I’ve always struggled to understand why we have to ‘consider it all

Since becoming a mum I’ve been overwhelmed by the love that wells up inside me for her. I find myself gazing at her when she’s sleeping and laughing at her cute giggles, even when changing her dirty nappy at two O’clock in the morning! Sometimes I could cry I love her so much.

Alongside this overwhelming love I have for my daughter, I’ve also been overwhelmed by the responsibility I have as a mother to provide for her needs and give her the opportunity to grow up and mature into a young woman of God. Everyday I’m faced with these challenges of how best to look after her and I’m constantly leaning on God and asking Him for wisdom.

One such challenge has been trying to get her to settle down to sleep at bedtime. For the first few months of my daughter’s life she has had her night time feed and quickly dropped off to sleep. My husband or I would then put her in her cot and have the evening to ourselves. But over the last month or so, every time we’ve put her into her cot she’s started waking up. We would then pick her up and rock her back to sleep only for her to wake up yet again as soon as we put her back in her cot. Some nights it would take us four or five tries before she would eventually stay asleep. It was then occurring to me that Mairi, my daughter, was going to have to learn to fall asleep on her own. Even at four months old, she was going to have to start growing up!

Leaving Mairi to cry herself to sleep was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do since becoming a mum. My heart would break as I would hear her wail and all I wanted to do was run into her room, pick her up and cuddle her. I had to go to God and ask Him for the strength to be able to allow her to learn this important skill. When I did this God reminded of the verse, “ My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing” James 1:2-4. Not only was this situation a trial for me hearing my baby cry, but it was also a trial for Mairi being left on her own to cry herself to sleep. However, in leaving her for a short period of time she would then learn to fall asleep on her own allowing her to begin to grow up and become more independent.

Once I received the revelation that putting Mairi down for a sleep was an opportunity for her to mature, I actually started looking forward to and getting excited about nap times and bedtime. I considered it a joy that Mairi would get the opportunity to begin to grow up.

Now, I understand that not all the trials we go through in life are as small as the one I’ve illustrated here. God allows us to go through much more challenging situations such as the loss of a job, divorce or the death of a loved one. It’s often difficult to find ‘joy’ in these tough situations. It may even feel as if God has left us when going through these difficult times. But God promises that He will ‘never leave us or forsake us’ (Hebrews 13:5). Mairi may have felt all alone as I left her to cry herself to sleep, but I was actually just at the other side of her bedroom door ready to go in and reassure her when I felt it was getting too much for her.

God is our Father, and His love for us is even more perfect and complete than my love for Mairi or any other parent’s love for their child. In all the trials we face, God is with us. As we trust in Him and remember that hasn’t left us or forsaken us, then we can grow stronger in our faith giving us a deeper and closer relationship with our loving Father.

The rain was clattering against the window pane. I was watching the droplets dance across the glass like ballerinas tottering onto a stage. Sometimes the raindrops merged together to form one giant droplet and the weight carried it faster across the glass than the others.  Puddles were beginning to form revealing the hidden dips in the road and pavement. Small streams flowed into the nearby gutters as each raindrop signalled a dreary day ahead, yet nothing could deter me from the overwhelming excitement that I felt.

I was so excited to be starting my first day at school. For so long I had watched my big sister make her way down the street and across the road to Big school. I remembered how grown up Fiona looked in her smart school uniform, wearing a brown leather satchel across her shoulders. She used to walk with our neighbour Laura who lived two doors down from us, but now she was walking hand in hand with me making me feel safe and looked after.

Walking excitedly through the narrow gate and down the concrete path we made our way through the throngs of children to the infant’s cloakroom. Fiona pulled the big heavy doors to let us both through. They were the kind of doors that stayed open of their own free will if you pull them hard enough. I took a huge step into the cloakroom and felt incredibly overwhelmed by the noise of thirty-odd children bustling around, excited about being back at school. Some of the younger ones were less enthused about leaving their mummies and added their wailing and whimpering to the rising din.

“Now, children,” a voice bawled over the resounding noise. “Please make sure that you take your shoes off and put your plimsoles on inside the school as the ground is very wet and muddy outside.” I gazed up at the aging woman belonging to the bellowing voice. She reminded me of my Granny Beck. She had short black curls with strands of silvery grey pinned up at the sides with kirby grips. The teacher’s bosom dropped towards her round middle to form one large mound in the front of her body. She wore a purple paisley patterned dress and a black knitted cardigan with a very light white dusting on each of her shoulders.

Not wanting to be late for her first day back, Fiona said a quick goodbye as she headed towards the junior side of the school. Before long I realised that the din had subsided and all the children had formed a line in the classroom and were heading out of the door into the enormous school hall. I quickly made a dash towards the rest of the children but soon remembered what the teacher had announced earlier about changing into plimsoles. My heart began to race as I looked down at my feet.  I was wearing my tatty red leather boots. They were scuffed at the toes which gave them a shabby chic look. The rubber soles were flat with a hefty grip to them just right for autumn wearing and they had a black industrial looking zip up the inside of the leg all the way to my calf.  I remembered the trouble my mum had that morning pulling the zip up over my chubby ankles and several layers of socks. The boots felt vacuumed to my feet. There was no way I was going to be able to take these off on my own.

Huge waves of despair and anxiety flooded over me as I felt paralysed to the spot. I could see through the indoor windows uniformed lines of children obediently filing into the school hall for the first assembly of the year. I knew where I was meant to be, but my obedient instinct took over forcing me to find no way out of this dilemma. My eyes began to sting and my chest began to heave as floods of tears gushed from my eyes and sobs of grief pumped from my heart. All the uncertainties and unknowns of this new place began to fill my mind. I felt totally alone.

In my bewildered state I glanced through the same window again and saw all the children sitting primly in their uniformed rows. A very important looking man at the front of the hall was standing talking to the children and glanced towards me imprisoned in the Infant cloakroom. I saw him speak to a child in the fourth row from the front. A slim blonde little girl stood up from her row and made her way to the end of the line. Through my tears I could make out the kind face and grown up walk of my big sister. Fiona was coming to help me! A huge wave of relief flowed over me as my sister came through and unzipped my boots. I was no longer alone. Fiona helped me put on my plimsoles pushing my feet hard into the the stiff heel. I forgot my tears and anxiety as my big sister took hold of my hand and lead me into the hall. My sister’s grasp felt firm and reassuring. I felt looked after. An overwhelming sense of assurance washed over me knowing that so long as my big sister was with me, then everything was going to be alright.

Eyes like a hypnotising snake

A nose like a rotten rancid carrot

A mouth like a ferocious snapping crocodile dripping with blood

Legs like squashed bananas

And arms like sweaty spaghetti

My monster is as friendly as a T Rex searching for its prey

As clever as a crazy clown

As loud as cheering football fans

As smelly as an elephant breaking wind

And as frightening as a zombie rising from the dead

My monster Illadan

Laughing always makes me feel good. The experts say that it’s because it releases endorphins into our bloodstream, but isn’t it just because whatever we are laughing about is just really funny? For example, watching somebody else laugh makes me happy and then I join in aswell.

I am very fortunate to be married to somebody who makes me laugh a lot. It’s not because he’s a particularly witty or talented comedien who can cleverly satirise about current events or historical novels. Infact, when he is trying to be funny around people other than myself (and his mum – bless!) he is more likely to receive quizzical and condescending looks than fits of laughter from  his small audience. But, none the less, he is always able to prise me out of the foulest mood, just by a single funny look or by attempting to tell me a joke and completely (and deliberately) getting the punchline totally wrong.

Another thing my husband tries to get me to do when I’m feeling low is force a smile. My immediate response is to always refuse. But as he continues to persist I give him the faintest smile, which of course is never enough for him, and before I know it I’m grinning like a cheshire cat and feeling on top of the world. How does that happen?

The opposite can also happen very easily. What I mean is when something happens that makes you feel amazing which results in an involuntary smile.  This happened to me today whilst I was making strawberry jam. As the sugar started to dissolve in the sticky red substance, I gave it a stir and treated myself to a quick taste from a dribble on the side of the pan. As the sweet  berry nectar hit my tongue it filled me with such pleasure that I realised my face was actually beaming. (Now, of course, you’re all wanting to try my strawberry jam!)

So, laughter and smiling, whether encouraged or spontaneous, are obviously very good for us. Here’s something to make you laugh or smile.

Today we dropped off Charlie, our puppy, on her holidays visiting her mummy and sister. We’ve had Charlie six months now. She was a Valentine’s present for us both and the first evening we got her we went out for a lovely romantic meal. The pianist was playing, the fire was blazing, the wine and company was perfect, but all I could think of was, “Is the puppy ok? What if she escapes and hurts herself? How long should we stay away for? We really should get back soon.” I was like a new mum leaving her baby for the first time.

Since that first evening Charlie has become a huge part of our little family and we quickly notice when she’s not around.  Now she was away we could leave shoes in the middle of the floor without fear of the dreaded shoe snatcher scarpering off with them and puncturing holes in the soles resulting in soggy wet feet on a rainy day. The gate would deliberately get left open knowing that the hundred mile an hour dog wasn’t going to make a break for it and land herself in the middle of Lancaster’s busiest round about. In the evenings we could spend as long as we liked going out for a drink without having to worry about getting home to let the dog out for a wee. Like exhausted parents clinging on to every last minute without the kids, we really made the most of being puppy-less.

On the other hand, I really missed our little girl. I missed the absent sound of the pitter patter of tiny little paws on the laminate flooring when walking from the kitchen to the hallway. When the sun was shining I expected to see her warming herself up on the sunny spot on the living room rug, like a cold blooded lizard on a sandy rock in a scorched desert. I missed having her on my lap, caressing her velvety soft black head and feeling her moist pink tongue tickling my ear. In the morning I missed being welcomed by her long drawn out stretch accompanied by a squeaky yawn, and having her sit politely as I gave her a morning pat and scratched her coarse white belly.

No doubt by the time we’ve picked up our little bundle of excitement from her holiday I’ll be yelling at Jonathan, ‘Would you get down here and throttle this dog for me! She’s just ripped another huge chunk out of the living room rug!” as Charlie poises herself ready for the chase, with that cheeky glint of white in her eye and multi-coloured tassles of rug hanging from her jowels like strands of flesh in the mouth of a starved wild hyena… but until that day arrives, I miss her.

We both agreed that Salmon Rushdie is an excellent writer. He’s insightful, creative and as writer friend of mine puts it, “Rushdie delights more frequently, turning his lines with charm and jocularity and regularly intervening as the author lest you forget that he is telling you a tale. He gives permission for the author to be visible, and funny.”

As a fan of Rushdie I would have to totally agree with this description so eloquently put, but if you were to place ‘Midnight’s Children’ or ‘The Satanic Verses’ in front of my husband, for example, barely a chapter would be read before his mind drifted onto the newest application he’d just downloaded for his ipod and very quickly he’s laid down book for gadget.

The very same writer friend commented that one of his golden rules for inspiration in writing is reading good fiction, and that ‘trashy bestsellers might have the opposite effect’. But if these uninspiring fiction books that he’s alluding to are that ‘trashy’ then why are they ‘bestsellers’?

As a primary school teacher I am constantly trying to find ways in which to engage ALL children in reading. In my opinion being able to read is the key for any child to achieve success and reach their potential. In order to inspire a child to read the text needs to engage, interest and provide a purpose to be read. What interests one child will invariably disinterest the next. Does this make the author of the text a good writer or a bad one?

Certainly a good writer is someone who cleverly identifies their chosen audience and writes with them in mind. But why is it that as a target audience of a particular writer such as Rushdie, we deem it acceptable to criticise and judge other writers as ‘bad’ or ‘trashy’ purely because their writing doesn’t inspire or stimulate our minds, regardless of the fact that it might be enjoyed by the other readers who are stimulated in different ways and are engaged by different styles of writing?

With that in mind maybe we can all feel more free to ‘just write’ without worrying about whether we are a ‘good writer’ or not, because surely if one person reads and enjoys then we are a ‘good writer’ to at least that one person.

‘The more concerned you are with things you CAN’T control, the less you will do to improve the things you CAN control.’

It made me reflect on all the things that I consider to be ‘stressing me out’ at the moment. For example, this summer holiday we have deliberately set aside time for decorating several rooms in our new house. This has meant NO holidays away and time to focus on the house. Since then we have come up against some unexpected hindrances: damp coming through the chimney breast in the back bedroom, the new sink for the bathroom not fitting properly and the plumber having to wait until he’s back from a two week holiday to fit it, two of the rooms needing plastering and the plasterer not being able to come for three weeks… the list goes on.

All these things (and more) cause me to feel under so much pressure. I controlled what I could by setting aside time this summer holiday for all this decorating that needed doing, but all of that has been hindered by several things that are completely out of my control!

So why do I get ‘stressed out’ when I know nothing can be done about the situation? I end up getting so worked up that I can’t function and get on with the things that I CAN control. Such as hanging out the washing, hoovering, watering the plants or even fun things like making jam or meeting up with friends.

It also reminds me of a Scripture in the Bible, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow has enough worries of its own.” Matthew 6:34. But the verse right before says, “Seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things will be added unto you” Matthew 6:33

If I seek God’s Kingdom by making Him King of my life, He can be in of control all those things I can’t control and then I can be free of anxiety.

But will I? Can I?

I decided that I would like my blog to be about the type of things I would enjoy ‘blethering’ with my friends about (although none of them would call it ‘blethering’ as they are mostly English!) That way each post would invite comments. Otherwise it would just be a one-sided conversation (and what’s the fun in that!)

So, feel free to join in the ‘blether’ in our virtual coffe shop.