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!

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...

Probably my least favourite phrase in the whole world is...

... "I know exactly how you feel." (I wonder what you thought it was going to be when you read that title?!)

It's a phrase that I really don't like, because it simply can't ever be true, and yet people say it all the time. Sometimes they say it without thinking, just as a throwaway comment, a phrase which fills a gap in a conversation. Sometimes they say it because they want to jump into whatever it is that they're saying and make it about them instead (because, ultimately, most of us human beings are fairly self centred!). Sometimes they say it because they are genuinely sorry for you and don't know quite what the right thing is to say.

Often they say it for all the right reasons - because they care; because they're sympathetic; because they're sorry you're going through whatever it is; because words are never really enough, and because they want to say something that somehow conveys all of that.

I get all that - I understand that very often the words "I know exactly how you feel" are meant in a good way. And yet I still wish people wouldn't say them! Maybe it's just me. Maybe I need to forget the actual words, and the fact that (whatever the person intends) they're simply not ever true, and instead hear behind them the love which the person is trying to convey. And of course, most of the time, that's what I do. It's not as if every time someone says that sentence in my presence I immediately inform them that they do not, in actual fact, have the first idea (although, I have to be honest, I do *sometimes* do that!!).

Maybe when someone says that phrase to you, you're able to hear it how they may well have meant it - "I understand. You're not alone. I've been there." If so, great. The problem, though, is that that's not how I generally hear it - and I wonder whether others feel the same? (If not, this has just been a big diary splurge of a blog post. Feel free to ignore it and carry on with what you were doing before I interrupted...)

The problem, I think, is that this phrase, often intended to convey the sentiment of "I understand," in fact can convey quite the opposite. Because when someone says "I know exactly how you feel" what can be heard is something like this - "I've been there and I'm fine now so what are you moaning about?" or "It really wasn't as bad as all that. Stop making such a fuss." or "My experience was worse than yours. Let me tell you about it..."

Maybe that's a bit extreme. But you know what I mean. I think the phrase conveys an undermining of the feelings of the person who's speaking - which is a shame, because I'm sure that usually quite the opposite is what's meant.

And of course, the major problem with  "I know exactly how you feel" is that it isn't true. It can't be true. For instance - I've written a book on singleness. I'm a 35 year old female vicar who has always been single. But even if I were to come across another 35 year old female vicar who has always been single, I wouldn't know exactly how she felt. My life is different from her life. The way I experience the things that happen to me are different from the way she experiences the things that happen to her. Her hopes and dreams and fears and anxieties and insecurities are different from mine.

I might hope that saying "I know exactly how you feel" will make her see that I understand and empathise (and again, maybe it would for some people - but it doesn't for me, and I've heard enough people express frustration at hearing this phrase that I don't think I'm totally alone!).

I wonder, then, whether we might try a couple of other phrases out instead? Often I think we say things like this (or any of the other daft, well-meaning things we're all prone to say) because, in the face of someone else's pain or difficulty or upset, we don't know how to respond. We want to help, and to say the right thing, but we don't know what that is. How about "I'm so sorry, that's awful." or "That sounds really hard." or "I'm here for you whatever happens." Those all seem to me to work pretty well - and they have one major advantage over "I know exactly how you feel" - they can actually be true!

You're welcome

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too often that's the truth, I think.

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

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

What does compassion look like?

I've recently returned from a trip to Uganda with the charity Compassion. I've been wanting to blog about it almost since the day we arrived, but it's taken me until now to do so. Partly that's because life has been busy, but partly it's because I haven't yet fully managed to process and work through all of the stuff that we saw and encountered. I'm an extrovert and I process things by talking about them, and since I came home there hasn't been much chance to do that as life and church and advent have taken over! If I'm not careful though, the moment will pass - so here are a few random thoughts, that I'll probably be processing even as I'm writing. Bear with me!

The first thing to say is that Uganda turns out to be one of the most stunningly beautiful places you could ever imagine. I've travelled a lot, and I've been to some amazing places, but gosh, I loved Uganda! Especially Kisoro, where we stayed for a few days, in a beautiful hilltop guest house run by the Diocese of Muhabura (led by the Official Best Bishop in the World Ever). It was so lush and green and the views were breathtaking. I very much hope to visit again one day!

The trip was also a good one because it was with a fabulous bunch of people - 9 of us all involved in some way in church leadership and in New Wine, and 2 members of staff from Compassion UK. Some I already knew very well, some just a bit, and some not at all - but I laughed pretty much solidly for the whole 12 days, which simply in and of itself is very good for the soul!

And then there was the whole point of the trip! To see first hand the amazing work of Compassion. I've been a supporter of Compassion for quite a few years now. Since 2003 I've sponsored a little girl in India. She was 5 when I begun to sponsor her and when she was 13 I was fortunate enough to go out and visit her, and to see the project, visit her home and meet her family. It was a fabulous experience, and one that I'll never forget. Meeting her after 8 years of exchanging letters, and seeing her grow from a little girl into a teenager, was a joy. Sadly her family have since moved away and are outside of the project's area, but I have swapped to sponsor a 16 year old girl in the same project. On that trip I was accompanied by a friend, B, and we also then went to Thailand to visit the little girl she sponsors. We had a wonderful time in both places.

So, I thought I knew quite a bit about Compassion, and was pretty sold on what they do. However, this trip completely blew me away! What an incredibly impressive charity it is. Every staff member we met was completely in love with Jesus, utterly dedicated to their work, and totally passionate about transforming the lives of poor communities.

As I write I can tell that I have several essays within me on this topic!! I imagine there will be several more blogs to come... But for now I think the thing that I'm reflecting on is what 'compassion' actually means, and looks like (the actual word, that is, not the charity!). My dictionary defines it as "sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others". That's fine, isn't it, up to a point - but then what? I did feel pity and concern for the people I met in Uganda, of course I did - compared with my comfortable life here in the UK they had so little. There were heartbreaking stories to hear and homes to visit. There were times when I was moved to tears by what I was seeing and experiencing. That's as it should be - if I didn't feel like that there would be something wrong. 

But then what? Because my pity and concern don't help anyone. They don't help me. They either just make me feel awful that I have so much and they have so little, and I become almost paralysed at the fact that there's nothing I can do; or they make me feel numb - I have to switch off and not let it affect me because it's just too hard. They also don't help them. They don't need my pity. For one thing, that's because most of the people we met were joyful and lively and fun (especially those who knew Jesus). They praised and worshipped and enjoyed life in a way that would put many of our churches to shame! But for another thing, it's because they need my love, and my prayers, and my time, and my energy, and my money - not my pity.

One of my favourite songs is Hosanna, by Brooke Fraser. In it is the line "break my heart for what breaks yours" - this is my constant prayer to God in the areas of ministry for which he has given me a passion, among the lost and the broken and the marginalised. I want my heart to break when I see things which aren't right - when people are being treated unjustly, when people are starving, when people are being told they don't matter. And yet if all that happens is that my heart breaks, that's not enough. I need my heart to break just enough for me to be spurred to act, but not so much that I give up in despair. The line before that one in the song gives the answer, I think - "show me how to love like you have loved me". That has to be the key. If I can truly get my head around how God loves me, and if I am able as much as possible to copy that love, then that will be the thing that makes the difference.

That's why, while in Uganda, I decided to sponsor another child. Before we'd gone I'd thought about it and decided I couldn't afford it. Once we were in the project and meeting the children, I still couldn't afford it! But I also knew I had to do it. My heart broke just enough to make it happen. 

So for me, compassion looked like that breaking of my heart, in tune with God's heart, to do what I could to make a difference. And Compassion are doing that in a truly incredible way. I cannot speak highly enough of the way they work. 

But the rest will have to wait for another blog...!

For now, here's a photo of the gorgeous little person who stole my heart and who I've just started to sponsor.

Going solo

Tonight's been an interesting evening. I've been at Liverpool Cathedral, for my first ever live performance of Handel's Messiah. I've wanted to hear it for as long as I can remember, but for various reasons have never managed to do so until tonight. It was spectacular! It featured the combined choirs of the 2 Cathedrals, plus the Chamber Orchestra. I knew much of the music already, of course, but hearing it live was as wonderful as I'd hoped it would be - and what better place for my first time than our fabulous Cathedral, one of my favourite buildings in the world, and a venue with more than enough drama, attitude and acoustics to carry it off.

As well as enjoying the fabulous music and singing, I was doing a lot of reflecting this evening. For those of us who are single, the 'going to events on your own' dilemma is one which is never fully resolved. I imagine there are some super-confident and self-assured people who will cheerfully arrive at events by themselves, chat breezily all evening to perfect strangers, and then happily make their way home alone again afterwards. I don't, however, imagine there are many!

I also imagine there are some people who never go to events alone, and consequently, don't go to many events. They're nervous about arriving alone, having no one to talk to, feeling awkward, coming home alone again... It can feel very hard.

I've wanted to hear Messiah for a really long time. Last year, it was on at the Philharmonic. I was excited, and emailed lots of friends to see if they were interested in coming along. Some couldn't make it, some weren't interested, some took forever to reply! Eventually one friend said she'd like to come, and I set about booking tickets - but I'd left it too late, and it was sold out. This year, quite a while ago, I saw that it was going to be on at the Cathedral. Determined not to miss out again, I booked a ticket. Just one. I didn't even bother to invite friends! I wanted to go, and I was going to go!

Fast forward to today, and it's been a heck of a day (and a heck of a week!). I (still!) haven't finished preparing for the all age service tomorrow. I'm getting a cold (I think - although for most of the past week I've felt like I'm getting a cold and then I haven't). I had a flat tyre & had to spend far too much money on a new one. In some ways all I wanted to do was stay in. But I was excited about going to Messiah, and so I went. There was that familiar pang about going by myself - that sort of jollying along that you have to do to persuade yourself to get moving. Of course, it was a fabulous evening, and I'm more than glad that I went.

But. You see, it's not easy to do the going solo thing.

Don't get me wrong, there are great parts about it. I decided I wanted to go, I booked my ticket, and I went. I didn't have to check what anyone else wanted to do. There's something fun and freeing about being able to please myself on occasion. I chose when to arrive, where to sit, when to leave. I could chat to the people either side of me if I wanted to (with the exciting dual possibilities of meeting a lovely, fun new person - or being labelled a crazy, eccentric nutcase).

But there are also rubbish parts about it. I didn't have anyone to look forward to it with beforehand. I didn't have anyone to offer to drive and do the stressful last minute squeeze-in-a-tiny-space parking for me. I didn't have anyone to save me a seat while I went to the loo. I didn't have anyone to make small talk with and gossip about why the cassocks of the girls on the right were 5 times brighter than those of the girls on the left. I didn't have anyone to talk to in the interval so of course I messed about with my phone and pretended to be popular. I didn't have anyone to whisper to about how fabulous it all was. I didn't have anyone to debrief with afterwards (I know it was only a concert, but I'm an extrovert, I have to talk!). I didn't have anyone to drive home with. I didn't have anyone to make me a cup of tea when I got in.

Gosh that's a list of moans! Except, I don't mean them to be moans. They're just facts. Loads of you will understand them, if you're single yourself, or ever have been - or perhaps even if you're unhappily partnered. It is what it is, I realise that. Good bits and bad bits. Fun times and tough times. Life, basically!

This isn't a moan, or a rant, or a sympathy plea. It's just a reflection. My mind wandered to it as I drove home. I'd love to know if it resonates with you. Basically I'm writing a diary entry and sharing it with the world...!

I'm glad I went. Messiah was fabulous. An item on my bucket list is ticked off. And I got to come home and finish the box of chocolates a friend gave me the other day, with no one else fighting me for the orange creme - so it's not all bad!

Life to the full

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beauty and graffiti

A few months ago we decided to establish a little 'community garden' across the road from church, on a patch of wasteland. It was mainly the idea of Rach, a fab member of our church, who heads up our work with young people. She approached the council, who own the land, and they agreed to let us use it, and even helped us out with resources, funding and workers. We worked with them, one of the local RSLs, and a nearby youth centre. A fabulous artist came and did sessions with the kids and young people producing 3 huge murals featuring all their favourite Liverpool landmarks. They were bolted to the wall, and a big flowerbed was sunk into the ground. The nursery class from our church school came over to do the planting. We had a launch event with local community groups and it was lots of fun. Seeing the garden every day makes me smile. It looks lovely, a ray of sunshine in the middle of a patch of derelict and deserted ground.

Or at least, it did look lovely - for a while. Because after only a few months, I went past one day to discover graffiti sprayed all over the murals. There were huge letters drawn in thick black paint. I couldn't see how it could be repaired, but Nicola, the amazing artist, came and worked her magic and it looked as good as new. Phew!

Until last week - when I drove past and suddenly realised I couldn't see the boards. When investigated I found that all 3 of them had been ripped off the wall. 2 were damaged 'just' from being ripped off - they had holes where the bolts had been (the bolts were still attached to the wall). The third was more badly damaged - it had 2 big tears across it, and large pieces knocked off at the corners. I gathered up all the small pieces although I doubt they'll be able to be repaired. The boards were too heavy to move, even when I gathered a couple of helpers, so we left them there and hoped for the best. We're currently waiting for someone to come and put them back up.

I've been thinking about this a lot over the past few days. I was absolutely devastated when I first saw what had happened. The boards looked such a mess, and as if that wasn't bad enough, they had also trampled all over the plants in the flowerbed. I can't understand why anyone would want to cause such damage and destruction in such a wanton way. I'm not naive, I know vandalism happens - a lot! - and I've experienced it many times when my car, house and church have all been damaged in various ways. For some reason, though, this seemed even more wantonly destructive than normal. Maybe it was the fact that all we'd been trying to do was make the local area look a bit nicer. Maybe it was the fact that it had been local kids who had done the painting themselves. It just made me so sad.

I started to wonder, if we found out who it was who had done the damage, and if we asked them why, and if we were able to genuinely have a conversation about it - about what was in their minds as they did it, and what they hoped to achieve - what would we discover? Would it be that they were "just bored"? Understandable in one way, I guess, in an area with few resources - and something we're trying to remedy by creating activities they can engage with. Or would we, I wondered, find out something more, something deeper, if it was even possible for it to be articulated?

You see, I wonder whether there's something about us not being able to cope with beauty, somehow. I wonder if in some way that's what sin is - turning away from God, and from his goodness, and from his right, perfect, beautiful way to live, because we simply can't handle it. There's something about us longing for beauty and truth and goodness, and yet suddenly turning around and randomly destroying a beautiful thing for no apparent reason. I feel like that's sometimes how I live and behave. I destroy beautiful things. I damage what is good. I vandalise what is holy.

God's way, and God's will, is about good not evil; about light not dark; about hope not fear; about beauty not ugliness. Paul puts it this way in his letter to the church in Philippi - "you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious - the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse."

I want to be someone who seeks out beauty in God's world, and who speaks and acts in a way which creates beauty, rather than destroying and damaging it. 

When I started out writing this post it was going to be about how it's hard to keep on going when obstacles come along, but it's turned into something completely different! Maybe I'll write that post another day...

This is how our lovely garden looked when it was first created. Recently the flowers looked gorgeous!