Hmm. I've been meaning for ages to blog about this, but never quite got round to it. I think today's the day, although I realise it'll not be without controversy!
That source of all true and accurate knowledge, Wikipedia, says: "The Billy Graham rule is a practice among some male evangelical Protestant leaders, in which they avoid spending time alone with women to whom they are not married. It is adopted as a display of integrity, a means of avoiding sexual temptation, to avoid any appearance of doing something considered morally objectionable, and to avoid being accused of sexual harassment or assault. The rule has been named after Billy Graham, who was one of the early proponents of the practice. More recently, it has also been called the Mike Pence rule, after a US Vice President who also supported the idea."
I guess right at the start, before I go on to criticise the Rule (because you better believe I'm going to criticise it!), I should say that I absolutely get where it's coming from, and what it's seeking to avoid, and the desire for honour and holiness which lies behind it.(I just don't think that it goes about it in the right way).
I understand how it came about, as part of a wider rule called the 'Modesto Manifesto,' since Billy Graham and others were seeking to hold one another to the highest standard, and to ensure that nothing about how they behaved could be misinterpreted or misunderstood.
(It's also worth saying of course that there may be times when a woman wishes to enforce her own version of this rule, because she needs to keep safe and to feel safe, and that's absolutely fine. I'm talking her about when this is enforced upon women.)
OF COURSE as Christians we need to live with the utmost integrity in our relationships. Of course we need not just to live that way, but also clearly to be seen by the outside world to be living that way. We're called to be chaste, to be pure, to be above reproach. The Bible calls married people to live faithfully within marriage, and single people to be celibate. I absolutely support, endorse and uphold that standard.
And equally, of course we have to be realistic about the world in which we live, about the temptations we all face, about the sinful behaviour to which we are all prone. We all need to be honourable in our relationships, to steer clear of temptation, and to make wise choices.
I'm not naive about this. I have witnessed far too many marriages, families and churches torn apart by sexual sin. This stuff really, really matters. The thing is, it actually matters *too much* to be neatly packaged away in a 'rule'. And not just any rule, but a rule which demeans and degrades everyone. A rule which casts the man in the role of weak willed robot, slave to his desires, incapable of withstanding temptation or resisting feminine wiles. A rule which casts the woman in the role of sultry temptress, who with one wink of her eye can draw the man into sin. It's like a cross between a low budget Channel 5 romance and a shampoo advert. Surely we can all do better?
Tish Harrison Warren has written an article about this in Christianity Today, where she says this: "This rule, in its most pristine form, renders male-female friendships impossible. However unintentionally, it communicates to women that they are fundamentally dangerous. And it bars men from meaningful mentorship or pastoral care of women and vice versa."
I have some great male friends. Some of them are married, some are not. If they are married, I always make sure that I get to know their spouse too. In most cases I know and am friends with both, and see both together. Sometimes though, I might spend time with just the man. There's my friend who I sometimes go out with for curry and beer. He's basically the big brother I never had. We have a laugh, and set the world to rights. He's got a brain the size of a planet, and is right an annoying amount of the time (but not as often as he thinks he is!). I adore his wife too, and his kids, but sometimes I just want to go for a curry with him.
It's right and proper, of course, to be careful about how this all works. With my big-brother friend mentioned above, I'd always want to make sure that his wife knew when we were going out. I also have a rule that I wouldn't ever stay overnight in a house where there was only a man, or have a man on his own come to stay here. That seems to me to just be sensible. Plus there's also something about what others see - I don't want the neighbours' curtains twitching! Recently I was due to see some good friends after a conference, have dinner with them, and stay overnight. At the last minute, the wife had to go away. So I still went to the conference, still had dinner with the husband, and then got the train home. Would it have been perfectly safe and chaste and above board if I'd stayed overnight? Absolutely. Was it the right decision to come home? I think so. Because it's important to have rules, and boundaries, and to be wise.
There have been numerous occasions in my life when I've had a one to one meeting or conversation with a man. Some of these have been about pastoral care (one way or another). Some have been about supervision (likewise). Some have been planning meetings. Some have been to do with mentoring/counselling/spiritual direction. Some have been social events. My life (and, dare I suggest, their lives) would have been much poorer had those meetings and conversations never taken place.
So I definitely think it's wise to have some boundaries, and to have thought them through in advance so that everyone's clear. But for me the problem with the BG/MP rule is that it says 'fire is bad' and so removes not just matches and lighters from the house, but also all paper, cardboard and wood. And then it douses the whole place in water.
Honestly, I find it offensive. I am offended that a man would think that half an hour alone with me in a car or a meeting room or a restaurant would mean he'd immediately be led astray. (Ha! Maybe I should be flattered instead!)
I'm offended on behalf of all of the women who have been denied access to meetings and conferences, left out of the old boys' network, and missed out on mentoring opportunities. That's where it leads, I think, at least today, in its modern incarnation. It leads to women being denied a place at the table because everyone else around the table is male.
I'm offended on behalf of single women, since I feel like we get the raw deal here. I need friendships with couples, and I need friendships with singles. I need friendships with women and I need friendships with men. As a single woman I'm not actually attracted to every man that I meet (sorry guys!). Please don't treat me like a threat.
But I'm also grateful, and I'm hopeful. I'm grateful for the extraordinary number of good, holy, Godly, honourable, wise, funny, kind men I know, men who are friends and colleagues and mentors to me.
And I'm hopeful that we might learn to live better together. To live lives which are pure and chaste, which honour one another and honour God. To show the world a model of loving friendship which knows that there's more to life than sex.
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Saturday, 2 November 2019
Wednesday, 11 April 2018
Squelchy muddy walks and the God who laughs
On Monday I went on a quiet day. I am possibly the world's most extroverted extrovert, but I do love a quiet day! I have got into a pattern lately of visiting the wonderful St. Beuno's, in North Wales, about an hour away. I first went there during my sabbatical, for a 4 day silent retreat (stop laughing!), and it was so wonderful that I resolved to visit regularly. Usually on a quiet day I begin with a meeting with my spiritual director, Tim, who is all kinds of wise and holy. We chat for a while and then off I wander, to spend the rest of the day in quiet with God. There are lots of beautiful chapels and corners of the house to explore, and when the weather is good there are also lots of beautiful parts to the gardens, and further afield.
On Monday, we had been talking about life, and work, and busyness, and the need sometimes to simply stop and breathe. I had been relaying that struggle, so well known to all clergy and church workers, that it seemed as though I was spending all of my time praying and reading the Bible 'for work', and precious little time praying and reading the Bible 'for me'. I said that I was so looking forward to spending the day 'alone' with God - just the two of us. Tim asked me to imagine what I thought that might look like, and the image that came to mind was of me and God, arm in arm, wandering through the fields, chatting. It was positively idyllic, a scene of joyful peace and harmony.
Shall I tell you what actually happened?
I set off on my walk, full of the joys. Ah! Here at last was peace and harmony and tranquility. I followed my carefully printed instructions. I turned off the road into a field, and began my walk. It was at this moment that I realised it was very significantly more muddy than I had appreciated. I was wearing walking boots, thank goodness, but nonetheless the mud was fierce and soon my boots and my jeans were quite a sight. But no matter. I was walking with the Lord and all was well.
Then I soon realised that it was actually quite warm. I had dressed that morning for a baltic Liverpool vicarage barely free from the snowbound winter. I found myself in a glorious Welsh springtime. I was wearing *far* too many clothes. I couldn't complain though, because I have spent literally the past 6 months moaning about being cold, and I pride myself on never, ever uttering the words "it's too hot." I stripped off a layer or two and continued on my merry way.
Then I realised I was carrying far too much baggage. I had set off with a packed lunch, but also my Bible, 2 books to read, a notebook, my purse, my phone... Why was I carrying all this stuff? I was out for a walk with God, all I actually needed to do was walk, talk and listen (although ideally not in that order), but here I was, weighed down.
But never mind. I was here, I was walking, it was sunny. All good. And it was at this point that I realised I had not idea where I was going! The stile confidently predicted in my instructions did not materialise as expected. A few laps of the field, a few moments of concern, a partially hidden stile located - and I was off once more.
I approached the promised footbridge to discover a raging torrent of water, that if I had stepped in would have submerged my feet almost entirely. I gamely clambered onto the wooden gate at the side, which, it turned out, was only secured at one side, and half swung, half climbed, half leaped across (I know that's three halves). Phew. I'd made it, I hadn't got wet feet (or wet anything else), and I hadn't dropped anything in the water. Go me.
By this point I had a few choice comments to make about the 'easy walk' instruction sheet, but I was still doing ok. Here was I, here was God. Together, walking, talking.
At this point the instructions cheerfully assured me that there was "a gap in the fence just wide enough to squeeze through." I know I have hit the Easter eggs hard lately but I can absolutely assure you that there was no gap for squeezing. Instead I had to climb over a gate,
You might be wondering at this point whether I hadn't in fact gone completely the wrong way. Believe me, I wondered the same thing. But no, there were enough markers and landmarks for me to know that my Girl Guide skills had not failed me completely.
The edge of the next field was confusing. There was a gate, but no waymarker. By this point I was carefully following little yellow arrows. But there wasn't one. As I tried to convince myself that this must be the right gate in spite of the absence of said arrow, as there simply wasn't another way, and it was almost certainly not going to take me into a field containing a rampaging bull, I saw abandoned in a ditch further along, the wooden post, complete with yellow arrow. I strode on.
I then got to a crossing point that was so utterly mud soaked it might as well have been quicksand. There was no way over or around. As the old song goes, I just had to go through. Squelch, squelch, squelch. At this point I confess I became a tad irritated. My shoes would surely be ruined, if indeed I didn't lose them altogether. This was ridiculous. I had anticipated a lovely walk, this was more like an endurance test.
And it was at that point, I swear to you, I realised God was laughing. He wasn't just smiling politely or grinning to himself. He was slapping his thighs and gasping for air. I was thinking "it would be so rubbish if I slipped in this mud." God was thinking "it would be totally hilarious if you slipped in this mud." I began to laugh. It's really a good job no one was around. I just felt like God was saying "so you wanted to spend the day with me, with no distractions, and for us to enjoy each other's company, and for it to be fun and easy - tick!" It would have been a hilarious day to have spent with a friend - God reminded me that's exactly what it had been. I'm sure you can draw the dots on all the other spiritual lessons God managed to teach me during the day.
In the last part of the walk I went through a field of sheep. Sheep are daft, friendly, fluffy, cuddly little things, right? Right? I swear one of them was giving me the full on evils, staring me down, baaing in a decidedly unfriendly manner. It was at this point that I told God very firmly that, ok, it had in fact been a very nice day, and a fun walk after all - but I DID NOT need a sermon illustration ending of a sheep chasing me down a field. Fortunately all was well. I got back to St. Beuno's, collapsed on a bench, chuckled a lot, and wrote up some of the above nonsense in my journal.
It was a very good day. God and I enjoyed it together.
(And I absolutely swear that none of the above is made up! Slightly exaggerated for comedic effect, perhaps, but not made up...)
Here are some photos to prove it...
On Monday, we had been talking about life, and work, and busyness, and the need sometimes to simply stop and breathe. I had been relaying that struggle, so well known to all clergy and church workers, that it seemed as though I was spending all of my time praying and reading the Bible 'for work', and precious little time praying and reading the Bible 'for me'. I said that I was so looking forward to spending the day 'alone' with God - just the two of us. Tim asked me to imagine what I thought that might look like, and the image that came to mind was of me and God, arm in arm, wandering through the fields, chatting. It was positively idyllic, a scene of joyful peace and harmony.
Shall I tell you what actually happened?
I set off on my walk, full of the joys. Ah! Here at last was peace and harmony and tranquility. I followed my carefully printed instructions. I turned off the road into a field, and began my walk. It was at this moment that I realised it was very significantly more muddy than I had appreciated. I was wearing walking boots, thank goodness, but nonetheless the mud was fierce and soon my boots and my jeans were quite a sight. But no matter. I was walking with the Lord and all was well.
Then I soon realised that it was actually quite warm. I had dressed that morning for a baltic Liverpool vicarage barely free from the snowbound winter. I found myself in a glorious Welsh springtime. I was wearing *far* too many clothes. I couldn't complain though, because I have spent literally the past 6 months moaning about being cold, and I pride myself on never, ever uttering the words "it's too hot." I stripped off a layer or two and continued on my merry way.
Then I realised I was carrying far too much baggage. I had set off with a packed lunch, but also my Bible, 2 books to read, a notebook, my purse, my phone... Why was I carrying all this stuff? I was out for a walk with God, all I actually needed to do was walk, talk and listen (although ideally not in that order), but here I was, weighed down.
But never mind. I was here, I was walking, it was sunny. All good. And it was at this point that I realised I had not idea where I was going! The stile confidently predicted in my instructions did not materialise as expected. A few laps of the field, a few moments of concern, a partially hidden stile located - and I was off once more.
I approached the promised footbridge to discover a raging torrent of water, that if I had stepped in would have submerged my feet almost entirely. I gamely clambered onto the wooden gate at the side, which, it turned out, was only secured at one side, and half swung, half climbed, half leaped across (I know that's three halves). Phew. I'd made it, I hadn't got wet feet (or wet anything else), and I hadn't dropped anything in the water. Go me.
By this point I had a few choice comments to make about the 'easy walk' instruction sheet, but I was still doing ok. Here was I, here was God. Together, walking, talking.
At this point the instructions cheerfully assured me that there was "a gap in the fence just wide enough to squeeze through." I know I have hit the Easter eggs hard lately but I can absolutely assure you that there was no gap for squeezing. Instead I had to climb over a gate,
You might be wondering at this point whether I hadn't in fact gone completely the wrong way. Believe me, I wondered the same thing. But no, there were enough markers and landmarks for me to know that my Girl Guide skills had not failed me completely.
The edge of the next field was confusing. There was a gate, but no waymarker. By this point I was carefully following little yellow arrows. But there wasn't one. As I tried to convince myself that this must be the right gate in spite of the absence of said arrow, as there simply wasn't another way, and it was almost certainly not going to take me into a field containing a rampaging bull, I saw abandoned in a ditch further along, the wooden post, complete with yellow arrow. I strode on.
I then got to a crossing point that was so utterly mud soaked it might as well have been quicksand. There was no way over or around. As the old song goes, I just had to go through. Squelch, squelch, squelch. At this point I confess I became a tad irritated. My shoes would surely be ruined, if indeed I didn't lose them altogether. This was ridiculous. I had anticipated a lovely walk, this was more like an endurance test.
And it was at that point, I swear to you, I realised God was laughing. He wasn't just smiling politely or grinning to himself. He was slapping his thighs and gasping for air. I was thinking "it would be so rubbish if I slipped in this mud." God was thinking "it would be totally hilarious if you slipped in this mud." I began to laugh. It's really a good job no one was around. I just felt like God was saying "so you wanted to spend the day with me, with no distractions, and for us to enjoy each other's company, and for it to be fun and easy - tick!" It would have been a hilarious day to have spent with a friend - God reminded me that's exactly what it had been. I'm sure you can draw the dots on all the other spiritual lessons God managed to teach me during the day.
In the last part of the walk I went through a field of sheep. Sheep are daft, friendly, fluffy, cuddly little things, right? Right? I swear one of them was giving me the full on evils, staring me down, baaing in a decidedly unfriendly manner. It was at this point that I told God very firmly that, ok, it had in fact been a very nice day, and a fun walk after all - but I DID NOT need a sermon illustration ending of a sheep chasing me down a field. Fortunately all was well. I got back to St. Beuno's, collapsed on a bench, chuckled a lot, and wrote up some of the above nonsense in my journal.
It was a very good day. God and I enjoyed it together.
(And I absolutely swear that none of the above is made up! Slightly exaggerated for comedic effect, perhaps, but not made up...)
Here are some photos to prove it...
Sunday, 19 November 2017
beLOVED ceremony pt 1
A little while ago now I blogged about my 'beLOVED ceremony'. Well, it happened! Yesterday, in the Lady Chapel at Liverpool Cathedral, around 100 very dear people gathered together for a really beautiful ceremony. It was exactly as I had hoped it would be! Such a joyful and special day. If you read the other blog you'll know what it was all about, but some people have been asking to know more about what happened, so I thought I'd share some of it here.
Below, then, I've copied the words that I said on the day near the beginning of the service, to explain what it's all about. It's therefore similar-ish to my last-but-one post but I thought it would give a flavour of what happened yesterday. More info will follow if you're interested, as I'll blog more about it in the days to come. This isn't the vow, this is just some background and explanation to it all.
So this is what I said:
Well, this is fun isn't it? I've been planning today for such a long time and I couldn't quite imagine what it would look like in reality, but here it is, and here you are, and it's wonderful.
The past few years have been quite a journey as I've thought and learnt and written and taught and prayed about singleness. It's Ian's fault, actually, for starting it all off... He's the one who asked me - what, probably almost 10 years ago now - whether I'd do a seminar at New Wine on singleness. I said no, obviously! The thing was I'd just never heard a talk on singleness that didn't leave everyone feeling considerably worse at the end than they had done at the beginning. I couldn't even envisage what a positive and helpful talk on singleness would look like.
But then I had a dream, and this really hardly ever happens to me, where I woke up, and I absolutely knew that God has spoken to me, and I ended up telling Ian I wanted to do not one but two seminars. And I began to explore what it looked like to live a God obsessed life in a marriage obsessed church and in a sex obsessed world.
I did those New Wine seminars, and then some more, and before I knew it I was being invited all over the country, and indeed all over the world, to speak about singleness. It's certainly an interesting and unexpected thing to have accidentally become a world expert in!
And while I definitely didn't see it coming, I am actually extremely grateful for it, and it's been an amazing privilege. It didn't take long for this subject to become a major passion of mine. I saw just how important it was. I saw how many people were really wrestling with this issue, trying to figure it out, trying to live well in the midst of it. I saw how, very sadly, church had often become a really hard place to be for single people.
It has been a joy to spend the best part of 10 years now journeying with this topic - academically, theologically, spiritually and personally. You simply wouldn't believe some of the conversations I've had with people, as they've dared to share with me their innermost struggles. I hope it's been, and continues, to be, a bit of a wake-up call for the church.
And of course in the midst of all that, I wrote a book. If Ian is to blame for the seminars, Kate is to blame for the book - why not, she said...?! And Graham, too, who helped me to find a publisher and didn't just laugh in my face.
I think though (naively, I now realise) that I thought I could keep all of this, to a degree, at arms' length. I mean obviously it was personal, and one of the things I decided right from the start was that I'd always try to be completely honest. There didn't seem to be any point in doing this and not being, and people seemed to value that. There may at times, of course, have been too much honesty - I don't think I have a fully functioning 'TMI' filter...
But I think I thought nonetheless that this was something which was 'out there'. I assumed that my own personal journey would be separate from the speaking and the writing.
But God, of course, had a different plan. He began, bit by bit, to show me what that was going to look like.
It came firstly as a sudden, unexpected, surprising but definite certainty that I wouldn't get married. I won't tell you the whole story again - I'm assuming you've read the book! If you haven't, I'll be more than willing to flog you a copy before you leave.
To be honest I still struggle to find exactly the right words to describe what happened. Was it a calling, or a choice, or just an understanding of the circumstances? I think it was sort of all three, in a way. Certainly I feel that this is God's best for me, the path he wants me to follow. And certainly I feel too that I did have a choice. I could have rejected it, and chosen a different path. But I wanted in this area, as I want in all areas of my life, to do what he wants me to do. To live his best for me.
So, for a while, I lived in that reality. I tried to find ways to articulate it when people asked me whether I still hoped to get married. I tried to blog about it in a funny way, and sometimes got accused of being bitter when people didn't get my sense of humour. I tried to figure out what it would mean for my future, and to seek to live well in the present.
And then, gradually this time, I became aware of a growing sense that God was asking me to 'go public' with this. I've got to tell you, it's a good job that he took a while to work up to this because if I'd known from that start that this is where it was going, I'd have run. Fast and far.
As I look back now it's amazing this even happened at all because I didn't even know this was a thing. I'd certainly never known anyone who'd done anything like it. And I'm incredibly grateful to those of you who were there from the start as I first began to imagine what it might look like. Thanks for helping me to work this all out.
And so 2 and a bit years ago I gathered with my closest friends and I made a bit of a vow and we all prayed together, and laughed and cried a bit. And I've spent the 2 years since then sort of sitting with it and seeing where it went. And this - this is where it went. This just feels so completely right.
If I'm honest, I still don't really understand why. Why me, why this, why now? I don't know. But I don't think it matters, really, because I'm certain that God does. He knows me better than I know myself, and if this is his best for me, as I think it is, then I'm all in, Maybe it'll just be this one off event between me and him. Maybe it'll be the start of a worldwide movement, as people do their own 'beLOVED' thing. Who knows?
Certainly I don't think this is right for all single people. But for some, for me, it is. And I'm really grateful for the clarity and the freedom of that.
If you're wondering about the name, I did wrestle for a long time over it. For quite some time I just referred to all this as The Thing. But then I was drawn again and again to Song of Songs, and I remembered a phrase I'd heard someone say in a talk - that "God calls you beloved, and he says Be Loved." So there it is.
Someone once said to me "it must be great to know you're called to singleness, so that it isn't painful any more." Ah. No. Sorry about that, but that isn't how it's gone down for me. The only wobbles over the past 2 years have been when I've been wrestling with this, and struggling, and thinking, "should it really be this hard?" But then I've remembered what it always looks like to follow the Jesus Way - the joy and the pain and the hope and the hardship and the grace all mixed up together. And I think that's ok. I think that's how it's meant to be, and how it always will be. I think I can be utterly certain that this is the way I'm meant to live, and still sometimes burst into tears at random moments because it flipping well hurts and I'm lonely and sad.
So anyway, thanks for being here today. Thanks for being on my team. Thanks for not thinking I'm bonkers for doing this - or if you do think that, for hiding it really well. I guess I'm going to need your help in the future to keep on this path, so please stick around. You're all lovely.
Below, then, I've copied the words that I said on the day near the beginning of the service, to explain what it's all about. It's therefore similar-ish to my last-but-one post but I thought it would give a flavour of what happened yesterday. More info will follow if you're interested, as I'll blog more about it in the days to come. This isn't the vow, this is just some background and explanation to it all.
So this is what I said:
Well, this is fun isn't it? I've been planning today for such a long time and I couldn't quite imagine what it would look like in reality, but here it is, and here you are, and it's wonderful.
The past few years have been quite a journey as I've thought and learnt and written and taught and prayed about singleness. It's Ian's fault, actually, for starting it all off... He's the one who asked me - what, probably almost 10 years ago now - whether I'd do a seminar at New Wine on singleness. I said no, obviously! The thing was I'd just never heard a talk on singleness that didn't leave everyone feeling considerably worse at the end than they had done at the beginning. I couldn't even envisage what a positive and helpful talk on singleness would look like.
But then I had a dream, and this really hardly ever happens to me, where I woke up, and I absolutely knew that God has spoken to me, and I ended up telling Ian I wanted to do not one but two seminars. And I began to explore what it looked like to live a God obsessed life in a marriage obsessed church and in a sex obsessed world.
I did those New Wine seminars, and then some more, and before I knew it I was being invited all over the country, and indeed all over the world, to speak about singleness. It's certainly an interesting and unexpected thing to have accidentally become a world expert in!
And while I definitely didn't see it coming, I am actually extremely grateful for it, and it's been an amazing privilege. It didn't take long for this subject to become a major passion of mine. I saw just how important it was. I saw how many people were really wrestling with this issue, trying to figure it out, trying to live well in the midst of it. I saw how, very sadly, church had often become a really hard place to be for single people.
It has been a joy to spend the best part of 10 years now journeying with this topic - academically, theologically, spiritually and personally. You simply wouldn't believe some of the conversations I've had with people, as they've dared to share with me their innermost struggles. I hope it's been, and continues, to be, a bit of a wake-up call for the church.
And of course in the midst of all that, I wrote a book. If Ian is to blame for the seminars, Kate is to blame for the book - why not, she said...?! And Graham, too, who helped me to find a publisher and didn't just laugh in my face.
I think though (naively, I now realise) that I thought I could keep all of this, to a degree, at arms' length. I mean obviously it was personal, and one of the things I decided right from the start was that I'd always try to be completely honest. There didn't seem to be any point in doing this and not being, and people seemed to value that. There may at times, of course, have been too much honesty - I don't think I have a fully functioning 'TMI' filter...
But I think I thought nonetheless that this was something which was 'out there'. I assumed that my own personal journey would be separate from the speaking and the writing.
But God, of course, had a different plan. He began, bit by bit, to show me what that was going to look like.
It came firstly as a sudden, unexpected, surprising but definite certainty that I wouldn't get married. I won't tell you the whole story again - I'm assuming you've read the book! If you haven't, I'll be more than willing to flog you a copy before you leave.
To be honest I still struggle to find exactly the right words to describe what happened. Was it a calling, or a choice, or just an understanding of the circumstances? I think it was sort of all three, in a way. Certainly I feel that this is God's best for me, the path he wants me to follow. And certainly I feel too that I did have a choice. I could have rejected it, and chosen a different path. But I wanted in this area, as I want in all areas of my life, to do what he wants me to do. To live his best for me.
So, for a while, I lived in that reality. I tried to find ways to articulate it when people asked me whether I still hoped to get married. I tried to blog about it in a funny way, and sometimes got accused of being bitter when people didn't get my sense of humour. I tried to figure out what it would mean for my future, and to seek to live well in the present.
And then, gradually this time, I became aware of a growing sense that God was asking me to 'go public' with this. I've got to tell you, it's a good job that he took a while to work up to this because if I'd known from that start that this is where it was going, I'd have run. Fast and far.
As I look back now it's amazing this even happened at all because I didn't even know this was a thing. I'd certainly never known anyone who'd done anything like it. And I'm incredibly grateful to those of you who were there from the start as I first began to imagine what it might look like. Thanks for helping me to work this all out.
And so 2 and a bit years ago I gathered with my closest friends and I made a bit of a vow and we all prayed together, and laughed and cried a bit. And I've spent the 2 years since then sort of sitting with it and seeing where it went. And this - this is where it went. This just feels so completely right.
If I'm honest, I still don't really understand why. Why me, why this, why now? I don't know. But I don't think it matters, really, because I'm certain that God does. He knows me better than I know myself, and if this is his best for me, as I think it is, then I'm all in, Maybe it'll just be this one off event between me and him. Maybe it'll be the start of a worldwide movement, as people do their own 'beLOVED' thing. Who knows?
Certainly I don't think this is right for all single people. But for some, for me, it is. And I'm really grateful for the clarity and the freedom of that.
If you're wondering about the name, I did wrestle for a long time over it. For quite some time I just referred to all this as The Thing. But then I was drawn again and again to Song of Songs, and I remembered a phrase I'd heard someone say in a talk - that "God calls you beloved, and he says Be Loved." So there it is.
Someone once said to me "it must be great to know you're called to singleness, so that it isn't painful any more." Ah. No. Sorry about that, but that isn't how it's gone down for me. The only wobbles over the past 2 years have been when I've been wrestling with this, and struggling, and thinking, "should it really be this hard?" But then I've remembered what it always looks like to follow the Jesus Way - the joy and the pain and the hope and the hardship and the grace all mixed up together. And I think that's ok. I think that's how it's meant to be, and how it always will be. I think I can be utterly certain that this is the way I'm meant to live, and still sometimes burst into tears at random moments because it flipping well hurts and I'm lonely and sad.
So anyway, thanks for being here today. Thanks for being on my team. Thanks for not thinking I'm bonkers for doing this - or if you do think that, for hiding it really well. I guess I'm going to need your help in the future to keep on this path, so please stick around. You're all lovely.
Friday, 20 October 2017
beLOVED
Hmm. Where to start with this post?! Well, I guess the beginning is as good a place as any, so grab a drink and settle in. This could be a long one...
Those of you who have followed this blog for a while, or read my blog, or heard me speak on singleness, will know some of this story - so bear with...
8 years ago I first spoke about singleness, at the New Wine North summer event in Newark. Since then God has taken me on an incredible journey in this whole area, and I've been privileged to travel all over the UK and the world speaking on singleness, and also to have my book Single Minded published: https://wordery.com/single-minded-kate-wharton-9780857214300?cTrk=NjY5NjkzMTJ8NTllYTYxMDc3ZThiZToxOjI6NTllYTYwZmYzNTgxMzkuODU4MzUwMzg6MGM3MWY4NTE%3D
It has been a huge learning curve. It has been my privilege to meet many single people, and to hear their stories, and to share together with them some of the ups and downs of this journey. It has also been great to be invited to share with a number of churches and colleges, and to help them to think about how they can be places of genuine welcome and community.
Inevitably, and wonderfully, over that time God has also been speaking to me about my own life and walk with him. I have learnt SO MUCH about myself and about God! Some of that journey is explored in Chapter 7 of the book (incidentally, I always know whether or not someone is telling the truth about having read my book, since I share so personally in Chapter 7 - so if they don't know that part of my story, they haven't really read it!)
In that chapter I shared my belief that God was calling me to remain single, and that I had decided to make a choice to embrace that calling and live that way.
But since then, there's more...!
A couple of years ago I began to sense that God was calling me to do something to publicly mark that calling and decision. I had no idea how to do that, or if it was even a thing! I began to explore a bit, and discovered that there was a fact a way to do this, a community to join as someone who had chosen to remain single for life. The problem was that while that particular community may be a great choice for many people, it simply wasn't the right one for me. It didn't seem to reflect my personality, my story, my churchmanship, my journey.
After a bit of time spent praying and wondering and pondering, I went to talk to my Bishop, who fortunately is all sorts of wise. He said that if the existing way to do this wasn't right for me, then I should just make up my own way! So I did, with his help, and the help of my closest friends.
So it was that in Sept 2015 12 of us gathered together in the Bishop's chapel as I made what if I was becoming a nun (which I REALLY am not!) I might have called 'novitiate vows'. I made a vow, they prayed for me, we sang, we shared communion. It was wonderful.
And then I spent the next 2 years seeking God for what this might look like going forward. Had I really heard him right? Was this a bonkers idea born out of too much cheese one night - or was it really a calling from the Lord, a chance to serve him with my whole heart and soul in a new way, to explore a vcry particular vocation?
Well, 2 years has passed, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the cheese. I've actually never wavered from my conviction that this calling is from the Lord. There have been times when I've felt awed by the hugeness of it all, and what it represents. And I suspect I will always get a bit teary from time to time around babies. I will always need my people - my closest friends, who are family to me, who 'get' me and are there for me through it all.
I'm incredibly grateful to God for this adventure we're on together. I have no idea where this will lead or what it will look like in 2 more years, or 5, or 10. But I do know that this is what I need to do, now, before God.
So it is that at the end of November I will gather in Liverpool Cathedral, with some friends and family, to make the equivalent of 'life vows'. I am writing the service myself, to express who I am, and what this journey has looked like for me.
Some of you know this, as you have walked the journey with me. I am more grateful to you than I can express, most especially those of you who were there in Sept 2015. Some of you will be there to celebrate with me in November (I can't wait!). Some of you can't be there, and I will miss you.
It's a source of huge sadness to me that I can't invite all of you wonderful people out there. I am blessed with so many amazing friends, and I thank God for you all - but for you all to be there I'd need the whole Cathedral, not just the Lady Chapel! (Not to mention that I'd have to re-mortgage the vicarage to pay for the lunch).
So, if I haven't invited you, I'm sorry - I hope you will still pray for me as I step out into this new thing with God.
I hope that what I've written makes sense. Lots of people, when I've told them, have done a goldfish impression for a while and then said "gosh - I've never heard of that before!" Well no, neither had I!
I hope Alan Scott will forgive me for quoting a sentence that I heard him say at New Wine this summer - "Who knows what Jesus will do next? He's desperately kind and wonderfully good." Oh yes! I'm so excited for what lies ahead...
Oh, and in case you're wondering about the title of this post, well, it's the name I have decided to give to this whole 'thing' that I'm doing. (Good job, too - its working title among my friends was 'The Thing' for months!). It comes from a phrase I heard Anne Maclaurin say years ago - "God calls you beloved and he says be loved."
So my 'Thing' in November is called the beLOVED ceremony (with thanks to Laura Ferguson for her design skills).
Those of you who have followed this blog for a while, or read my blog, or heard me speak on singleness, will know some of this story - so bear with...
8 years ago I first spoke about singleness, at the New Wine North summer event in Newark. Since then God has taken me on an incredible journey in this whole area, and I've been privileged to travel all over the UK and the world speaking on singleness, and also to have my book Single Minded published: https://wordery.com/single-minded-kate-wharton-9780857214300?cTrk=NjY5NjkzMTJ8NTllYTYxMDc3ZThiZToxOjI6NTllYTYwZmYzNTgxMzkuODU4MzUwMzg6MGM3MWY4NTE%3D
It has been a huge learning curve. It has been my privilege to meet many single people, and to hear their stories, and to share together with them some of the ups and downs of this journey. It has also been great to be invited to share with a number of churches and colleges, and to help them to think about how they can be places of genuine welcome and community.
Inevitably, and wonderfully, over that time God has also been speaking to me about my own life and walk with him. I have learnt SO MUCH about myself and about God! Some of that journey is explored in Chapter 7 of the book (incidentally, I always know whether or not someone is telling the truth about having read my book, since I share so personally in Chapter 7 - so if they don't know that part of my story, they haven't really read it!)
In that chapter I shared my belief that God was calling me to remain single, and that I had decided to make a choice to embrace that calling and live that way.
But since then, there's more...!
A couple of years ago I began to sense that God was calling me to do something to publicly mark that calling and decision. I had no idea how to do that, or if it was even a thing! I began to explore a bit, and discovered that there was a fact a way to do this, a community to join as someone who had chosen to remain single for life. The problem was that while that particular community may be a great choice for many people, it simply wasn't the right one for me. It didn't seem to reflect my personality, my story, my churchmanship, my journey.
After a bit of time spent praying and wondering and pondering, I went to talk to my Bishop, who fortunately is all sorts of wise. He said that if the existing way to do this wasn't right for me, then I should just make up my own way! So I did, with his help, and the help of my closest friends.
So it was that in Sept 2015 12 of us gathered together in the Bishop's chapel as I made what if I was becoming a nun (which I REALLY am not!) I might have called 'novitiate vows'. I made a vow, they prayed for me, we sang, we shared communion. It was wonderful.
And then I spent the next 2 years seeking God for what this might look like going forward. Had I really heard him right? Was this a bonkers idea born out of too much cheese one night - or was it really a calling from the Lord, a chance to serve him with my whole heart and soul in a new way, to explore a vcry particular vocation?
Well, 2 years has passed, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the cheese. I've actually never wavered from my conviction that this calling is from the Lord. There have been times when I've felt awed by the hugeness of it all, and what it represents. And I suspect I will always get a bit teary from time to time around babies. I will always need my people - my closest friends, who are family to me, who 'get' me and are there for me through it all.
I'm incredibly grateful to God for this adventure we're on together. I have no idea where this will lead or what it will look like in 2 more years, or 5, or 10. But I do know that this is what I need to do, now, before God.
So it is that at the end of November I will gather in Liverpool Cathedral, with some friends and family, to make the equivalent of 'life vows'. I am writing the service myself, to express who I am, and what this journey has looked like for me.
Some of you know this, as you have walked the journey with me. I am more grateful to you than I can express, most especially those of you who were there in Sept 2015. Some of you will be there to celebrate with me in November (I can't wait!). Some of you can't be there, and I will miss you.
It's a source of huge sadness to me that I can't invite all of you wonderful people out there. I am blessed with so many amazing friends, and I thank God for you all - but for you all to be there I'd need the whole Cathedral, not just the Lady Chapel! (Not to mention that I'd have to re-mortgage the vicarage to pay for the lunch).
So, if I haven't invited you, I'm sorry - I hope you will still pray for me as I step out into this new thing with God.
I hope that what I've written makes sense. Lots of people, when I've told them, have done a goldfish impression for a while and then said "gosh - I've never heard of that before!" Well no, neither had I!
I hope Alan Scott will forgive me for quoting a sentence that I heard him say at New Wine this summer - "Who knows what Jesus will do next? He's desperately kind and wonderfully good." Oh yes! I'm so excited for what lies ahead...
Oh, and in case you're wondering about the title of this post, well, it's the name I have decided to give to this whole 'thing' that I'm doing. (Good job, too - its working title among my friends was 'The Thing' for months!). It comes from a phrase I heard Anne Maclaurin say years ago - "God calls you beloved and he says be loved."
So my 'Thing' in November is called the beLOVED ceremony (with thanks to Laura Ferguson for her design skills).
Wednesday, 23 August 2017
I'm finding moving a bit moving...!
Well once again it has been a stupidly long time since I blogged. Sorry about that... Usual resolutions re blogging more often have been made. But don't hold your breath!
The thing that's occupying most of my brain space at the moment is that I'm about to move house! Aaaaaaaaargh, etc. Exactly 2 weeks from today all my worldly goods will be packed up in a van somewhere and I'll be on the cusp of the most mammoth box-unpacking gig imaginable. Well, not quite the most mammoth - my friend's just become a Bishop. Moving into a Bishop-pad involves some serious unpacking!
Anyway it's not just moving house that I'm thinking about - although goodness knows that's stressful enough in its own right, especially when it goes hand-in-hand with moving job/church too. I'm particularly thinking about moving house on your own. And, obviously, as someone who's single, I do an awful lot of things 'on my own'. That's not a complaint, at least not necessarily, but it is certainly an observation.
Because of all the usual work/life/time pressures, I've been trying to squeeze lots of jobs into a too-short time frame. As you do. Saturday afternoon saw me in a mad dash to get to the carpet shop before it closed (after being blocked into my garage by a wedding guest and then getting stuck in football traffic). Consequently I chose carpets for 4 of the new vicarage bedrooms in precisely 8 minutes. I was delighted to find they could fit them within the week. Then on Tuesday I went to buy a new sofa, and again made a surprisingly speedy choice - only to find it'll be 5 weeks before it's delivered. Oops. Apparently I need to have made that purchase a month ago.
The new church have been completely wonderful in helping me to get ready for the move. They have done a quite extraordinary amount of work, and have somehow managed to paint every single wall in the entire vicarage, and to clean it from top to bottom. I'm very grateful. So my reflections on doing a house move as a single person are not particularly about the practical aspects - although if they hadn't been so wonderfully kind and helpful then that would definitely have been a complication to add into the mix.
No, my reflections on it all have been more to do with the emotional side of things. To be honest I've been surprised at how emotional I have found it all. I didn't think I was all that house proud, or all that bothered about the material 'stuff' of life (and it's not long after setting foot in my house that you realise I'm definitely not all that bothered about keeping things clean and tidy!) But as I've pondered everything from paint colours to sofa fabrics to curtain lengths to carpet thicknesses to fridge freezer size I've just found it all a bit overwhelming. There have been So Many decisions to make!
Now, please don't misunderstand me. I realise this comes very firmly into the category of #FirstWorldProblems. Please don't hear me as being ungrateful - I absolutely realise and appreciate just how blessed I am to have a home to live in at all, and especially one so lovely. I am fortunate to be able to make these choices - I know that such choices are a luxury that many cannot afford.
However, my thoughts and reflections here are simply about how it has felt to do all of that stuff on my own. I have a couple of lovely friends who have kindly offered to come and look round with me, and offer advice. But they haven't been able to come yet, and won't now, I guess, until I've moved in. So all of the decisions have fallen to me. Those of you who have ever argued with a partner over a colour scheme or a piece of furniture may by now be yelling "lucky you - I'd love to have the final say on all things decor-related!" And yes, I'm sure there are massive advantages to not having to check with anyone else before deciding on an orange colour scheme for my new bedroom!
I'm really not moaning, I promise. But I am pondering. Pondering how it feels to have to make all of your major life choices alone (you know what I mean when I say alone - God is always my Guide, Advisor, Counsellor and Friend - but, humanly speaking, alone).
In one way, there's huge freedom in it, of course, and that's wonderful. But I realise I also have a fear of getting it wrong - that's mad, isn't it, because what does decorating your house 'wrong' even look like?! I feel like I'm not quite grown up (and that's also a mad thing to feel, when this is the last year my age will begin with a 3!). In the sofa shop the guy was trying to sell me extra cover in case things get spilt on it. He was talking about pets and husbands and children. I had to clamp my mouth closed to stop myself from confessing to not having any of those things (don't get me wrong, I have parishioners who can make a mess, and a penchant for chucking soup on myself - I could do with the insurance cover). I feel like I did as a kid trying to choose which sweets I wanted and it all just being ridiculously overwhelming and wishing someone would just hand me a packet, any packet. Standing in the carpet shop, and the sofa shop, and looking online at curtains, I just really would have liked there to be someone else there to say "what do you think about this one?" (And I know there are friends I could have asked to go with me, but sorry guys, I love you, but it's not the same!)
And gosh, this is all before I've got to the new place and have to work out where to put everything!! Aaaaaaaaargh, etc. all over again! My friend recently moved house and tweeted that she was picking up each ornament and wandering around the house whispering to it, asking it where it wanted to live. It might take a while, but in the absence of another human person to consult with, this is the approach I intend to adopt with all my belongings.
I know they say moving house is high up on the list of the most stressful things you can do. Moving jobs must be up there too, so vicars have a permanent stress-double-whammy going on when we move. Anyway, as so often when I blog, I feel like this is more of a journal-entry-reflection that I happen to have shared with the world (maybe that's all that blogging ever is?!) Thanks for reading, if you've got this far. Maybe share some of your moving house/decor decisions stories with me if you like?
Here's a photo of the new garden. It's beautiful, although I do fear it may never look this good again, as I am a genuinely terrible gardener...
The thing that's occupying most of my brain space at the moment is that I'm about to move house! Aaaaaaaaargh, etc. Exactly 2 weeks from today all my worldly goods will be packed up in a van somewhere and I'll be on the cusp of the most mammoth box-unpacking gig imaginable. Well, not quite the most mammoth - my friend's just become a Bishop. Moving into a Bishop-pad involves some serious unpacking!
Anyway it's not just moving house that I'm thinking about - although goodness knows that's stressful enough in its own right, especially when it goes hand-in-hand with moving job/church too. I'm particularly thinking about moving house on your own. And, obviously, as someone who's single, I do an awful lot of things 'on my own'. That's not a complaint, at least not necessarily, but it is certainly an observation.
Because of all the usual work/life/time pressures, I've been trying to squeeze lots of jobs into a too-short time frame. As you do. Saturday afternoon saw me in a mad dash to get to the carpet shop before it closed (after being blocked into my garage by a wedding guest and then getting stuck in football traffic). Consequently I chose carpets for 4 of the new vicarage bedrooms in precisely 8 minutes. I was delighted to find they could fit them within the week. Then on Tuesday I went to buy a new sofa, and again made a surprisingly speedy choice - only to find it'll be 5 weeks before it's delivered. Oops. Apparently I need to have made that purchase a month ago.
The new church have been completely wonderful in helping me to get ready for the move. They have done a quite extraordinary amount of work, and have somehow managed to paint every single wall in the entire vicarage, and to clean it from top to bottom. I'm very grateful. So my reflections on doing a house move as a single person are not particularly about the practical aspects - although if they hadn't been so wonderfully kind and helpful then that would definitely have been a complication to add into the mix.
No, my reflections on it all have been more to do with the emotional side of things. To be honest I've been surprised at how emotional I have found it all. I didn't think I was all that house proud, or all that bothered about the material 'stuff' of life (and it's not long after setting foot in my house that you realise I'm definitely not all that bothered about keeping things clean and tidy!) But as I've pondered everything from paint colours to sofa fabrics to curtain lengths to carpet thicknesses to fridge freezer size I've just found it all a bit overwhelming. There have been So Many decisions to make!
Now, please don't misunderstand me. I realise this comes very firmly into the category of #FirstWorldProblems. Please don't hear me as being ungrateful - I absolutely realise and appreciate just how blessed I am to have a home to live in at all, and especially one so lovely. I am fortunate to be able to make these choices - I know that such choices are a luxury that many cannot afford.
However, my thoughts and reflections here are simply about how it has felt to do all of that stuff on my own. I have a couple of lovely friends who have kindly offered to come and look round with me, and offer advice. But they haven't been able to come yet, and won't now, I guess, until I've moved in. So all of the decisions have fallen to me. Those of you who have ever argued with a partner over a colour scheme or a piece of furniture may by now be yelling "lucky you - I'd love to have the final say on all things decor-related!" And yes, I'm sure there are massive advantages to not having to check with anyone else before deciding on an orange colour scheme for my new bedroom!
I'm really not moaning, I promise. But I am pondering. Pondering how it feels to have to make all of your major life choices alone (you know what I mean when I say alone - God is always my Guide, Advisor, Counsellor and Friend - but, humanly speaking, alone).
In one way, there's huge freedom in it, of course, and that's wonderful. But I realise I also have a fear of getting it wrong - that's mad, isn't it, because what does decorating your house 'wrong' even look like?! I feel like I'm not quite grown up (and that's also a mad thing to feel, when this is the last year my age will begin with a 3!). In the sofa shop the guy was trying to sell me extra cover in case things get spilt on it. He was talking about pets and husbands and children. I had to clamp my mouth closed to stop myself from confessing to not having any of those things (don't get me wrong, I have parishioners who can make a mess, and a penchant for chucking soup on myself - I could do with the insurance cover). I feel like I did as a kid trying to choose which sweets I wanted and it all just being ridiculously overwhelming and wishing someone would just hand me a packet, any packet. Standing in the carpet shop, and the sofa shop, and looking online at curtains, I just really would have liked there to be someone else there to say "what do you think about this one?" (And I know there are friends I could have asked to go with me, but sorry guys, I love you, but it's not the same!)
And gosh, this is all before I've got to the new place and have to work out where to put everything!! Aaaaaaaaargh, etc. all over again! My friend recently moved house and tweeted that she was picking up each ornament and wandering around the house whispering to it, asking it where it wanted to live. It might take a while, but in the absence of another human person to consult with, this is the approach I intend to adopt with all my belongings.
I know they say moving house is high up on the list of the most stressful things you can do. Moving jobs must be up there too, so vicars have a permanent stress-double-whammy going on when we move. Anyway, as so often when I blog, I feel like this is more of a journal-entry-reflection that I happen to have shared with the world (maybe that's all that blogging ever is?!) Thanks for reading, if you've got this far. Maybe share some of your moving house/decor decisions stories with me if you like?
Here's a photo of the new garden. It's beautiful, although I do fear it may never look this good again, as I am a genuinely terrible gardener...
Sunday, 12 February 2017
Sabbatical highlights
Well, that's it! After a fantastic 4 months off, tomorrow I return to work. (I'm spending my first week at General Synod because I thought it would be a good idea to ease myself in gently. Ha!!).
I really had no idea what to expect before my sabbatical began. What would it feel like to have 4 months 'off'? Would I find myself feeling lonely, disconnected, bored? Would I want to come back after just a week or two away? Or, worse, would I not want to come back at all?! Would I find I'd forgotten how to truly rest and relax?
The idea of sabbatical is something we just don't come across in our society today. Almost without exception, when I told people outside of the church what I was doing, they said "wow, lucky you - I wish I could do that!" But no one ever had done, or realistically had any chance of ever doing so. I realise it is a very lovely gift which most clergy are able to enjoy, and I am grateful for it.
Sabbath is such an important biblical principle, stemming from God's resting after he had created the world. I'm grateful for my weekly sabbath, and also for this longer one, which I began 7.5 years into being an incumbent.
To be honest I'm still processing all that happened during my sabbatical, and I will probably be doing so for some time to come. I'm sure there will be many more blog posts about different aspects of it. I'm very much hoping that at some point a book will emerge too, but I didn't get as much written as I'd hoped. Oh well - there's no rush!
Here, then, follow (in no particular order, and still fairly unfiltered and unprocessed), some of the main highlights of the past 4 months.
* Simply, if it doesn't sound too mad, the gift of not rushing! This is something I simply must learn and carry with me as I go back. I am determined to not plunge immediately back into headless-chicken territory! I *will* remember to pause, and rest, and go to bed at a sensible hour.
* Not being in charge of anything. I am most definitely wired to be a leader, so I wouldn't want this long term, but for a while, it was great! I didn't have to make complicated decisions, I didn't have to make sure anything was running smoothly, no one was looking to me for answers!
* Loads of time to read. I loved this! I do read a lot anyway, but generally in fairly snatched chunks of time. So lots of uninterrupted time to read at leisure, and really absorb what I was reading, was great.
* Being able to simply worship on a Sunday morning. Now, of course, I hope to manage this most Sundays! But the honest truth is that it is often a bit complicated by leading, or preaching, or both. I have one eye on what's coming next, and who is doing what, and if everyone's OK. I worship too, of course, but it's different. And so to be able to concentrate simply on worshipping was a joy.
* I mainly worshipped at 2 very different churches - different from each other, and different from St. George's. While I was in the US I was most often at Desert Vineyard Church, which is the reason I had gone to the US at all. It's a very large church by UK standards, with a fabulous worship group, great teaching (much longer sermons than most Anglican churches!), and a significant ministry among the poor. While I was in the UK I was most often at Liverpool Cathedral. It has stunning choral music and inspiring teaching, and is a growing cathedral with an impressive ministry of outreach and discipleship. Being part of both churches, even for a short time, inspired and blessed me, and I'm grateful to them.
* Learning from others. I wanted to go to the US to spend some time with a leader I greatly admire. Unfortunately due to his being diagnosed with a serious illness just before I went, I couldn't spend as much time with him as I'd hoped. My plans had to change. But nothing is wasted with God. I did still spend some time with him, and even in that, I learnt. And because of the change of plans, I met lots of other amazing people. They were kind and generous and wise and fun and I learnt from all of them.
* Travelling. I LOVE to visit new places, and boy did I get to do that! New York, Alexandria, Washington DC, Lancaster, Palmdale, Santa Monica, Laguna Beach, San Francisco (and all points up the coast towards it!). It was so much fun to explore.
* Preaching. It was a total joy and privilege to preach at the Desert Vineyard. I know, as a leader, that it's a risk to invite someone else to preach in your church, and so I'm grateful for the invitation and the opportunity. It developed a good bit of stamina in me too - a 45 minute sermon repeated 3 times is not something I do every week! I absolutely loved it, and it certainly didn't feel like work.
* Urban mission and ministry. I wanted to go to Lancaster (California, not the north west of the UK!) because of the incredible way the church there loves and welcomes and ministers to and basically IS the poor, the broken, the vulnerable. This is my heartbeat, and it's theirs too. It is such a beautiful church. Serving in some of their compassion ministries was an absolute privilege, and I am awed by the way they love their neighbours. God re-broke my heart for what breaks his.
* Unexpected blessings. From the beautician who gave me the gift of a free manicure and pedicure, to an overnight stay in a beautiful beach house; from the numerous occasions I was treated to a meal out, to the friend who sent me a Christmas chocolate parcel; from the hospitality of all the people who let me stay in their homes, to being driven up the coast in a convertible for a yummy breakfast - time and time again I was overwhelmed by people's generosity and kindness.
* I love my friends! I'm so grateful to the people who kept in touch via text, Twitter, email, Facebook etc. Thank you for being interested in my over-sharing social media rambles! Thank you for missing me. 2 massive highlights of my whole sabbatical were the first time I saw my best friend's 3 kids and they literally leapt on me with joy, and the time I went to my friends' house for dinner on my return to the UK, only to have several other friends jump out from behind the door for a surprise party. I'm so blessed! One lovely friend came out to join me on an epic road trip. I saw 2 old school friends that I hadn't seen in donkey's years. And I made loads of new friends while I was away too, and they're also a wonderful gift.
* I love my church! Much as it was great to worship regularly in 2 other churches, and occasionally in a few more, I can't wait to be back with the wonderful, fabulous, gorgeous people of St. George's Everton! They are my family and I love them lots.
* I said in no particular order, but actually, this last one is the biggie. God used this sabbatical to do in me some things that really needed to be done! He gently showed me some things that I needed to sort out, and provided the people and the places and the opportunities I needed to do that. Ultimately, above all else, that's what this sabbatical has been about - foundational, heart stuff which will last forever. I'm so grateful to him for that.
That's quite enough rambling for now. On the eve of my return to 'real' life, I feel grateful and blessed. I'm excited to be back at work (that's a relief!). I have so many good memories. And I just may be beginning to plan my next sabbatical...
I really had no idea what to expect before my sabbatical began. What would it feel like to have 4 months 'off'? Would I find myself feeling lonely, disconnected, bored? Would I want to come back after just a week or two away? Or, worse, would I not want to come back at all?! Would I find I'd forgotten how to truly rest and relax?
The idea of sabbatical is something we just don't come across in our society today. Almost without exception, when I told people outside of the church what I was doing, they said "wow, lucky you - I wish I could do that!" But no one ever had done, or realistically had any chance of ever doing so. I realise it is a very lovely gift which most clergy are able to enjoy, and I am grateful for it.
Sabbath is such an important biblical principle, stemming from God's resting after he had created the world. I'm grateful for my weekly sabbath, and also for this longer one, which I began 7.5 years into being an incumbent.
To be honest I'm still processing all that happened during my sabbatical, and I will probably be doing so for some time to come. I'm sure there will be many more blog posts about different aspects of it. I'm very much hoping that at some point a book will emerge too, but I didn't get as much written as I'd hoped. Oh well - there's no rush!
Here, then, follow (in no particular order, and still fairly unfiltered and unprocessed), some of the main highlights of the past 4 months.
* Simply, if it doesn't sound too mad, the gift of not rushing! This is something I simply must learn and carry with me as I go back. I am determined to not plunge immediately back into headless-chicken territory! I *will* remember to pause, and rest, and go to bed at a sensible hour.
* Not being in charge of anything. I am most definitely wired to be a leader, so I wouldn't want this long term, but for a while, it was great! I didn't have to make complicated decisions, I didn't have to make sure anything was running smoothly, no one was looking to me for answers!
* Loads of time to read. I loved this! I do read a lot anyway, but generally in fairly snatched chunks of time. So lots of uninterrupted time to read at leisure, and really absorb what I was reading, was great.
* Being able to simply worship on a Sunday morning. Now, of course, I hope to manage this most Sundays! But the honest truth is that it is often a bit complicated by leading, or preaching, or both. I have one eye on what's coming next, and who is doing what, and if everyone's OK. I worship too, of course, but it's different. And so to be able to concentrate simply on worshipping was a joy.
* I mainly worshipped at 2 very different churches - different from each other, and different from St. George's. While I was in the US I was most often at Desert Vineyard Church, which is the reason I had gone to the US at all. It's a very large church by UK standards, with a fabulous worship group, great teaching (much longer sermons than most Anglican churches!), and a significant ministry among the poor. While I was in the UK I was most often at Liverpool Cathedral. It has stunning choral music and inspiring teaching, and is a growing cathedral with an impressive ministry of outreach and discipleship. Being part of both churches, even for a short time, inspired and blessed me, and I'm grateful to them.
* Learning from others. I wanted to go to the US to spend some time with a leader I greatly admire. Unfortunately due to his being diagnosed with a serious illness just before I went, I couldn't spend as much time with him as I'd hoped. My plans had to change. But nothing is wasted with God. I did still spend some time with him, and even in that, I learnt. And because of the change of plans, I met lots of other amazing people. They were kind and generous and wise and fun and I learnt from all of them.
* Travelling. I LOVE to visit new places, and boy did I get to do that! New York, Alexandria, Washington DC, Lancaster, Palmdale, Santa Monica, Laguna Beach, San Francisco (and all points up the coast towards it!). It was so much fun to explore.
* Preaching. It was a total joy and privilege to preach at the Desert Vineyard. I know, as a leader, that it's a risk to invite someone else to preach in your church, and so I'm grateful for the invitation and the opportunity. It developed a good bit of stamina in me too - a 45 minute sermon repeated 3 times is not something I do every week! I absolutely loved it, and it certainly didn't feel like work.
* Urban mission and ministry. I wanted to go to Lancaster (California, not the north west of the UK!) because of the incredible way the church there loves and welcomes and ministers to and basically IS the poor, the broken, the vulnerable. This is my heartbeat, and it's theirs too. It is such a beautiful church. Serving in some of their compassion ministries was an absolute privilege, and I am awed by the way they love their neighbours. God re-broke my heart for what breaks his.
* Unexpected blessings. From the beautician who gave me the gift of a free manicure and pedicure, to an overnight stay in a beautiful beach house; from the numerous occasions I was treated to a meal out, to the friend who sent me a Christmas chocolate parcel; from the hospitality of all the people who let me stay in their homes, to being driven up the coast in a convertible for a yummy breakfast - time and time again I was overwhelmed by people's generosity and kindness.
* I love my friends! I'm so grateful to the people who kept in touch via text, Twitter, email, Facebook etc. Thank you for being interested in my over-sharing social media rambles! Thank you for missing me. 2 massive highlights of my whole sabbatical were the first time I saw my best friend's 3 kids and they literally leapt on me with joy, and the time I went to my friends' house for dinner on my return to the UK, only to have several other friends jump out from behind the door for a surprise party. I'm so blessed! One lovely friend came out to join me on an epic road trip. I saw 2 old school friends that I hadn't seen in donkey's years. And I made loads of new friends while I was away too, and they're also a wonderful gift.
* I love my church! Much as it was great to worship regularly in 2 other churches, and occasionally in a few more, I can't wait to be back with the wonderful, fabulous, gorgeous people of St. George's Everton! They are my family and I love them lots.
* I said in no particular order, but actually, this last one is the biggie. God used this sabbatical to do in me some things that really needed to be done! He gently showed me some things that I needed to sort out, and provided the people and the places and the opportunities I needed to do that. Ultimately, above all else, that's what this sabbatical has been about - foundational, heart stuff which will last forever. I'm so grateful to him for that.
That's quite enough rambling for now. On the eve of my return to 'real' life, I feel grateful and blessed. I'm excited to be back at work (that's a relief!). I have so many good memories. And I just may be beginning to plan my next sabbatical...
Saturday, 23 January 2016
Whom shall I fear?
I've been thinking a bit about fear today. This is mainly because yesterday I did something that absolutely TERRIFIED me - a 120 foot freefall abseil inside Liverpool Cathedral. I realise some of you have already had to stop reading, look away from the screen and take a deep breath. Others of you are thinking "ooh, that sounds like great fun!" Isn't fear a fascinating thing? We're all scared of different things (I don't think I believe there are many people who truly aren't scared of anything at all).
For some people, spotting a spider in the corner of the room brings them to utter, paralysing terror. For others they would pick up the spider without a care and put it outside, or carry on with their business while ignoring it (I'm in the second group). I do however have a huge phobia of snakes. I realise a lot of people aren't wild about snakes, and we'd probably all be a bit scared if one crawled in through the door. But I'm almost as scared of pictures of snakes as I am of the real thing. I simply can't stand to look at a snake. It reduces me to shrieking horror and I genuinely feel sick. It's the very essence of a phobia - a totally irrational fear. A photo of a snake, or a snake in a glass case, cannot do me any harm at all, and yet I am terrified. Why? I have no idea! Where did that fear come from? It's been there as long as I can remember.
Some of our fears are rational and logical; others totally irrational and maybe a bit odd. We can be cruel about others' fears, too. I'm always a bit nervous about telling people about my snake phobia (I thought twice before typing the last paragraph) because all my life when people have found out there have been some who have thought it would be hilarious to immediately show me a picture of a snake. Why on earth would you do that? I know, I'll terrify this person half to death - that'll be fun. People can be strange...
Who am I to judge what someone else finds scary? Of course there are times when it's good to try to get over our fears. or to tackle them head on, especially if they're stopping us from doing something we want to do, or holding us back in some way. Fear can really hold us back so trying in some way to conquer it can be a good idea.
So... the abseil! I'm pretty scared of abseiling. I did it a few times when I was in Guides, and I was NOT a fan. I generally had to be persuaded/coaxed/shoved off the top of wherever we were, and I was always incredibly relieved when it was over. I hoped that as an adult I could steer clear of such ridiculous pastimes and all would be well. Then a couple of years ago on an outward bound day the dreaded moment arrived once again - abseiling! Various options presented themselves - I could simply not do it. I was an adult, after all, and if there were any benefits to that state surely one was the ability to simply opt out of those experiences we do not wish to have. But no, I'm too much of a rule-follower for that to really work. We were all abseiling, so I had to abseil. I told myself it was fine. I was older now, wiser, more mature. It was mind over matter. I could do it. I was wrong. I won't bore you with the details, or we'll all be traumatised, but it did NOT go well. I got in a muddle over the bit where you have to lean back and keep your feet flat, and then I got scared, and ended up with my head nearer to the ground than my feet - which I'm pretty sure is not what's supposed to happen! Of course it was fine - that's what the ropes (and the man at the top holding them) are there for. I made my way down (whimpering!) and arrived safely at the bottom, shaking like a leaf but essentially unharmed. I did however swear off abseiling for the rest of my life.
At St. George's, we are in the middle of spending an awful lot of money on getting our roof fixed. Last year we spent c.£250,000 stopping most of the leaks. We're about to begin work which will cost another £250,000. We're one of the most deprived CofE parishes in the country to fundraising is tough. We get grants from HE and HLF and other charities and grant-making bodies but we still have to raise a fair bit ourselves. Often people have suggested something like abseiling but I've always just said there's no way I'd do it. But before Christmas I saw on Liverpool Cathedral's website that they were doing an indoor abseil and something in me just said "do it." I completely surprised myself by signing up, enlisting fab curate Ashley along the way (although she thought it was just great fun!).
Life had been busy so I hadn't had much chance to think about it (apart from begging requests on social media re sponsorship!), especially in the week leading up to it, which had been, I must say, a bit of a pig. So it wasn't until the Thursday night that I really had chance to think about. I seriously questioned my sanity at this point. I vividly recalled the last time and how terrifying it had been. What was I thinking? And yet I knew I couldn't pull out - too many people had sponsored us.
The day arrived and Ashley and I arrived at the Cathedral. A few lovely people from church had come to cheer us on (and take photos. And laugh, really). I was genuinely petrified. I really didn't know whether I'd be able to do it, and I was considering how humiliating it would be to get to the top and then have to beg to be allowed to go back down (the long way!).
I've always wanted to go up to the Corona Gallery in the Cathedral, so that part was quite fun. The view was amazing. I know that for some people their dreaded fear is heights, but I love being really high up and looking down. We got our harnesses on and stood on the edge. There was a genuine possibility I would lose my porridge over the edge. The man in charge was so very lovely and calm and somehow made the whole thing seem entirely normal. And before I knew it, I was over the edge - the most horrifyingly terrifying bit done. We were in front of brick to begin with, then it finished and the freefall began, which was odd as there's then nothing to kick against. I stopped to look around but realised if I thought about it for too long I'd remember I was meant to be terrified, so I cracked on, and reached the bottom to gratifying whoops and cheers. I'm fairly confident that if they'd times everyone who came down that day I would have been the fastest.
It felt amazing! I have always been a bit of a scaredy cat, even as a child, never one to go on big roller coasters or jump off high places. We often say of small children that they have no fear - well, I did! But when I'd completed the abseil I felt so good. If it doesn't sound naff, I felt really proud of myself. I had genuinely been afraid and yet I had done it anyway. And it was ok! I would actually do it again, too. Although maybe not for a day or two...
There's been an interesting response on social media - lots of people declaring they wouldn't do it in a million years, but a fair few others wishing they could have had a go too. There are definitely some things I can't ever imagine doing - a parachute jump and a bungee jump are both most definitely out of the question. I'm not saying everyone should leap off a 120 foot building to face their fears. But, knowing I was afraid, and doing it anyway, felt pretty good.
When I was a teenager I had loads of 'No Fear' posters in my bedroom - "Don't let your fears stand in the way of your dreams" and all that business. I can't say they helped. What did help, after the abseiling horror story of a couple of years ago, was when God quietly and gently reminded me that he had me, that I was safe, that he was never going to let me go. I could "fall off a cliff" (I like to exaggerate a bit when I tell the story!), but God was not ever going to let me go.
So, yesterday, on the top of that abseiling platform, that was what got me over the edge. I'm safe. I'm always safe, even when life is difficult and scary and everything seems to have gone wrong. God has hold of me, and he's not going to let go,
Psalm 118:6 in the Message says: "God's now at my side and I'm not afraid."
Just so you can be really impressed, here's what it looked like:
And you can still sponsor us, too: www.justgiving.com/stgeorgeseverton
For some people, spotting a spider in the corner of the room brings them to utter, paralysing terror. For others they would pick up the spider without a care and put it outside, or carry on with their business while ignoring it (I'm in the second group). I do however have a huge phobia of snakes. I realise a lot of people aren't wild about snakes, and we'd probably all be a bit scared if one crawled in through the door. But I'm almost as scared of pictures of snakes as I am of the real thing. I simply can't stand to look at a snake. It reduces me to shrieking horror and I genuinely feel sick. It's the very essence of a phobia - a totally irrational fear. A photo of a snake, or a snake in a glass case, cannot do me any harm at all, and yet I am terrified. Why? I have no idea! Where did that fear come from? It's been there as long as I can remember.
Some of our fears are rational and logical; others totally irrational and maybe a bit odd. We can be cruel about others' fears, too. I'm always a bit nervous about telling people about my snake phobia (I thought twice before typing the last paragraph) because all my life when people have found out there have been some who have thought it would be hilarious to immediately show me a picture of a snake. Why on earth would you do that? I know, I'll terrify this person half to death - that'll be fun. People can be strange...
Who am I to judge what someone else finds scary? Of course there are times when it's good to try to get over our fears. or to tackle them head on, especially if they're stopping us from doing something we want to do, or holding us back in some way. Fear can really hold us back so trying in some way to conquer it can be a good idea.
So... the abseil! I'm pretty scared of abseiling. I did it a few times when I was in Guides, and I was NOT a fan. I generally had to be persuaded/coaxed/shoved off the top of wherever we were, and I was always incredibly relieved when it was over. I hoped that as an adult I could steer clear of such ridiculous pastimes and all would be well. Then a couple of years ago on an outward bound day the dreaded moment arrived once again - abseiling! Various options presented themselves - I could simply not do it. I was an adult, after all, and if there were any benefits to that state surely one was the ability to simply opt out of those experiences we do not wish to have. But no, I'm too much of a rule-follower for that to really work. We were all abseiling, so I had to abseil. I told myself it was fine. I was older now, wiser, more mature. It was mind over matter. I could do it. I was wrong. I won't bore you with the details, or we'll all be traumatised, but it did NOT go well. I got in a muddle over the bit where you have to lean back and keep your feet flat, and then I got scared, and ended up with my head nearer to the ground than my feet - which I'm pretty sure is not what's supposed to happen! Of course it was fine - that's what the ropes (and the man at the top holding them) are there for. I made my way down (whimpering!) and arrived safely at the bottom, shaking like a leaf but essentially unharmed. I did however swear off abseiling for the rest of my life.
At St. George's, we are in the middle of spending an awful lot of money on getting our roof fixed. Last year we spent c.£250,000 stopping most of the leaks. We're about to begin work which will cost another £250,000. We're one of the most deprived CofE parishes in the country to fundraising is tough. We get grants from HE and HLF and other charities and grant-making bodies but we still have to raise a fair bit ourselves. Often people have suggested something like abseiling but I've always just said there's no way I'd do it. But before Christmas I saw on Liverpool Cathedral's website that they were doing an indoor abseil and something in me just said "do it." I completely surprised myself by signing up, enlisting fab curate Ashley along the way (although she thought it was just great fun!).
Life had been busy so I hadn't had much chance to think about it (apart from begging requests on social media re sponsorship!), especially in the week leading up to it, which had been, I must say, a bit of a pig. So it wasn't until the Thursday night that I really had chance to think about. I seriously questioned my sanity at this point. I vividly recalled the last time and how terrifying it had been. What was I thinking? And yet I knew I couldn't pull out - too many people had sponsored us.
The day arrived and Ashley and I arrived at the Cathedral. A few lovely people from church had come to cheer us on (and take photos. And laugh, really). I was genuinely petrified. I really didn't know whether I'd be able to do it, and I was considering how humiliating it would be to get to the top and then have to beg to be allowed to go back down (the long way!).
I've always wanted to go up to the Corona Gallery in the Cathedral, so that part was quite fun. The view was amazing. I know that for some people their dreaded fear is heights, but I love being really high up and looking down. We got our harnesses on and stood on the edge. There was a genuine possibility I would lose my porridge over the edge. The man in charge was so very lovely and calm and somehow made the whole thing seem entirely normal. And before I knew it, I was over the edge - the most horrifyingly terrifying bit done. We were in front of brick to begin with, then it finished and the freefall began, which was odd as there's then nothing to kick against. I stopped to look around but realised if I thought about it for too long I'd remember I was meant to be terrified, so I cracked on, and reached the bottom to gratifying whoops and cheers. I'm fairly confident that if they'd times everyone who came down that day I would have been the fastest.
It felt amazing! I have always been a bit of a scaredy cat, even as a child, never one to go on big roller coasters or jump off high places. We often say of small children that they have no fear - well, I did! But when I'd completed the abseil I felt so good. If it doesn't sound naff, I felt really proud of myself. I had genuinely been afraid and yet I had done it anyway. And it was ok! I would actually do it again, too. Although maybe not for a day or two...
There's been an interesting response on social media - lots of people declaring they wouldn't do it in a million years, but a fair few others wishing they could have had a go too. There are definitely some things I can't ever imagine doing - a parachute jump and a bungee jump are both most definitely out of the question. I'm not saying everyone should leap off a 120 foot building to face their fears. But, knowing I was afraid, and doing it anyway, felt pretty good.
When I was a teenager I had loads of 'No Fear' posters in my bedroom - "Don't let your fears stand in the way of your dreams" and all that business. I can't say they helped. What did help, after the abseiling horror story of a couple of years ago, was when God quietly and gently reminded me that he had me, that I was safe, that he was never going to let me go. I could "fall off a cliff" (I like to exaggerate a bit when I tell the story!), but God was not ever going to let me go.
So, yesterday, on the top of that abseiling platform, that was what got me over the edge. I'm safe. I'm always safe, even when life is difficult and scary and everything seems to have gone wrong. God has hold of me, and he's not going to let go,
Psalm 118:6 in the Message says: "God's now at my side and I'm not afraid."
Just so you can be really impressed, here's what it looked like:
And you can still sponsor us, too: www.justgiving.com/stgeorgeseverton
Thursday, 17 December 2015
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):
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):
Saturday, 22 August 2015
A yellow giraffe t-shirt
I've sort of been 'brewing' this blog post for a while now, but even as I type, I'm nervous about how it will be received... will it be a bit too much like just letting you all read my journal? Well, maybe. But then maybe that's just what blogging is anyway. And if you've ever read this blog before, or if you know me in actual real life, then you'll know that I'm a majorly over-sharing extrovert, so hey, whatcha gonna do?!
I've blogged on a similar-ish theme before, just after Mothers' Day last year - http://katewharton.blogspot.co.uk/2014_04_01_archive.html.
This time it was being at the New Wine England Summer Gathering that made me start to ponder this whole issue of childlessness. (And before I go any further, if you don't know what New Wine is, check it out here - http://www.new-wine.org/home)
So. I want to write about not having children, and what that feels like for me. I want to do that, although it may make me cry, because I find the writing cathartic, as a way of processing it all. And I want to do it too because it may just help someone else along the way, to think or reflect or face up to this issue for themselves.
I want to be really careful about the language I use, and I hope you'll bear with me. I don't want to offend or upset anyone. I can only share my thoughts and my experiences - yours will be different. And I can (obviously) only talk about not having children from the perspective of someone who is single. The issue of childlessness is a whole different thing for married people who are unable to have children, and/or have lost children. I have a number of friends in that category, and I grieve for them. I can't imagine what that feels like. I've found this blog to be a beautiful and honest exploration of some of those issues - http://saltwaterandhoney.org/
I recognise too that for many single people, the 'children thing' isn't a thing at all. It is at best a peripheral issue, something that inevitably goes alongside being single, but isn't too much of an issue in and of itself - certainly not the main event. It's not something that people necessarily think of when they think of singleness. Single people don't have a spouse. Married people can be childless, not single people. And yet for some (although of course not all) single people, it can be one of the biggest areas of pain.
I would love to have children. I've wanted to have children for as long as I can remember, and I don't think that's just because in a way it's sort of assumed that women will. It was just something within me - I wanted to be a mum.
I love children, and I'm pretty good with them. I can, generally, talk to them, and play with them, and have fun with them and enjoy their company. Whether they're teeny-tiny, or toddlery, or tantrumy, or tweenagey, we can usually manage to get along well.
Obviously I love my friends' kids a huge amount. I have 3 fabulous Godchildren, and those 3 families contain my most favourite 7 children ever. But lots of other friends have kids too, and they're all special.
I really love spending time with children. It's such an awesome privilege to be allowed to be part of a little person's life - that they'll talk to you about the stuff that matters to them, and give you a big slobbery kiss because they've missed you, and slip their hand into yours as you walk down the road.
I spend quite a bit of time around kids at the moment. Partly that's a life-stage thing. Lots of my friends either have small kids (or much bigger kids!), or are pregnant. We do lots of things for kids at church. Just this last week we had 43 kids and their parents/carers in church for a fun day, and then we took them all on a trip to a theme park. It was great - sharing life with them, talking to them about Jesus, seeing their excitement as they went on the rides, hearing their laughter.
And at New Wine too, it was great. We had a fair few kids on our camp site (including all 3 of my gorgeous Godchildren - what a treat!), and it was really fun to have them around and to hang out with them in a really relaxed way.
And yet. You see, there was a bit of a meltdown. That's what started off this whole train of thought. One evening, I just completely lost it. I didn't see it coming at all, but all of a sudden there it was. i was in the main evening session, and a guy from my church walked past on his way to the cafe to get a drink, so I offered to hold his baby while he did. She's 7 months old and she's just so darned cute! We had a bit of a cuddle and a dance, then he came back with his drink and took her back. A few minutes later a dad and a toddler from another local church went past. In fact the toddler raced past with a look of determination on her face and the dad frantically ran after her to try to stop her from causing mayhem. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt with a giraffe on it. That's what did it, I think. The yellow giraffe t-shirt.
I basically sobbed for the whole of the rest of the evening. It wasn't pretty. There was a lot of snot. I don't even know why I was crying. Well, you know what I mean. I was crying because there are beautiful, gorgeous, adorable small people in the world and I won't ever have one of my own. But still, I don't know *why* I was crying, at that moment and in that place.
I talked to God a lot about it, that evening and in the days that followed. I wondered, to myself and to God, what it was all about. I wondered whether it would always be this painful, whether yellow giraffe t-shirts would always make me cry. Perhaps they will. Perhaps that's ok.
Later I bumped into some lovely friends, who saw past the snot, and prayed for me, and understood. That's another incredible blessing right there.
I'm so grateful to God, and to my friends, for the little people in my life, and for the joy they bring. I pray that I'll always enjoy being with them, even though it might sometimes be hard too. I pray that they'll always want to spend time with me. I pray that I'll never become bitter over the things I don't have. I pray that I'll always stay thankful for the things that I do have. I pray that I'll continue to try to become like a little child myself, as Jesus said I should (see Matt 18:1-3).
I pray for every little person today wearing a yellow giraffe t-shirt, for every grown up person given the awesome job of caring for them, and for everyone for whom tied up in that whole business there's pain, or grief, or sorrow.
I saw this video today. It's unbelievably precious, and a reminder of the total miracle of new life. Don't watch it if you don't want to cry a bit! (And I recommend you don't read the comments after it - people get crazy on the internet...). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fhe44oPdp1U
I've blogged on a similar-ish theme before, just after Mothers' Day last year - http://katewharton.blogspot.co.uk/2014_04_01_archive.html.
This time it was being at the New Wine England Summer Gathering that made me start to ponder this whole issue of childlessness. (And before I go any further, if you don't know what New Wine is, check it out here - http://www.new-wine.org/home)
So. I want to write about not having children, and what that feels like for me. I want to do that, although it may make me cry, because I find the writing cathartic, as a way of processing it all. And I want to do it too because it may just help someone else along the way, to think or reflect or face up to this issue for themselves.
I want to be really careful about the language I use, and I hope you'll bear with me. I don't want to offend or upset anyone. I can only share my thoughts and my experiences - yours will be different. And I can (obviously) only talk about not having children from the perspective of someone who is single. The issue of childlessness is a whole different thing for married people who are unable to have children, and/or have lost children. I have a number of friends in that category, and I grieve for them. I can't imagine what that feels like. I've found this blog to be a beautiful and honest exploration of some of those issues - http://saltwaterandhoney.org/
I recognise too that for many single people, the 'children thing' isn't a thing at all. It is at best a peripheral issue, something that inevitably goes alongside being single, but isn't too much of an issue in and of itself - certainly not the main event. It's not something that people necessarily think of when they think of singleness. Single people don't have a spouse. Married people can be childless, not single people. And yet for some (although of course not all) single people, it can be one of the biggest areas of pain.
I would love to have children. I've wanted to have children for as long as I can remember, and I don't think that's just because in a way it's sort of assumed that women will. It was just something within me - I wanted to be a mum.
I love children, and I'm pretty good with them. I can, generally, talk to them, and play with them, and have fun with them and enjoy their company. Whether they're teeny-tiny, or toddlery, or tantrumy, or tweenagey, we can usually manage to get along well.
Obviously I love my friends' kids a huge amount. I have 3 fabulous Godchildren, and those 3 families contain my most favourite 7 children ever. But lots of other friends have kids too, and they're all special.
I really love spending time with children. It's such an awesome privilege to be allowed to be part of a little person's life - that they'll talk to you about the stuff that matters to them, and give you a big slobbery kiss because they've missed you, and slip their hand into yours as you walk down the road.
I spend quite a bit of time around kids at the moment. Partly that's a life-stage thing. Lots of my friends either have small kids (or much bigger kids!), or are pregnant. We do lots of things for kids at church. Just this last week we had 43 kids and their parents/carers in church for a fun day, and then we took them all on a trip to a theme park. It was great - sharing life with them, talking to them about Jesus, seeing their excitement as they went on the rides, hearing their laughter.
And at New Wine too, it was great. We had a fair few kids on our camp site (including all 3 of my gorgeous Godchildren - what a treat!), and it was really fun to have them around and to hang out with them in a really relaxed way.
And yet. You see, there was a bit of a meltdown. That's what started off this whole train of thought. One evening, I just completely lost it. I didn't see it coming at all, but all of a sudden there it was. i was in the main evening session, and a guy from my church walked past on his way to the cafe to get a drink, so I offered to hold his baby while he did. She's 7 months old and she's just so darned cute! We had a bit of a cuddle and a dance, then he came back with his drink and took her back. A few minutes later a dad and a toddler from another local church went past. In fact the toddler raced past with a look of determination on her face and the dad frantically ran after her to try to stop her from causing mayhem. She was wearing a yellow t-shirt with a giraffe on it. That's what did it, I think. The yellow giraffe t-shirt.
I basically sobbed for the whole of the rest of the evening. It wasn't pretty. There was a lot of snot. I don't even know why I was crying. Well, you know what I mean. I was crying because there are beautiful, gorgeous, adorable small people in the world and I won't ever have one of my own. But still, I don't know *why* I was crying, at that moment and in that place.
I talked to God a lot about it, that evening and in the days that followed. I wondered, to myself and to God, what it was all about. I wondered whether it would always be this painful, whether yellow giraffe t-shirts would always make me cry. Perhaps they will. Perhaps that's ok.
Later I bumped into some lovely friends, who saw past the snot, and prayed for me, and understood. That's another incredible blessing right there.
I'm so grateful to God, and to my friends, for the little people in my life, and for the joy they bring. I pray that I'll always enjoy being with them, even though it might sometimes be hard too. I pray that they'll always want to spend time with me. I pray that I'll never become bitter over the things I don't have. I pray that I'll always stay thankful for the things that I do have. I pray that I'll continue to try to become like a little child myself, as Jesus said I should (see Matt 18:1-3).
I pray for every little person today wearing a yellow giraffe t-shirt, for every grown up person given the awesome job of caring for them, and for everyone for whom tied up in that whole business there's pain, or grief, or sorrow.
I saw this video today. It's unbelievably precious, and a reminder of the total miracle of new life. Don't watch it if you don't want to cry a bit! (And I recommend you don't read the comments after it - people get crazy on the internet...). https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fhe44oPdp1U
Tuesday, 16 September 2014
Being single - the tough bits
Last week I finally got round to blogging after a ridiculously long gap. I talked about one of the things from the last chapter of the book, where I'd asked a big group of my single friends what some of the good and bad bits were about being single. In that last post I looked at the great things, so this time I'm going to look at the not-so-great things.
Like last time, there's a bit of a caveat at the start - this is in no way a conclusive study, just the random thoughts of a random group of my random friends! Some of the things only apply to those who don't have children, or to those who live alone - and obviously not all single people fall into those categories.
That said, it's a pretty interesting list. I agree with some (although not all) of the things on the list, and I'd love to know what you think too.
So here goes...
Some things can feel negative one day and positive another, depending on all sorts of other factors. Some things can be a negative and a positive at almost exactly the same time.
My favourite example of this is from 2012 when I had tickets to the Paralympics in London. On the Thursday, I went together with my lovely friend Nikki. On the Friday, she had to work, but as we'd only seen team sports I decided I'd like to see some athletics so bought myself a ticket and headed off.
The brilliant thing about it was that I could please myself! I made the decision to go, booked the ticket, travelled to the park, and had a great day out. I ate what I wanted to and came and went as I pleased, without having to worry about anyone else. The difficult thing about it was that I had to spend the day all by myself, with no one to share in the experience with me.
I'm really glad that I decided to go. I had a fantastic day and saw some brilliant sport (including one of my heroes, Hannah Cockroft, winning gold!). As an added bonus I even bumped into some friends and got to spend some time with them. I went for it, and I'm glad.
The really funny PS to all that is that sometimes we're ok with our singleness, but others aren't. When I arrived at the stadium, I asked one of the gamesmakers to take my photo. He was utterly horrified that I was there on my own, and insisted on being in the photo with me! I'll post the photo below - he was lovely, but it still makes me chuckle how concerned he was that I was there on my own!
Like last time, there's a bit of a caveat at the start - this is in no way a conclusive study, just the random thoughts of a random group of my random friends! Some of the things only apply to those who don't have children, or to those who live alone - and obviously not all single people fall into those categories.
That said, it's a pretty interesting list. I agree with some (although not all) of the things on the list, and I'd love to know what you think too.
So here goes...
- Becoming selfish and set in your ways
- Becoming too independent (as opposed to interdependent, which is a positive thing)
- Coming home to an empty house
- Feeling lonely
- Not necessarily being as devoted to God as I could be - spending as much time wrestling with being single as my married friends spend with their families!
- No one to care for you if you're ill
- No one with whom to share dreams and decision making
- Eating and drinking alone
- Lack of physical contact and hugs
- No one with whom to have a laugh
- No one to point out and help you to work on your bad habits
- Struggling with practical jobs
- Other people viewing you in a certain way (feeling a 'social failure')
- No one to make you take time off
- Not feeling loved and cherished by anyone
- Cost of living is more
- Having to do all the chores
- Worrying about the future and facing old age alone
- No one with whom to celebrate significant life events (who makes you a birthday cake?!)
- Difficulty arranging holidays
- Not having the viewpoint of someone of the other sex
- For men - society may be wary of them especially around children
- For women - safety issues in the house
- People assume you have lots of free time
- An integrity issue - trying to be the same in public and in private
- Worries about the future - planning for retirement
- Going to places on your own
- Seeing others get married
- Not having children (if that's the case for you)
Some things can feel negative one day and positive another, depending on all sorts of other factors. Some things can be a negative and a positive at almost exactly the same time.
My favourite example of this is from 2012 when I had tickets to the Paralympics in London. On the Thursday, I went together with my lovely friend Nikki. On the Friday, she had to work, but as we'd only seen team sports I decided I'd like to see some athletics so bought myself a ticket and headed off.
The brilliant thing about it was that I could please myself! I made the decision to go, booked the ticket, travelled to the park, and had a great day out. I ate what I wanted to and came and went as I pleased, without having to worry about anyone else. The difficult thing about it was that I had to spend the day all by myself, with no one to share in the experience with me.
I'm really glad that I decided to go. I had a fantastic day and saw some brilliant sport (including one of my heroes, Hannah Cockroft, winning gold!). As an added bonus I even bumped into some friends and got to spend some time with them. I went for it, and I'm glad.
The really funny PS to all that is that sometimes we're ok with our singleness, but others aren't. When I arrived at the stadium, I asked one of the gamesmakers to take my photo. He was utterly horrified that I was there on my own, and insisted on being in the photo with me! I'll post the photo below - he was lovely, but it still makes me chuckle how concerned he was that I was there on my own!
Tuesday, 1 April 2014
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?!
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?!
Sunday, 23 February 2014
10 things single people wish married people wouldn't say... (Part 1)
In my book Single Minded (published last June by Monarch - still available in all good bookshops etc etc!), I decided to write a list of things single people wish married people wouldn't say. It was borne out of experience - all the things on the list are actual things which actual people have actually said to me (and there are some that I've heard many times!). If you're single I bet you've heard a fair few of them yourself (and no doubt a few other corkers too!). If you're married then the chances are you've said one or two of them in your time! (If you can recall saying them to me, then it's probably you I'm quoting ;-) ).
The list is written, and I hope will also be read, in good humour, and with a smile. (I wrote on this same subject over on the wonderful www.threadsuk.com page and some people there seemed to have had a sense of humour bypass about the whole thing...). I am making a serious-ish point in a light hearted way. It's ok to laugh (in fact, please do). However, the sentiment that, as single people, we would rather not hear these things, is true. Please don't read it as a bitter and twisted rant though - it is anything but! As I hope is clear, from here, and from the book, and elsewhere, I love my married friends very much and mostly they're wonderful and supportive and fabulous. Obviously they sometimes say fabulously inappropriate things about my singleness (as I have no doubt I do too, about all sorts of things that I know nothing about and misjudge horribly!). Sometimes the comments were made not by friends, but by random strangers, which makes them a little harder to swallow, as that person hasn't yet earnt the right to be daft! But hey ho - we've all been there!
So, here is Part 1 - the first 5 things on the list, as I describe them in the book. If you like them, please let me know. If they've been said to you, do share (kindly and anonymously, please!). If you want to take issue with any of them, feel free - but again, do remember the spirit of the thing! In the book I also give married people a chance to say the things they'd like to say to the singles, so it's all fair!
1. You're so lovely, why are you still single?
This is quite a favourite, it seems, as I have lost count of the number of people who have said it to me, or about others in my hearing. On the face of it you might wonder what’s wrong with it – surely it’s meant as a compliment? Well, yes, I’m sure that it is meant as a compliment. The problem is that when that sentence is spoken, this is what we hear – “You seem lovely, but there must be something wrong with you, otherwise you’d be married. You can’t be quite as lovely as all the lovely married people around you. If you were only a bit more lovely, you’d be married in no time.” I know, I know, that’s not what you meant at all – but unfortunately that is what we heard.
2. Don't worry, you're still so young.
This is another tricky one because on the face of it it’s complimentary, and it seems to offer consolation and hope. But to be brutally honest, when you say this sentence I simply cannot hear you over the sound of my biological clock ticking. I have known people aged 16 and aged 60 who felt exactly the same about their desire to be married (and of course I have also known people at both of those ages, and everywhere in between, who had no desire whatsoever to be married). At the moment when singleness feels like a struggle, whatever age you are, you don’t ever feel young enough to not worry about it!
The list is written, and I hope will also be read, in good humour, and with a smile. (I wrote on this same subject over on the wonderful www.threadsuk.com page and some people there seemed to have had a sense of humour bypass about the whole thing...). I am making a serious-ish point in a light hearted way. It's ok to laugh (in fact, please do). However, the sentiment that, as single people, we would rather not hear these things, is true. Please don't read it as a bitter and twisted rant though - it is anything but! As I hope is clear, from here, and from the book, and elsewhere, I love my married friends very much and mostly they're wonderful and supportive and fabulous. Obviously they sometimes say fabulously inappropriate things about my singleness (as I have no doubt I do too, about all sorts of things that I know nothing about and misjudge horribly!). Sometimes the comments were made not by friends, but by random strangers, which makes them a little harder to swallow, as that person hasn't yet earnt the right to be daft! But hey ho - we've all been there!
So, here is Part 1 - the first 5 things on the list, as I describe them in the book. If you like them, please let me know. If they've been said to you, do share (kindly and anonymously, please!). If you want to take issue with any of them, feel free - but again, do remember the spirit of the thing! In the book I also give married people a chance to say the things they'd like to say to the singles, so it's all fair!
1. You're so lovely, why are you still single?
This is quite a favourite, it seems, as I have lost count of the number of people who have said it to me, or about others in my hearing. On the face of it you might wonder what’s wrong with it – surely it’s meant as a compliment? Well, yes, I’m sure that it is meant as a compliment. The problem is that when that sentence is spoken, this is what we hear – “You seem lovely, but there must be something wrong with you, otherwise you’d be married. You can’t be quite as lovely as all the lovely married people around you. If you were only a bit more lovely, you’d be married in no time.” I know, I know, that’s not what you meant at all – but unfortunately that is what we heard.
2. Don't worry, you're still so young.
This is another tricky one because on the face of it it’s complimentary, and it seems to offer consolation and hope. But to be brutally honest, when you say this sentence I simply cannot hear you over the sound of my biological clock ticking. I have known people aged 16 and aged 60 who felt exactly the same about their desire to be married (and of course I have also known people at both of those ages, and everywhere in between, who had no desire whatsoever to be married). At the moment when singleness feels like a struggle, whatever age you are, you don’t ever feel young enough to not worry about it!
3. Do you have a family?
I wish I had a pat reply to this question which worked every
time but sadly, for some reason, no matter how many times I get asked it, I
still stumble over my response. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with the
questions ‘are you married?’ or ‘have you got children?’ – those are questions
seeking information which are perfectly valid in a conversation, and to which
I’m quite happy to reply. But the question above isn’t the same as those
questions. The question above means ‘are you married with children?’ but that
isn’t what it asks, and so we find ourselves thrown by it. I find it hard to
answer because the answer is yes, I do have a family, I have parents and
grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. But I know that’s not what
you’re really asking. If I reply in that way you might think I’m being
deliberately obtuse and that’s not what I want to do. And yet I don’t want to
say ‘no’ because that isn’t the right answer to the question you have asked,
even if it is the right answer to the question that you meant. Can you see why
it’s confusing?!
4. If you get your relationship with God sorted, then he'll send you a spouse.
This is clearly nonsense! What more needs to be said...?! So
presumably absolutely every married Christian person has a perfectly healthy,
mature relationship with God then, do they? No, that’s what I thought...
5. I was single till the age of X so I know exactly how you feel.
I’m sorry, but you simply don’t. It’s obviously true that
while not everyone is married at some point in their lives, everyone is single
at some point. But you don’t know how I feel. You may of course be able to
remember how being single felt for you, at that time, but that is not the same
as how it feels for me, now. In the same way, I don’t know how anyone else
feels – even another 34 year old single female vicar. (This doesn’t mean that
you can’t empathise, or sympathise, or be involved in my life – of course it doesn’t!
But you really don’t know how I feel!)
Part 2 will follow soon...
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