focal point for expressing grief and sorrow.

Like me, you'll remember forever where you were when you heard the news, and you'll remember too how you felt, how you reacted. Some people of course, are not big fans of the Royal Family - for her unstinting service and tireless work. For most of us, she's the only monarch we've ever known.

There are many weighty and worthy things that we can say about the Queen, and rightly so. But personally my very favourite story about her isn't especially weighty or worthy, it's just very funny! During the Platinum Jubilee celebrations, Richard Griffin, a former Royal Personal Protection Officer, told this story:

One day at Balmoral, he and the Queen were out for a walk, and they met two American hikers coming the other way. The Americans didn't recognise the Queen, but started up a conversation about their holiday, and the different places they'd visited. One of them asked the Queen where she lived. She replied that she lived in London, but that she had a holiday home nearby which she visited often. The tourists said well if she'd spent so much time in that area, surely she must have met the Queen. Apparently the Queen didn't miss a beat. She turned to her Protection Officer and replied "well I haven't, but he has." The tourists asked him what the Queen was life. He replied "well she can be very cantankerous, but she's got a lovely sense of humour." They all took selfies together, and the Queen walked away chuckling to herself about the reaction they would get when they showed off those selfied back home and realised who she was.

And for us who are Christians, we have lost not just our Queen, but a sister in Christ. I've heard her described as "the nation's greatest evangelist" because of the warm and easy way in which she spoke of her own personal faith - and of course she had the advantage that most evangelists can only dream of, in that she was able to speak into most people's living rooms for one day every year!

Here, for example, are just a few of the faith highlights from the Queen's Christmas speeches:

2000: To many of us are beliefs are of fundamental importance. For me the teachings of Christ and my own personal accountability before God provide a framework in which I try to lead my life. I, like so many of you, have drawn great comfort in difficult times from Christ's words and example.

2002: I know just how much I rely on my faith to guide me through the good times and the bad. Each day is a new beginning. I know that the only way to live my life is to try to do what is right, to take the long view, to give of my best in all that the day brings, and to put my trust in God.. I draw strength from the message of hope in the Christian gospel.

2013: For Christians, as for all people of faith, reflection, meditation and prayer help us to renew ourselves in God's love, as we strive daily to become better people. The Christmas message shows us that this love is for everyone. There is no one beyond its reach.

2017: Jesus Christ lived obscurely most of his life and never travelled far. He was maligned and rejected by many, though he had done no wrong. And yet, billions of people now follow his teaching and find in him the guiding light for their lives. I am one of them because Christ's example helps me see the value of doing small things with great love.

And most recently, in 2021: It is [the] simplicity of the Christmas story that makes it so universally appealing: simple happenings that formed the starting point of the life of Jesus, a man whose teachings have been handed down from generation to generation, and have been the bedrock of my faith.

I don't know, of course, what elements the Queen's funeral will involve - although I'm quite sure that she will have been clear about her wishes, and made plans to reflect her own preferences, as well as her deep faith. But I wonder whether you remember Prince Philip's funeral, just seventeen months ago? I'm sure that you do, because of course it took place at the height of the lockdown, and there was that moving and iconic image of the Queen sitting along, following the government's rules of the time, and therefore facing that moment of grief without the physical comfort of her family.

At that funeral, at the Prince's request, something happened which is unusual at a funeral - it is something we generally associate with Remembrance Sunday. But it was an explicit request of the Prince, for a very good reason. He asked that the Last Post and the Reveille be played. In the military, the Last Post is played at the end of a working day (and so sometimes is associated also with the finality of death), but the Reveille is played to awaken soldiers for the start of a new day. Prince Philip deliberately chose those two pieces to signify the end of one day, and the start of another - his entering into his new, eternal life.

You may also have watched the very moving first speech to the nation from King Charles, on Friday evening. I was particularly struck when he said of his mother "as you begin your last great journey." IT reminded me of a very beautiful quote from the Last Battle, the last book in C. S. Lewis's Narnia series. I have this quote on the wall in my study, as a reminder, quite simply, of what all this is for, what it's about, where it's heading, why it matters. At the end of the book, Aslan, the great Lion who represents Jesus, is talking to Lucy, one of the four children. She hasn't yet realised it, but their earthly adventures are over, and only eternity lies ahead. This is how he explains it to her:

"The term is over: the holidays have begin. The dream is ended: this is the morning. And as he spoke he no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this is the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after,. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."

This, indeed, was the hope in which the Queen lived and died. As we reflect on her death many of us will also reflect on the deaths of those closer to us, those in our own lives whom we have loved, but see no longer. For many, we will rejoice too that they are now living within that Great Story.

I saw someone had written the other day that the National Anthem is one of the most often-prayed prayers, but it is also surely one of the most comprehensively clearly answered prayers. For seventy years, people have sung "God save the Queen" - and he has surely saved her. We now turn to singing "God save the Kind" and we make that our prayer.

Our two Bible readings today both give us words of hope and comfort as we remember the Queen, and our own loves ones, and also as we navigate our journey through the struggles and complexities of the world at this current time.

Firstly, we heard Paul writing to the church in Corinth, and our reading began with six words which I imagine we could all do with holding onto tightly at the moment: "Therefore we do not lose heart."

What has gone before the 'therefore'? Well, Paul has been reminding the Corinthians of the treasure which is theirs in Christ, albeit held within fragile jars of clay. He has reminded them that they are "hard pressed but not crushed, perplexed but not despairing, persecuted but not abandoned, struck down but not destroyed." He has reminded them that "the one who raised Christ Jesus from the dead," God himself, "will also raise us with Jesus."

And so it is that in the light of these truths, Paul can say therefore - "therefore we do not lose heart." And then Paul makes this extraordinary statement, weighty with truth and promise, but not necessarily easy to absorb. He says that "our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an earthly glory that far outweighs them all."

This isn't easy to comprehend, and nor should it be. Because the truth is that life is often very hard. And that's rarely been more true for our nation and our world than it is at the moment. We struggle, we griev, we face pain and trials and suffering and sorrow. We want to ask Paul what on earth he's going on about, and how dare he call our troubles "light and momentary." And if Paul (or indeed Jesus) had led an easy life then maybe that would be a fair criticism. But Paul was beaten, mocked, shipwrecked and imprisoned for his faith. Jesus died in agony on a cross. They knew troubles. The Queen knew troubles too. In her own life she knew family breakdown, grief and tragedy.

And yet even so, in spite of all this, Paul is so confident that the life we are promised with God beyond this life will be so beautiful, so wonderful, so beyond our imagination or understanding, that he can refer to the agonies of this life as "light and momentary troubles" in comparison. He isn't saying that the things we face on earth are trivial or unimportant. Rather he's saying that eternity will be more glorious than we could ever dream of.

Fix your eyes, then, he tells us, not on what's around you in this world, but fix your eyes on the future, on what's eternal, on what's promised.

And then briefly, and secondly, we heard John with one of the seven well known 'I Am' statements of Jesus. Here Jesus refers to himself as "the bread of life" and he makes an extraordinary promise - that anyone who loves and follows him will never be hungry or thirsty. We know that he can't be referring to physical hunger or thirst, because we know that sadly there are many followers of Jesus around the world, and even quite close to home, who do suffer real bodily hunger and thirst, and so therefore he must be talking in a spiritual sense.

This is the promise made to all who believe - and the beauty of this promise, this invitation, is that it's made equally to everyone. Whether you're an ordinary person going about your everyday life in Roby, or whether you're the Queen of England, Jesus says the same words to you: "my Father's will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day."

The Queen believed and accepted that eternal life. It is offered freely and fully to each one of us, today and every day.

"You have kept a record of my tears..."

I've been thinking a bit lately about crying. I wonder what sort of a relationship you have with tears?! I'm a big fan of the Christmas film The Holiday, and in that Cameron Diaz's character Amanda tells Jude Law's character Graham that she hasn't cried since her parents split up when she was a child. She tries several times, squeezing up her eyes and willing the tears to come out, but they won't. The moment we know she's really serious about Graham is when she's leaving in a taxi and suddenly realises that tears are running down her cheeks.

Personally, I cry A LOT. I cry at sad films, and sometimes at happy ones too. I often cry when I'm reading books. I cry when I'm watching the news, and even occasionally when I'm watching adverts... I cry when little kids do something cute. I cry when I'm overwhelmed by beauty - looking at a glorious sunset, for instance. I cry when I hear sad news about somebody else. I cry when I'm lost in worship, singing praises to God, and I almost always cry when someone prays for me. Sometimes I've even made myself cry while I'm preaching, sharing the good news of Jesus' love. I also do that really annoying thing, that a number of other women have told me they do too, of crying when I'm angry! 

Many of the situations above cause me to well up, rather than to sob as such, although anyone who has sat near to me during the worship time at New Wine knows there are times when, to use the marvellous Liverpool phrase that I very much enjoy, I've 'cried my leg off.'

I cry when I'm upset too, of course. I cry when I'm sad, or lonely, or stressed, or overwhelmed, or frustrated. 

The one small flaw in this litany of tears is that I absolutely and completely cannot cry when I'm talking to people. I can be with my dearest, closest friends, or in a prayer group, or with wise spiritual advisers. I can be going through a really tough time, and want to talk about it, and know that the person is willing to listen. I can have been specifically asked how I'm doing, and I can be in the middle of describing the many ways in which I am really not doing well at all. But I cannot cry, because, well, PEOPLE. I only ever cry on my own (New Wine worship times notwithstanding - if my eyes are closed you can't see me, right?!).

(Oh, and another small caveat. A few years ago I did the incomparably superb Arrow Leadership Programme. I cried from the moment we started until the moment we finished. There's some kind of magic there, I can't explain it).

Over the past little while I've been beginning to figure out why it is that the presence of other humans (usually) means I can't cry, and what it's about, and I'm starting to understand it a bit more. I'm really hopeful that, over time, this will change, and I'll be able to be a bit more 'in the moment' with my emotions, so that if I'm telling someone about something really sad, I will be able to cry there and then. (One dear friend often (re)assures me that he's certain he'll be able to make me cry one day...!).

A few months into the first lockdown, someone asked me how I was doing. I said that I was up and down, that it depended on the day, or perhaps even on the hour - I guess that's pretty normal right?! Anyway I then said that I was fairly sure that I'd cried every single day of the lockdown. They looked at me in absolute horror! Maybe they were more on the Cameron Diaz/Amanda end of the tears spectrum! Now, almost a year into this whole pandemic thing, it wouldn't strictly be true to say that I've cried every single day since last March, but there are way more days when I've cried than when I haven't. Like, *way* more.

And so I've been thinking about tears. Specifically I've been thinking about what God thinks about our tears. I've been reflecting on those 2 extraordinary words that John writes in his description of the story of Lazarus. One of Jesus' closest friends has died, and his sisters, also dear friends of Jesus', are devastated. Jesus walks with them to the tomb where Lazarus is laid, and 2 short words tell us so much about the heart of our Lord: "Jesus wept." 

What beautiful words those are. That, and the time when he weeps over Jerusalem, are the only recorded instances in the gospels of Jesus crying, but I doubt very much that they are the only times that he cried. Interesting lines in Christmas carols notwithstanding, he definitely would have cried as a baby, and a child, because that's what babies and children do. But I wonder whether he also cried as a man. I wonder (and of course I can do no more than wonder) whether he cried when his cousin John was murdered. Or when his friends betrayed him. I think that perhaps he did. And I'm certain that he sees my tears, and that he understands.

I've also been thinking about that beautiful verse in Psalm 56, written by King David when he had been captured by the Philistines. It's a Psalm full of raw, real emotion, like so many of the Psalms. That's one of the reasons that so many people find such comfort in their words - because they remind us that we can come to God just as we are, with all of our messy emotions, and that he can take it.

Psalm 56:8 tells me that God has literally made a note of all of my tears. (It's worth reading the verse in a few different translations because there are some fascinating and beautiful different ways of saying that). What an extraordinary thought that is! All those moments when I've cried alone, when emotion has burst out of me, and when it's been buried within. God has seen my tears, he has understood my tears, he has even recorded my tears. (It may not surprise you, having read this far, to find that I am crying as I write these words!).

And then, my mind goes to the last book of the Bible, to the stunning vision of the world beyond this world, to the new heavens and the new earth, and I think of that verse which is sometimes read at funerals. John describes his vision of this future city, which God is preparing for his people. And then in Rev. 21:4 we read that "He will wipe every tear from (our) eyes."

One day, I will live forever with the Lord, and there will be no more crying. Who knows, maybe he'll show me the bottles (giant vats...) that he has collected of my tears over the years. Until then, I'll cry on (sometimes), knowing that he sees me. 

Happy ending?

I've been pondering something for a while (that's usually a bad sign tbh...) It's something quite subtle, which you almost might not notice. The problem is, I have noticed, and now I can't stop. Writing this blog runs the risk of you, who may never have noticed before, now also noticing. I'm sorry. Read on at your own risk...!

Here it is. I've noticed a tendency in certain Christian testimonies, for the 'and then they lived happily ever after' part to include "and now they're married with 18 beautiful children" or similar.

Here's an example that I read today, in a magazine I really enjoy, which prompted me to finally write something (even though I've been thinking about doing so for ages). I'm not having a go here at the magazine, or the author, and it was a good article. It just happened to provide an example of this thing.

So in the article there's a story about a guy named Pedro (I would change his name, but the chances are they already changed it when they did the article, so there's no need to make things even more complicated!) Pedro was homeless and an alcoholic, until he found love and care and support and a Christian community which helped him to heal (that bits all great by the way, obvs!).

Here's the thing though. This is how the 'after' part of Pedro's story is described: "Pedro... found a community to support his journey towards sobriety and ultimately a faith of his own. Now, eight years sober, he helps at AA sessions, has married, and regularly cooks for his church's Alpha course."

It happens so often. Not long ago at a women's event I heard something similar: "Lucy (I am making that name up, I can't for the life of me remember what they called her!) has had her life turned around. She was in trouble because of X, Y and Z and her life was awful. And then she met Person A from Charity B and they helped her to sort her life out. Now she's doing this, this and this amazing thing, and she's married with a baby."

I've read it in books, and on social media. I've heard it in talks. OK, maybe I notice this stuff more than someone married would do, but nonetheless it is still actually happening!

Now, don't misunderstand me, I'm not just being a grump (I really hope I'm not anyway!) Obviously, if this person has happened to get married in this period of their life when things are going well, then that's part of their story, and of course it's right for them to tell that if they want to.

The issue for me is when we see the 'marriage and kids' thing as part of the happy ending. This person's life is better now BECAUSE they are married, BECAUSE they have children.

I'm all for celebrating the good stuff. I love to hear testimonies of God at work in people's lives, how their circumstances and their situation have been totally transformed. It's brilliant. But I think there's something about what 'we' (society? church?) see as typical traits of the 'before' and 'after' parts of the story.

BEFORE (BAD STUFF): homelessness, drugs, alcohol, addiction, crime...
AFTER (GOOD STUFF): marriage, kids (and what? 3 bedroom semi? volvo?)

I'm being facetious, of course, but actually the only thing that's got any business being in the AFTER column is: AND NOW THEY KNOW JESUS. (Yes, I know, no longer being addicted to stuff and having a roof over your head are pretty good too, but you get my point).

If I'm being hyper-sensitive about this, no doubt you'll all tell me. If I've made you aware of something that's now going to annoy you when it didn't before, I'm sorry. But if this is a Thing, and if you're single or don't have kids or whatever, and you've noticed it as a Thing too, let me know.

I guess what I'm saying is it feels weird when my life (which I'm happy with, and really quite like, at least the vast majority of the time) is seen as not good enough to feature in the AFTER column. Like when my life is some sort of pre-Good-Morning-makeover-style-reveal.

We must be careful about saying, or thinking, or even implying, that marriage and kids should be part of the 'happy ending' story (although they're great and brilliant when they happen well) - because if they're part of the 'happy ending' story, then where does that leave those of us who don't have them, and possibly never will?

My life is full of Jesus and friends and laughter and kids and chocolate and all sorts of good things. But it doesn't and never will involve marriage, or children of my own. And I'm ok with my own version of the happy ending.

Here's a picture of a sunset, just because they're one of my favourite things, and a pretty good 'ending' for each day, I'd say.

What would Jesus post - Book review

This was a really interesting book to read and review. There are so many conflicting thoughts and opinions around about social media and the whole online world. Some people think it's the best thing since sliced bread, a fabulous gospel opportunity, a way to reach out and spread the good news and connect with people you wouldn't otherwise meet. Some people think it's the work of the devil, all about spreading lies and hate and evil, bringing out the worst in people and distracting us from the real work of the kingdom. The truth, inevitably, probably lies somewhere in between those two extremes. Like many things, social media and the internet can be used for good or for evil, and there are plenty of people and organisations doing both of those things.

It would be easy to assume that the Bible has nothing to say about the online world - after all computers and electricity couldn't even have been dreamed of during the time the Bible was written, let alone the internet. But it's vital as Christians that we consider what God thinks about all aspects of life, and that we weigh up what we do and say and think in the light of what we know to be true. This is what theology does - it enables us to look at an aspect of life in our world and to consider it within the gaze of God, asking ourselves what he wishes to say to us about it.

This is what David Robertson has sought to do in this new book: What Would Jesus Post? - A Biblical Approach to Online Interaction. Personally I'm a big fan of social media, as you'll know if you follow me, and have been assailed by multiple posts on anything from chocolate to church to squirrels to fencing to gin to Jesus... and much more! So I was fascinated to read what David Robertson had to say, and to see what he thought Jesus would have made of the world of social media.

My own view is that Jesus would have been all over social media - he was never one to shy away from a chance to interact with people, after all. He was always where the people were - even when that meant being in a place that the 'good', righteous, religious people felt that he shouldn't have been. Of course Jesus would have used his social media accounts without sinning, as he did everything - unfortunately that's something I can't claim to have always managed, and I doubt whether any of us have. But in 2018 I simply don't think that we can declare the whole online world to be morally bankrupt and declare that we want nothing to do with it. The internet isn't going anywhere, and I believe that we need to understand it and engage with it - in a way that's shaped around and formed by what we know to be true of God's kingdom rule. So what might that look like?

I really liked how practical the book was, and that it's structured in such a clear and readable way. It constantly refers back to the truths and wisdom of the Bible, and it is also totally up to date and relevant to 21st century life and culture. There are helpful tips about how we can all make better use of social media in our kingdom ministry, and there are also important challenges as to just how we come across, how we engage, how we  interact. We're reminded to "pray before posting" and to think about the responsibilities as well as the opportunities that come with having a "personal digital pulpit."

The overall advice from this book is that it's important for Christians as individuals, and for churches as organisations, to engage on social media, and to make the most of all that is offered by it. But crucially we're also encouraged to be wise, discerning, humble, hospitable and generous as we do so. There's also a really important and interesting challenge about our overuse of/reliance on all things online, and an encouragement to consider an occasional "digital sabbath." Ultimately, we're reminded that we are "stewards of a digital footprint."

Overall I think this is an important and timely book for Christians. I haven't come across anything quite like it before and it definitely gave me a lot of food for thought. I'm very much pro all things internet (well, most things...!) but this has given me some important new ideas, and questions to ask, for which I'm grateful.

Party of One - Book Review

I don't read all that many books on singleness, to be honest. I've always been pretty picky about them. I had to read a lot prior to writing one, for research, and there weren't many I loved. It's one of the main reasons why I wrote Single Minded, because there wasn't a book which said exactly what I wanted to read.

Party of One also doesn't say *exactly* what I wanted to read (but it's ok because I've already written a book that does!!). It is, however, really rather good.

Party of One is written by Joy Beth Smith, who's an American journalist. You can tell that, to be honest, because it's a really well written book, which keeps you turning the pages, and often has you laughing out loud. I also highlighted and underlined loads of it too, which is a sure sign of a book that I've really enjoyed (with apologies to all book purists - but if anyone did that to my book, I'd take it as a real compliment!)

Joy begins by describing how, for 15 years, she wrote a monthly letter to her future husband. (This is one of quite a number of points in the book where as a British reader there's a fairly major culture clash. I don't know anyone in the UK who's done this, and it's a reminder of how different both the church and the singleness scenes are in the UK and the US.) Anyway, one day she realises this is not a helpful strategy, and burns all of the letters. She says that she realised that "God has promised me many, many things: joy, intimacy with him, comfort, the presence of the Holy Spirit, and eternal life, to name just a few. But I'll never find the promise of a husband, of a beautiful, fulfilling marriage, tucked away in the back of James or even alluded to in Psalms."

This was the first paragraph in the book that I highlighted, and I was already hooked. It's so easy to believe marriage is somehow our 'right', something that we are owed, or deserve, but this is not the case.

Joy is brilliant at describing some of the difficulties that arise when 'helpful' friends try to intervene (and she oh-so-accurately points out how quickly people forget, having got married, what it's like to be single). She describes how people's constant attempts to 'pair off' all single people can lead to us feeling as if we're an embarrassment to have around - that instead of cheering us on in our singleness they just want to help us out of this unfortunate season.

One of the highlights of the book is the many in-depth conversations she has had with a great many single women. She travelled for these conversations, arranging round-table chats which led to a great deal of rich material, and she quotes the other women generously and at length. There is much wisdom shared from those chats.

There's just an awful lot of really helpful, clear truth in this book. She says that "God giving you a husband does not prove his goodness - marriage isn't even inherently good. But God is good, always. He is good in your singleness."

I cheered along as Joy lamented the waste which can so easily occur when single people live their life on hold, or treat their singleness like a waiting room - she uses the analogy of "an elevator ride" and declares this to be "a waste." "The problem with viewing singleness as a season is that we relegate our time here to something to be endured, not celebrated." YES!

Joy challenges the church's expectation of marriage in a way which is clear and timely without being grumpy (one might even suggest that the church is 'marriage obsessed' - that would make a good title for a chapter...) She challenges the common viewpoint that for single people life hasn't quite started yet, and says, with great perception, that "we've limited ourselves in what we choose to hono(u)r in the church."

She isn't afraid to tackle the big issues and the tough questions. She talks about loneliness, she talks about masturbation, she talks about childlessness, she talks about identity and self worth. I love her language of sexuality as something to be "stewarded" (rather than suppressed or avoided). I love how she tackles the 'gift' question.

There is a chapter called 'Don't spend your singleness preparing for marriage' (and I died a little inside at the 'spatula story') but nonetheless for me the book still felt like it was hoping for and heading for marriage. Perhaps it simply reflects where I am on my own journey (and perhaps this very thing would make it more appealing to some people) but I felt it might be of more interest to those still very much hoping and longing for marriage than for those who have embraced singleness for life. In the same vein I think it would be more for those who are 'never married but hoping to be' than for those who, for whatever reason, are 'single again'.

Overall I really would recommend this book (and believe me when I say that hardly ever happens with singleness books!) If you're reading it in the UK be prepared to do a bit of cross-cultural translation, and if you're not a young-ish 'single and hoping to be married' woman (I'm not sure how helpful guys would find it) be aware that it won't all resonate with you.

The thing I liked most (apart from how often it made me laugh out loud) was how much the whole book pointed to Jesus, and to living a holy live within and throughout our singleness. You can't ask for more than that.

When I'm holding a baby...

When I wrote 'Single Minded' there was a bit in it called '10 things single people wish married people wouldn't say.' In my head it was funny. Heck I still think it's funny. I mean, they're true too, every one of them, and they've all been said to me multiple times and I wish they hadn't - but you have to laugh, don't you?! Even if it's just so you don't cry. Anyway the problem is sometimes when people have read that list they've failed to engage their sense of humour sensors, and accused me of being angry and bitter and mean. I start this post by saying that because all of the same caveats apply. This is a post about '10 things not to say to a childless person who's holding a baby.' Again, I've had them all, and I wish I hadn't, and they hurt. I hope after reading the list people might think again before saying them. But at the same time please recognise this post as an attempt at gentle humour (well, that mixed with rabid sarcasm) rather than angry bitterness...

So, here (in no particular order) is my list:

1. Where did you get that from?
Just found it lying around outside. You're allowed to just keep them when that happens, right?

2. You should have said!
I just thought it would be more fun to have a baby in secret and produce it one day with no warning. Thanks for the implicit suggestion that I look like I could have just given birth though.

3. That was quick.
Yeah, in the 3 days since I last saw you I've found a husband, got pregnant, and given birth. What can I say, I'm an over-achiever.

4. Nice to see you getting in some practice.
Yes, it's about time I learnt not to dangle babies upside down from their feet. [Incidentally when I was a little girl I had a favourite baby doll. I was once walking along with my dad and he was carrying the doll by her foot. An elderly lady stopped to tell him off because he wasn't taking proper care of his baby!]

5. That'll be you one day.
THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO WAY YOU CAN KNOW THAT TO BE TRUE SO PLEASE PLEASE STOP TALKING OR I MAY BE FORCED TO SCREAM AND SOB IN A HYSTERICAL AND HORMONAL MANNER.

6. You should have your own before it's too late.
Yep, cheers for that, I'll stick it on the to-do list.

7. Is that yours? [from someone who knew me well!]
Yes, I've been keeping her in the garage till now but I thought it was about time I let her have some daylight.

8. Does the Bishop know about that? [I promise someone once asked me this!]
Sssshhhhh - I have a secret miracle baby that I keep in the attic. Please don't give my secret away.

9. I bet you're glad you can give him back.
When there's poo, snot or sick involved - too right. Then I'm laughing. But when he giggles, or grins, or snuggles up or falls asleep on my shoulder - well, then my heart breaks a little bit.

And my personal favourite. I should have £1 for every time it's been said:
10. Ooh, that suits you.
Yep, I know. I've always hoped I'd make a freaking brilliant mum. I absolutely love babies. This moment is simultaneously beautifully sweet and completely heartbreaking. Thanks for reminding me.

So there we go. That's my list. And I know I said I was aiming for humour but it turns out some of them aren't all that funny.

The thing is, please don't hear me wrong. I don't want to make people scared to ever open their mouths around me, or others in my situation. And I'm definitely not suggesting it's not ok to talk to me about this subject. I'm very happy to talk about my life - the fact that I'm single, the fact that I adore children, and would love to have them, but that it hasn't happened - and now won't happen. It's not that I can't or won't talk about it.

I guess what I struggle with is the crass and unthinking comments which can be so hurtful. It sometimes seems as if people haven't even considered for a moment that I'm a 39 year old childless woman, and that when I'm holding a baby, there might be a few different emotions going on. I know my situation is unique to me, and I don't claim to speak for anyone else. I can't imagine what it feels like to try for a baby and be unable to conceive, or to lose a child. I know lots of people don't want kids of their own. And maybe some people would hear the comments above and not mind.

And fortunately I do generally manage a reasonably gracious response when they come. Mostly. Sometimes. You know, now and then...

The thing is, there's been a choice to make. There always is, isn't there, and it's never easy. The choice is how I'll live, how I'll respond. I want to always make the Jesus-y choice. I want to choose the way of love and grace and hope and joy. Often that choice will be painful. Sometimes it would be less painful to make a different choice.

But, because I love children, and because I love my friends, and because I believe it's what Jesus would do, I choose to engage with little ones whenever I can - at church, with friends, randomly on the bus. I choose to volunteer with Safe Families for Children because they're flipping awesome and they are seeking every day to make life better and safer for little ones.

I know, of course, that none of the sentences I've mentioned above were ever deliberately meant to be hurtful. If you've said them to me - I forgive you! And obviously there will have been times when I will have said stupid and crass things, in a whole range of different areas. I'm sorry for all those times I've caused pain. Maybe we can all just aim for a bit more empathy?

Here's a (careful and anonymous!) photo of the tiny person I'm currently looking after from time to time with Safe Families. She's a precious, wonderful joy.

Book review - Those who Wait (Tanya Marlow)

This is a wonderful book – it’s real, and honest, and challenging, and hopeful, and above all focused on Jesus. Tanya is a remarkable woman and she has written a remarkable book that will stimulate and encourage you, whatever your personal circumstances. Here is a common human experience, which we all go through one way or another – waiting – explored and discussed and meditated on. Tanya has had to endure many years of waiting, through a debilitating chronic illness. In this book she shares some of the lessons she has learnt, and is continuing to learn. Her love for Jesus shines out of every page. The book is imaginatively written, and will draw you in to its cleverly created narratives. There is wisdom and grace and humour and honesty throughout. Tanya has taken 4 well known biblical characters – Sarah, Isaiah, John the Baptist, and Mary the mother of Jesus – and brought their stories to life, helping us to imagine what the experience of waiting might have been like for them, and to understand what we can learn to help us through our own times of waiting. There are also theological notes to help those who wish to delve deeper into the text, and Bible study questions for those who want to study the book with others There are suggested creative exercises to inspire you and beautifully worded prayers to help you focus on the Lord. I couldn’t put this book down. The stories drew me in, the theological insights stirred me, and Tanya’s honesty and courage challenged me. I will definitely recommend this book to others I know who are struggling through times of waiting – everyone will be able to find something in it to strengthen and encourage them in their journey with the Lord.

Here's the link to the Wordery page where you can pre-order the book:

https://wordery.com/those-who-wait-tanya-marlow-9781910786864?cTrk=NjU1NzU3Mjh8NTlkYWEyZjhhZTZkNjoxOjI6NTlkYWEyZjNhMWUyZjAuODQwOTI0NzE6NDNkYjdhODQ%3D

Living with a legacy in mind

It seems as if death has been very close lately, doesn't it? Of course we know that death is inevitable, that it comes to us all at some point, and that we don't tend to get much advance warning (which is probably for the best). But somehow, lately, it has felt even closer than normal.

We all know that in 2016 it felt as though more (and more famous) celebrities died than in previous years (I have no idea if this is statistically true, but it is certainly how it felt). In the last month or so I have known by reputation (although not personally) 4 well known and respected Christian leaders who have died in their 30s, 40s and 50s (so all, we would say 'too young'), and unexpectedly. I also have a number of good friends currently doing battle with serious illnesses of various kinds.

All of this makes us stop and think - or at least, I think it should do. The way it's been making me think is not about my own death, as such, but about my legacy. What will I leave behind? How will I be remembered?

Inevitably when someone dies, especially when they are relatively young, and it is unexpected, there is a huge public outpouring of grief and remembrance. This is entirely right and appropriate. We tell stories of that one time we met them, or of that thing they wrote that we read, or of that story we heard about them. We look for connection with them, because we feel affected.  We are reminded of our own mortality. We feel fragile, somehow.

And I've wondered, as I've read social media posts and obituaries and memories - what would people say about me? What would the stories that would be shared?

(This is definitely not an invitation to tell me!)

What it is, is a challenge to myself - and to you, if you would like to receive it as such - to reconsider how I live, and the impact I make on the world around me.

During the almost-twelve-years of my ordained life I have officiated at innumerable funeral services. I have sat with families as they have tried to describe to me their loved one - usually someone whom I have never met myself. There are certain phrases that clergy chuckle about among themselves for their 'hidden meaning' - phrases like "she didn't suffer fools gladly," and "he kept himself to himself," and "she knew her own mind." But I am sad when I sit with loved ones who don't have anything good to say about the deceased person, or perhaps not anything at all.

Whether we're famous or not, whether at our funeral we are mourned by 1, 10, 100 or 1000 people, we all leave some sort of imprint on the world in which we have lived.

I could write a list of some of the things I would hope people might say about me after I'm gone - and I could write a list of things I pray they wouldn't say!

And this isn't about me (or it shouldn't be, at least!). It isn't just about hoping everyone says nice warm fuzzy things about me and how I was a jolly good fellow. This is about living for the One whose approval is all that ultimately matters. I want my life to be a signpost to Jesus, so that when people see me, they see him. I know that so often I fail to do that, but I want to try.

I haven't given any thought at all to New Year's resolutions. I tend not to have a very high success rate. I've often thought about trying to lose weight, but I have a lot of sympathy with the post I read which said "at the start of 2016 it was my goal to lose 10 lb. Only 15 lb to go."

And yet as I've been writing this post the thought has occurred to me that a good aim for 2017 (not a resolution, mind, as I'd quite like to keep it!) - might be to spend some time thinking about the sort of legacy I want to leave behind.

How would I like people to speak about me, to describe me, to tell stories of me, after I'm gone? I can influence that now, by the way I live, how I treat people, what I do, what I say.

I'm going to try to live with a legacy in mind.

Who am I when I'm not busy?

Somehow I find myself over halfway through my 4 month sabbatical. Gosh. Not sure how that happened. I honestly do appreciate how lucky I am to be able to take a sabbatical, and that lots of people in lots of jobs aren't able to do so. Lots of things about it have been truly wonderful. I've never had so much sleep, for one thing! I've read squillions of books. There's a lot to reflect on, and several more blogs to come, I'm sure.

But the thing that I've been thinking about over this past week in particular is this - Who am I when I'm not busy?

Busyness is such a feature of modern life, isn't it? There probably aren't many people around who would say "no, I'm not busy, I haven't got much to do really." And I wonder whether in fact the people who might say that would wish it were not true - for example, is not-busyness generally as a result of being unemployed, or lonely, or in some sort of situation that we would hope not to be in?

For most of us, though, busyness seems to simply be a feature of modern life. Reading through friends' social media posts I see again and again phrases like "I don't have enough time," "I have too much to do," "I'm never going to get everything done." People are rushing between this and that, always in a hurry, never stopping. Adverts assume that we're all busy, and talk about how certain gadgets or devices can save us time and make our lives easier.

Sometimes our busyness becomes a badge of honour, something to boast about - "I'm busier than you!" It's like it's a competition!

Christmas is probably the worst time of year for this. "THERE'S JUST SO MUCH TO DO!" we frantically exclaim. We meet ourselves running around in circles as we try to do all the shopping, cooking, cleaning, buying, planning.

It's easy to get seriously passive aggressive when in a conversation about busyness - "oh, you've decorated your tree and bought all your presents and sent 200 cards and made 3 home made Christmas cakes? Well, good for you. Personally I just haven't had time to do all that. I've been far too busy." (The thing that has kept me mysteriously too busy is left unstated - it is enough for you to know that I am much busier, and by implication much more important, than you are.)

Vicars are terrible for it, let me tell you! Clergy meetings in the run up to Christmas can just become one big opportunity to show off about how many carol services and home communions you've taken and to look down on anyone who hasn't done as many, and secretly wonder why they aren't working hard enough!

It's not just clergy though, and it's not just Christmas. For all of us, at least in today's Western society, busyness feels like some sort of disease. It's a cliché, but it really is a bit like a treadmill or a hamster wheel - and once you're on it, it's impossible to get off.

Now if you've been reading this far and hoping that at some point I'm going to give you The Answer and explain how you can stop being busy and live a calm and peaceful life forever more then I'm afraid you're about to be disappointed! This is just something I'm wondering about and reflecting on myself. Why is it that our society seems so much to value busyness? Why is it that we so often feel guilty if we're not working "hard enough," or when we take some time off to do nothing? Why is it that were so bound by to-do lists?

As a Christian, for me the principle of Sabbath is important. I believe in having a day of rest each week.  For fairly obvious reasons, for me that isn't Sunday! (Any comments about that being the only day I work will be deleted!!) Friday is my day off. I try not to spend all of it doing chores! I try to do something fun, relaxing, life giving, joy bringing. My favourite thing is to spend time with friends on my day off, going for a walk, having a meal, laughing and enjoying each other's company.

But simply taking each Friday off isn't enough. That doesn't mean that from Saturday morning until Thursday evening I should work flat out to cram everything in, never stopping, never pausing, never doing anything 'not work' (although I'm ashamed to say there have been a few weeks that have looked and felt like that!)

And then, suddenly, here is this sabbatical this extended 'sabbath' of four whole months! In Liverpool Diocese, this is meant to be three months of 'study leave' and a month of holiday. So what should that actually look like? The holiday part is fine - I'm good at that! There's been a week in Wales, some sightseeing in New York and Washington DC, and next week a road trip is planned! But what about the 'work' time - what should that look like? I mentioned something about work the other day on Facebook and a friend commented "you're on sabbatical - you shouldn't be working!" Instantly I thought "but I can't just do nothing!"

'Work' over these months look very different for me. I'm hoping to write a book (well, half a book at least, along with a friend). I've done lots of reading, and reflecting. The pace has been very considerably slower than normal! Bedtime has been much earlier. I've watched more films. I've gone for more walks. I've gone to the gym more (in that I've gone to the gym!!)

It's has felt so strange not to be doing umpteen church services, being in and out of our church school, going to Christmas meals, visiting people at home. And it's not just the 'work' things' - I've hardly bought any Christmas presents (although I did do some before I left), and for the first time ever I haven't done Christmas cards! There's no food to buy, no parties to host, no meals to cook.

And yet I've wrestled with feeling guilty. I have often felt that I "should be doing more." I've wondered what people are thinking as they read my social media posts - "It's alright for her, lazing about for four months while I have to go to work." I've self-imposed a structure on my days of working in the church office 9-5 on week days,but then if someone has invited me out during that time I've felt like I shouldn't go. That's mad! (It's OK, I had a word with myself!)

What I'm realising is that so much of my identity is tied up with my busyness. I am Kate, I am the Vicar, I am Busy. But not always in that order. One of the themes of this sabbatical for me seems to be about rediscovering who I am. I want my identity to be entirely found in Jesus - in who I am in him, and not in what I do. He doesn't love me because I'm a Vicar. He doesn't love me because I'm Busy. He loves me because I'm me, and because he made me, and because he is Love.

I really hope that my sabbatical gives me the time to really learn these lessons, and to actually embed them into my life. I hope that regularly going to the gym now will mean that when I get back to work I still make time for it (don't get me wrong, I passionately dislike the gym, but you've got to do something!). I hope that going to I'll continue to go to bed at a sensible time (a friend of mine says "I do prefer going to bed on the same day that I woke up"!). I hope that I'll still take time for reading and watching films and having fun and sometimes doing nothing - all without feeling guilty!

I'm a realist - I know this stuff isn't easy to unlearn, and relearn. I know that my first month back at work will be a challenge, as phone calls and conversations and emails fly at me from all sides. I expect I will be busy again pretty soon. And maybe that's OK. I guess I just want to remember through it all who I really am, and what's really important. I think I'm going to be OK with sometimes being busy, as long as I remember I'm not Busy.

To end: a profound Christmas thought...

Work and worship at Christmas

If I had £1 for every time someone said to me during December, "ooh, it must be a busy time for you," I could retire in luxury and drink cocktails all day long. (That's not something I *ever* dream of though...)

It's hard to know how to respond. It is busy, of course it is - this is 1 of the 2 'most important' points in the Christian calendar, and, of the 2, it's by far the most commercially and culturally popular, and therefore the busiest. But (as I've found myself saying often to people over the last few weeks), although I'm busy, it's "good busy" - I'm busy doing lots of fun things.

This week, for instance, among other things, I've made heaps of mince pies, had an 'open house' for church (eating said mince pies), watched a Y1/Y2 and an EYFS Christmas play, signed Christmas carols for a service in a special school, and had a pub night out with a local community group I'm part of. That's in addition to the 'normal', non-Christmas stuff such as planning weddings, baptisms and funerals, visiting people, and writing sermons - LOTS of sermons!

But it's brilliant, isn't it?! Why would I not love doing all that. Preparing for Christmas and Easter, and leading and preaching in church on those days, is right up there at the top of the list of "reasons I love my job". People who don't usually come to church turn up and I get to part of welcoming them in and telling them how much God loves them. That's never not going to be fun.

I don't want people to think I'm "busy", if being "busy" means stressed, or distracted, or 'haven't got time for you', or 'my job's more important than yours'. Mind you, it's perhaps better than that other favourite, £1-earning saying about vicars only working one day a week. Ha ha, how we all chuckled. Through gritted teeth... Although I suppose I do get that people find it very hard to imagine what vicars do actually do from Monday morning to Saturday evening.

I was once asked by a hairdresser what I did and when I told her, rather than looking blank, or saying "you don't look like a vicar," which is what I've come to expect in such conversations, she immediately beamed and said "oooh, that must be such a LOVELY job." I've wondered about that since. I wish I'd asked her what she meant, but I was so surprised that I didn't. It IS a lovely job, actually, but I don't think she meant it for the same reasons as I do. Maybe she thought I spent my whole day cuddling babies, or drinking tea and eating cake with old ladies.

Anyway, I've been thinking this week about the whole 'busyness' thing, specifically as it relates to Christmas, and to Advent, the time of preparation for Christmas. Because one of the big dangers for clergy, or vicars, or ministers, or whatever you want to call us - and indeed for anyone whose job it is to 'do' Christmas in church - is that the whole thing will just become work instead of worship.

That's always a danger - the 'professionalisation' of church so that it becomes something we simply 'do'. I think, though, that it's even more of a danger at Christmas and Easter. We find ourselves dashing between carol services and home communions and toddler group parties. We have so many talks to write that we just dig out and dust off a few from previous years (*nothing wrong with sermon recycling every now and then by the way - as long as it doesn't become a way to avoid engaging with the Bible and what God is doing right here and now). We try to balance the church/work/personal, and something has to give - so either we have brilliant services but don't write any cards or buy any presents, and burn the roast dinner; or church is a bit pants but we go all Kirstie Allsopp and Mary Berry at home.

I really, really, don't want the joy and wonder and delight and excitement of leading a church at Christmas to become a chore. I don't want the awesome, incredible, beautiful, timeless story at the heart of it to become commonplace. I don't want the mindblowing privilege of telling people about Jesus - God's Son, come to earth as a tiny baby to be 'Emmanuel', God With Us - to become just another item on my to-do list.

Before I can do anything else at Christmas, before I can write the cards and wrap the presents and cook the food; and definitely before I can sing the songs and watch the plays and preach the story - I must first stop and be still and simply worship the God who loved me, you, us, enough to come into our world as one of us, to save us.

Here's a picture of our church Christmas tree after we'd decorated it to tell the whole story of Jesus (probably my highlight of Christmas every year):

Some thoughts about mothering... and daffodils...

Hmm. Even as I begin this post it's with some trepidation. Is it a good idea to explore the area of mothering, two days after Mothering Sunday (which is of course what has prompted these reflections?) Will I offend or upset someone? Will I get myself in a tizz? Well, I hope not, but there are so many thoughts flying around my head that I really need to just get them out there!

Before the serious stuff begins though, I have to confess that the reason I've used the word 'mothering' in the title and in the first paragraph is because I'm still not 100% sure where the apostrophe is meant to go in 'Mothers Day'. The pedant in me (which is really just all of me) wants to put it after the 's' of course - surely it's a day for all mothers, not just one? But many websites inform me that it should be before the 's' as the idea is that, for each individual, it really is a day just for their own mother. But is that just in America? I have no idea. I shall stick with Mothering Sunday!

And before I really let rip with my musings, a caveat is required. I've blogged before (http://katewharton.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/probably-my-least-favourite-phrase-in.html) about how I can't stand the phrase "I know exactly how you feel" and yet there's a risk in what I'm writing today that some people will think I'm saying just that. I assure you that I'm not. I'm simply sharing how this issue feels for me, at this moment. I'm about to turn 36, I'm single, and likely to stay that way, and I don't have kids. I'm going to say a bit about how that feels for me. I obviously have no idea how it feels for any other single person.

I also very clearly have no idea how this issue feels for people who are married but for whatever reason can't or don't have children. I have some good friends in that position and I weep for some of the terrible things that 'well meaning' people have said to them. I have no idea what it must feel like to be them.

So, all scenes set and all caveats laid out, here goes...

When I was a little girl, I was quite certain that when I grew up I would get married and have children. It was just obvious - why wouldn't I? I had no concept that for some people this just wasn't the way life worked out. I was an only child and I'd always longed for a sister - I pestered my poor parents to death about it! I was very clear that I wanted to have 3 daughters, and at any given point I could have told you what their names would be (though they often changed!).

Anyway, time passed, and I didn't get married, and I didn't have children. And now I'm nearly 36. Which, while not yet 'too late', is nevertheless close enough to focus the mind somewhat. And anyway over the last few years a lot of things have changed for me in terms of how I think about my own singleness, and some of the choices I've made for the future (you can read more about that in Chapter 7 of Single Minded). Suffice it to say though, that in as much as I can be sure of anything, I don't think I will get married, and I don't think I will have children.

When I tell people that (actually it's generally when I tell other single people) they say something along the lines of "oh aren't you lucky that God has taken away your desire to get married and have children". Now I have to tell you that he hasn't done anything of the sort! For all sorts of reasons, that I won't go into in this post, I think that's where I currently am. But it doesn't mean that I don't sometimes wish things might have been different, and wonder what my life might have been like if it had worked out the way I expected it to when I was a little girl.

I love children - I mean I really am completely daft about them. I love cooing over tiny babies, and munching and scrunching their chubby little cheeks. I love playing silly games and doing silly dances with toddlers. I love the wonderful conversations you can have with little kids - one minute totally serious, the next fabulously daft, the next utterly surreal. I love the way kids look at the world, full of wonder and joy and exuberance. I love how much things matter to them. I love how independent and feisty and funny and playful and boisterous they can be. Not everyone does love kids. Even some people who have kids only love their own, not other people's!

I'm good with kids, too, really good. I get them, I can talk to them, I can play with them, and they like me. Not everyone's good with kids, and certainly not all vicars - that much was obvious at college! I love toddler groups and school assemblies and kids' church. I love messy crafts and sing songs and story time.

I love my friends' kids. I have 3 Godchildren and being part of their lives (and their siblings') is one of the greatest joys and privileges of my life. I love watching them grow up. I love spending time with them. I love putting them to bed and reading stories and playing games and doing the school pick up and wiping away tears and changing nappies and having hugs. I love being given hand made cards and pictures and letters.

I also love spending time with other friends' kids who are older, and who (hopefully!) see me as a friendly-and-wise-but-non-parental adult they can talk to.

Sometimes, spending so much time around kids, and knowing I won't have my own, really, really hurts. And it's getting harder. (It's probably hormones - goodness knows what will happen when I turn 40!). Sometimes it seems as though it actually, physically hurts. I can be reduced to tears by something cute a child says, or by a hug. "I love you Aunty Kate" gets me every time, obviously! The other day I burst into tears in the supermarket watching a wide eyed little boy choose a toy with his pocket money. It was the sense of excitement mixed with concentration, the choice of that toy being the most important thing in the world to him at that moment...

So I'm an emotional wreck sometimes (if you know me well you're now saying "tell us something we don't know"!), but there are good moments too. What joy I have knowing so many amazing small people, and being part of their lives. What a privilege to know that I will always be a part of their lives. (I don't have siblings, so no nieces and nephews - so I tell my Godchildren they'll have to care for me in my dotage as well as their parents!).

Don't worry though, I'm not always an emotional wreck - sometimes it's just lots of fun, and then I go home and leave their parents to do the messy, boring stuff. I'm not stupid!!

It might be less painful if I engaged less with kids. Maybe that's what some people choose to do. If I didn't babysit, or join family teatimes and bathtimes, or help with the toddler group. Maybe then I'd be reminded less often of what I don't have. But I don't want to do that, because then I'd miss out on so much. I think maybe the kids would miss out too.

Mothering Sunday can be a tough day for lots of people for lots of reasons, I know that. I'm well aware that what I'm describing here is only one of those reasons. In my church we don't give out daffodils to mums on Mothering Sunday. Instead we do 'something' else - maybe we give everyone chocolates, or we all make something, or there are flowers, but they're for everyone to take if they want them. We try to affirm mums but to be sensitive to anyone who's finding it tough. I know lots of places do the daffodil thing really well but I've never quite got over one year (in a different church) when all the kids had given daffodils to their mums, and sat back down. One mum looked over at me, poked her daughter, and said in a stage whisper "get some for Kate, she hasn't got anyone to give her any." I could have wept, though of course I accepted them with thanks.

Maybe you think I was being unreasonable or over sensitive. Actually I don't mind at all if all the mums get given daffodils, or if all the women get daffodils. And I do love getting flowers! But I don't want pity daffodils, "oh dear she's all sad and alone we'd better give her some" daffodils. I'm sure lots of people feel differently, but there we are.

So that's what I've been reflecting on this Mothering Sunday. I'm so, so glad I get to 'mother' in a small way, as a Godmother. I pray for myself, that I'll stay soft-hearted around kids (even if it means I cry a lot!). I pray for others for whom this is tough. I thank God for the joy of small people. I thank Jesus that he understands. I might go and buy myself some daffodils...

Here's a picture one of my lovely Goddaughters drew of me. What's not to love?!

You're welcome

I've been pondering a lot today on the word 'welcome' - on what we mean by it, and what it looks like, and how we do it.

I began to really think about it because of something that happened last night, but I probably need to begin a bit further back to explain it...

I passionately believe in churches being places of welcome. I think they need to look outward far more than they look inward (and far more than most of them ever do). I think they need to really seriously think about what it means to be a welcoming church. Often I think we believe a church is welcoming because everyone has a nice chat over coffee at the end of the service (to all the people that they like best and already know well), and because there are nice biscuits served.

That's possibly a bit of a cheeky caricature, but I think often as churches we're not nearly as welcoming as we think we are, or ought to be, or, actually, would like to be.

Having said that, I actually think my own church is pretty good at being welcoming (not that I'm biased! But really, it's nothing to do with me!). I think we have the advantage of being about the right size to be welcoming - on Sundays at 11 we average around 40 adults and 15 kids, small enough to notice when someone new comes, but big enough that they don't feel overwhelmed. Most people are warm & friendly & I think (I hope) that new people feel welcomed.

Of course, all that lovely welcoming can only happen once people have actually crossed over the threshold, and come through the front door, which is the scariest part of all...

Anyway, at our PCC (Parochial Church Council - Anglican leadership team) meeting last night, we were talking about how we do welcoming at our church. We're in the process of creating a welcome pack, which I'm really excited about - it's going to be fab. We've also recently made an effort to tidy up the entrance to church so it looks clean and welcoming. There's a tots' area. up-to-date noticeboards, photos of all the people with responsibilities in church, etc. It looks good.

We were talking about how we need to make sure that when anyone new arrives they're immediately greeted, and given all the information and help they need; about how we need to introduce new people to a few different people so that when they come back there's more than one person they recognise; about the need to make sure no one leaves without being spoken to. All fab and important things. It was a great discussion.

At the same time as this, and all the way through the PCC meeting, we could hear a gang of kids sitting on the steps of the church, chatting and laughing and yelling and throwing things around and bashing on the door. This isn't the door that we use to go in and out, it's an old door that's now boarded up, and is immediately behind where our meeting was - so it was pretty loud! It was quite hard to hear ourselves think at some points. We made the obvious jokes about the fact that we were talking about welcome whilst at the same time muttering under our breath about the "pesky kids"!

I came home and posted something on Twitter and Facebook about how ironic it was talking about welcome whilst the church door was being battered in. Someone (rightly) commented that they were exactly the people we should be welcoming. Of course that's right, and that's what I'd meant, really - it was so stark that we were inside and they were outside. I'm not saying we should have invited them into our PCC meeting (imagine!), but it did make me think...

There's lots to think about there in terms of what we do to make sure church is not just welcoming, but outward-looking, mission-focused, relevant - and that we, the church, get out of the building (which is not the church, but simply the place where the church meets!) to where the people really are.

But, important as all that is, it isn't really what I've been thinking about today. What I've been thinking about is the fact that we (ok, ok, I - let's be honest about this) say one thing about 'welcome' and so often mean another.

We say (and mean) that we want church to be 'welcoming' and I want to 'welcome' all people. I've noticed that almost every time I post on our Facebook page about a service or event that's coming up, I put 'everyone welcome' at the end. But, really, honestly, truthfully, do we mean it?

Or do we in fact mean -
You're welcome if you look more or less like the rest of us.
You're welcome if you've had a wash recently.
You're welcome if you don't ask too many awkward questions.
You're welcome if you come about when we start and leave about when we finish.
You're welcome if you behave within the boundaries of what we consider to be 'normal'.
You're welcome if you can understand what's going on.
You're welcome if you don't do anything too odd.
You're welcome if you share what's going on for you - but not too much.
You're welcome if you can find your way here, and in, by yourself.
You're welcome if you don't make too much noise.
You're welcome if you use language that we find acceptable.

Too often that's the truth, I think.

When what we really should mean, always, is 'everyone welcome'.
Whoever you are.
Wherever you're from.
Whatever you've done.
Whatever you look like.
Whatever you smell like.
However you behave.
Whatever you say or do.
However uncomfortable all that makes us feel.

One thing I'm pretty sure of. Jesus welcomed everyone. He spoke into their lives, sure, and told them if there were things that needed to change. But he welcomed them. I want to be more like Jesus, and I'm pretty sure that's going to mean that I need to say and mean 'everyone welcome' a bit more often.

Life to the full

Yesterday was a very exciting and very tiring day, as I was a guest on Clare Balding's Radio 2 Good Morning Sunday show, and then I was interviewed in very quick succession by 7 different local BBC radio stations. Lots of fun! I'm sure I'll say more about it another time...

At the end of the Radio 2 interview I was asked to give a short reflection. Lots of people have kindly commented on the interview and many have said that they enjoyed the reflection, so I've posted it below.

The strapline for my book is "Being single, whole and living life to the full."

In John's gospel Jesus says, "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full."

I'm an extrovert, and an activist. I like the sound of a full life!

But what does the 'full life' that Jesus is talking about really look like, and how can we live a life that's full, in the best sense?

So often, I think, we're in danger of living life in the past or in the future. Now it's great to learn lessons from the past, and to look forward to the future, but we can't live there - we have to live life in the present.

Or, the other thing we sometimes do, is that we live in the present, but it isn't our present - we look at someone else's life and decide it looks better than our own.

We can be overwhelmed with regrets, or dreams, or envy, or disappointment. And the problem then is that we're not living a full life, but only half of one.

The apostle Paul wrote this to the church in Corinth - "Where you are right now is God's place for you. Live and obey and love and believe right there. God, not your marital status, defines your life."

For me, that's what a full life looks like - my life, lived in the present, with God.