It's the most wonderful time of the year......

Groan.  It's that time of year again, already.  It is Christmas.  The most wonderful time of the year.  A time of love and joy, faces aglow, yada yada yada.  Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas but I also dislike it.  Why?  Well, allow me my rant. 

I cannot stand the materialism of it all.  From the point of view of my faith (and my heart) it is about celebrating the Lord's birth.  About realising the amazing gift that we have been given; it's about understanding the beginning of a journey that displayed God's love to us and much more.  I could go on but for those of you with faith, you know what I'm getting at.  

I hate the adverts at Christmas which tell people that if they do not buy presents that cost hundreds of pounds for their loved ones, then they don't really love them.  I hate adverts that encourage people to get into debt so that they can have "a good Christmas".  I hate that the real message of Christmas has been lost and so now there is unnecessary stress, debt, pressure and depression that is associated with Christmas.  "Love your fellow man and demonstrate this by buying a £150 camera for him.  Do not deprive your six year old and psychologically scar them for life, buy them the brand new iPad".  Bah humbug.  

I do love the celebration of Jesus' birth.  I love that I get to spend this special time of year with my family.  I love that everyone tries that bit harder to be kinder to each other.  I love the excitement of the children when they decorate the tree.  I love the stupid 'stressful' bits that make me laugh and add to the fun of Christmas.  I realised this the other day as I was pondering as to why I get tense at various activities associated with Christmas.  Let me share some of these with you.

Shopping. To begin with, I get stressed and terrified at the thought of Christmas shopping.  My reasons are justified.  I'm nearly 6ft tall which naturally makes me invisible to everybody in a shopping centre, especially at Christmas.  People literally charge at me and try to walk through me!  I have been out shopping and come home with a cut leg from a man who smacked a box into me and carried on walking; bruises from people barging me out the way and a spinning head where they literally spin me right round sometimes.  My friends found this hard to believe, as did the Raving Rev, until they shopped with me and witnessed it for themselves.  Needless to say, they found this hilarious.  I found it disturbing.  I have found a solution for it - New Rock boots!  People don't see me but they notice the boots.  The one woman who did not notice the boots and charged at me soon noticed me when the boots made contact with her shins.  No, I did not kick her on purpose but there isn't much you can do when someone is intent on walking through you as you're going forward.  So if you are also invisible, grab yourself a pair of New Rocks, they rock hahaha.  

Shopping also holds the memory for me where I did kind of end up in a fight with a woman over a bar of chocolate.  It was the most surreal thing and I couldn't believe it happened.  Years ago I went into Woolworths (that's how long ago!) to get myself some pick and mix.  I was feeling particularly sorry for myself (that was the day I got the cut leg from the manic man in the manic Christmas crowd) and needed sweets.  Whilst in there I noticed that there was a bar of Bournville chocolate left on the sweet rack.  At that time the Raving Rev loved Bournville chocolate and I thought that would make a nice wee stocking present for him.  So I went over and reached out to pick it up.  As I did, out of nowhere (I swear there was no-one near the sweets as I approached them) a woman's hand came and shoved mine out of the way.  She wanted the chocolate bar.  I was shocked at her rudeness and would normally just walk away moaning but I'd been trying to do Christmas shopping.  I had received 36 bruises and a cut leg.  I was far from happy and peaceful.  I was a woman on the edge who only wanted a bar of chocolate to take home to her other half.  I glowered at her and shoved her hand out of the way.  I grabbed the bar of chocolate and heard her tut.  The next thing I knew, she slapped my hand!  This insane woman actually slapped my hand.  Here it began, here was the stand off.  A possible PMT woman who was on a chocolate craving versus a tall, irate, fed-up, battered and bruised redhead.  It was on.  I grabbed a Snickers bar and smacked her in the nose with it; she grabbed a fruit and nut bar and whacked me over the head with; I grabbed a caramel cup and shoved it up her nose........ok, no I didn't.  I wanted too but I didn't.  What actually happened when she smacked my hand was that I did the only thing that I could do.  I grabbed the chocolate bar, whacked her on the back of the hand with it, and walked off to pay for it.  Amazingly, the chocolate bar wasn't broken haha.  Peace and goodwill to all men?  Not when it comes to Christmas shopping and chocolate bars.    

Then there is the wrapping of the presents - the conspiracy of the wrapping paper and cellotape.  Why does it take hours to wrap one single present yet seconds to tear it off?  Every year I spend hours wrapping presents.  Usually there are casualities.  Like the time the dog decided to help me and we both ended up being bound together in a ball with the cellotape wrapped tightly and firmly around us.  The doorbell rang and I had to half roll, walk and carry myself and the dog to the door.  The salesman looked shocked and then asked the most stupid question I've ever heard "Is this a bad time?".  He didn't even help to unstick us!

The cellotape that always curls back on itself and ends up in an unusable ball.  The way the cellotape manages to end up in my hair and stuck to my eyebrows (no?  Am I the only one this happens to?).  The labels and pens that always disappear.  The paper that rips just as you've stuck the last piece of cellotape on grrrr.  Oh the joys.  

After all this is the fun bit of ripping open the presents on Christmas morning.  I have a very fond memory of this.  I had managed to get the Raving Rev a signed, first edition, hardback book that he wanted.  I carefully wrapped it, put a lovely ribbon on it and a big bow.  I handed it over to him with a big smile and watched in, at first pleasure and then horror as he ripped the paper off and at the same time ripped right through the dustcover of the book.  Thus rendering the semi-valuable, hard to get book, worthless.  He looked at me with a sheepish grin whilst my dad restrained me to stop me from strangling him.  

I also have the brilliant memory of the time the Raving Rev and I received the best gifts in the world which has then rendered us pains ever since as we now want nothing else at Christmas.  My mum and dad saved up and decided to treat the Raving Rev to a 32GB iPod.  He had wanted one for so long and we had no hope of getting him one as they were to expensive.  Well on that Christmas morning my mum saved that present until last and bought it out for him.  He was so overwhelmed that he began to tear up, awww.  This made my mum get a bit tearful and my dad also welled up.  Then, unknown to me, my mum produced a present for me.  It was the Canon digital SLR that I had been longing for.  Never in a million years did I think that I would get it.  I was so happy that I started crying.  Proper sobbing and honking crying.  This made the Raving Rev start to sob, my mum started to wail and my dad left the room sobbing.  I bought the house down like a pack of cards!  It was a wonderful Christmas and makes me smile and giggle every time I think of it (and give my camera a little hug).  

So we've done the shopping, wrapped the presents, ripped the wrapping off the presents (and ripped the presents), up next is the food.  Two memories fly to mind here.  The first was where we had langoustines for starters.  The Raving Rev and my mum were ripping the heads and tails off them like savages and stuffing the innards into their mouths.  My dad and I sat there, at the table, watching this massacre in horror.  We tried to prise our langoustines out of their shells but they were having none of it.  According to the Raving Rev,our hands are too soft.  My dad and I gave up trying to eat them and just watched, in morbid fascination, as my mum and the RR disemboweled the langoustines and ate them.  I felt like I was watching some sort of strange nature programme, like when the seals grab the penguins or the lions get the zebras.  A bizarre sensation to have at the Christmas dinner table. 

Later that day, after a little bit of alcohol, the Raving Rev decided to resurrect the langoustines and retrieved them from the bin.  He then placed them on each of his fingers and put on a disturbing langoustine puppet show for all of us.  My mum laughed, so did my dad and I sat there proudly thinking "Good grief, I'm going out with that".  

Another meal memory was where we all sat down to the Christmas dinner.  My dad decided to carve the turkey but couldn't get much meat off it.  We were all surprised and disappointed, given the size of the turkey.  Still we had a lovely dinner with merriment and laughter.  It was only the next day that we realised that the turkey had been put onto the plate UPSIDE-DOWN!  Duh.  None of us had noticed and yet, in all the photos, you could clearly see it was upside-down.  Says a lot for my family.

So I've rambled and rambled and shared a couple of memories.  Despite the materialism and lost message, I love Christmas.  I love the memories it creates.  I'm thankful for those that I get to share Christmas with.  Even though I don't appreciate them at the moments they happen, even the stressful bits are fun.  Like yesterday's shopping for a Christmas tree with my mum.  Four hours we were out looking for a tree!  We drove about 50 miles!  We visited what felt like 20 different places.  We laughed, then grumbled, then started sobbing as we couldn't find one.  I accidentally strangled my mum in the garden centre.  In the end, in the pitch black, we found one.  It's waiting to be decorated.  I'll wait for the Raving Rev to do that, I'm not sure there's enough alcohol in the house to get me through that with a smile haha.  

I hope that you all have a Merry Christmas.  Laugh at the stressful bits.  Know that you are loved.   
Be blessed.
xxx        

Getting Old

I am a youth worker.  This title immediately conjures the image (I think) of someone young, hip, trendy, cool, fun etc.  This would then mean that I am cool; I am hip and happening; I am fun and trendy; I am young.  Imagine then my absolute horror when I realised that I am getting old. 

It started with small things which I duly tried to ignore.  Such as the inability to wear hipster jeans and a short top.  Having my middle exposed is now far too cold.  Much better to have a long top and snugly jumper or sweater on.  I see girls walking down the high street in winter in shorts and think "Good grief!  Does she not feel the cold?  Put some trousers on."  That is when I noticed the ageing process beginning.  The inability to wear fashionable clothes and going, instead, for practical and warm.  

I then began to notice physical changes to my body.  Changes which my sister had warned me about but which I ignored with the arrogance of my youth, believing it would never happen to me.  "Once you reach a certain age, gravity suddenly finds you and you wake up in the morning to discover that, overnight, your backside is now down behind your knees; your stomach is headed south; your hips get bigger and you can't lose weight easily but can gain 3lbs just by looking at a cake", this was her warning to me and oh, how I scoffed at her.  That would never happen to me.  I was young.  

The next morning after my birthday I did indeed discover that gravity had found me.  My backside had indeed raced south overnight and was beginning an intimate relationship with the backs of my knees.  My stomach, once naturally toned and flat, now hung over the top of my jeans, even when I was pulling it in!  My once incredibly fast metabolism where I could lose 4lbs in weight just by thinking about it has now disappeared and it takes me months to lose 4lbs but just one day to gain the same amount (and keep it!).  Also, yes, my hips have gotten bigger, as the Raving Rev inadvertently pointed out the other evening.  We had to go through one of those stye/gate thingys.  The ones where you step in, grab the gate, wedge yourself against the fence and then pull the gate and step through.  Whilst manoeuvring through one of those I heard these very words from behind me "Mind you don't get your hips stuck".  I kid you not, those were the very words out of the Raving Rev's mouth with no hint of sarcasm, he was totally serious.  I glared.  "What's that supposed to mean?"  He was now busy getting himself through the gate that he hadn't realised the precarious situation that he was in.  "The way you were moving, I didn't want you to get wedged by your hips."  I growled.  "You're saying I've got fat hips?"  His head snapped up and his eyes, wide, met mine.  He suddenly realised that he had wandered into a mine field and there was no way out.  "NO, NO!  That's not what I meant.  It's just the way you were moving, I could see you getting stuck."  He winced as he heard the words that he had said.  "Stuck because I have large hips?"  My tone had become dangerously pleasant and sweet.  "No.  I like your hips."  My eyes narrowed, he started to sweat and sob quietly.  "You don't deny though that you think I have large hips."  I admit that at this point, I was messing with his head on purpose.  I've never been one to take his comments seriously and it was fun watching him squirm.  Me, cruel?  Only a little.  He gulped and began stammering, desperately seeking a way out.  I grinned and the relief on his face when he realised that I was messing immense.  He had entered a minefield and lived.  Is he any the wiser for his experience?  No, he'll make the same sort of stupid comment within a week.  He never learns.  

So back to the ageing process.  Other things that have made me feel my age.  I now have two teenage friends.  Tall dude and sporty smurf.  Love them both but when they talk, I have no idea half the time.  I feel like Nemo's dad when Squirt is telling him how to leave the Australian Current.  Many times tall dude has sent me text messages only to have me reply "What?";  "What does that mean?"; "I'm old, speak English!".  If you want to feel really old and out of touch, text a teenager.  Sometimes it takes me half an hour to decipher what my niece is saying to me.  

I'm old.  I'm not hip and happening.  That statement on its own shows that I am getting old.  There were two moments though, that really brought home to me that I was ageing and that I am no longer 18 years old.  

Firstly, in a shopping mall with my mum, we pass a perfume shop.  As we walk past, I kid you not, there were two stunning male models there.  Bronzed, buff, tight leather trousers, shining white smiles.  Gorgeous boys.  There you see I have aged.  At 18 I would have had lustful thoughts, wondered what my chances were with them and so on.  What did I do?  I nudged my mum, made a Frankie Howard sound "oooh", appreciated that they were gorgeous boys and went on my merry way.  No lustful thoughts; no wondering if they would fancy me.  Nope.  To me they were boys and they were handsome.  That's it.  On with the shopping.  Shopping!  Sexy guys and I continue shopping, oh good grief.   

Second moment.  I was recently invited to go to the Jura Music Festival.  Jura is a Hebridean Isle off the coast of Scotland and it's beautiful.  It has a population of around 200 people.  It's empty and it's gorgeous.  To get there you have to catch a ferry to the Isle of Islay, known as the queen of the isles.  Not hard to see why as it is a beautiful island.  From Islay you get another ferry over to Jura.  Well worth the trip and I recommend that people visit.  Both islands are scenic and beautiful.  Breathtaking landscapes.  Amazing sunsets.  God's beautiful creation at it's best.  

So Jura music festival.  The music was traditional Gaelic music but modernised if that makes any sense.  Once upon a time I hated that sort of music but now, possibly because I'm ageing and this is something that happens with age, I now like it.  The main band playing was Manran.  Check them out on Youtube.  So good.  Much, much better live.  The atmosphere was electric with all the whoops and wheechs that you hear at a ceilidh.  If you don't know what I mean, the Scots have a unique sound that you generally only hear at ceilidhs.  It's hard to describe it but you know it when you hear it.  If you've been you know what I'm talking about.  If you don't, get yourself up to Scotland to a ceilidh and you'll hear it.  

Anyway, I digress.  The festival, Manran were playing and I was 'wheeching' (as my dad describes the noise) and having a fantastic time and wishing that I could dance (the chairs had us all pinned in together so no dancing could really happen).  Well, the next day I'm describing the event to the Raving Rev (sadly he couldn't come) and I say these words, "They were really good.  They have a laugh with the audience and the clothes they were in, well they were really smart, young lads".  There it is.  The words that only old people say.  Smart, young, lads.  I commented on their fashion sense.  They were in trousers and shirts and they did look smart but when did smart ever matter to me?  Me who has been to countless rock concerts where the band come on wearing Lycra or shorts or baggy jeans and t-shirts.  Me who has never commented on the fashion of the musicians.  Suddenly Manran became nice, smart, young lads.  Oh the shame, the horror.  Is this getting old or is this part of becoming a minister's wife?  Or perhaps it's both?  

I am an ageing youth worker.  In my head I am the coolest of the cool.  In reality, I am becoming a middle-aged woman who is quickly losing touch with the world and I have crossed the threshold where young men are no longer sex symbols but just nice, young lads.  Gravity has found me and I now have noticeable silver hair.  Oh the horror.  

How should I deal with this?  In the way I do with all these realisations.  I shall put on my big boots, dark eye shadow, play loud music and still be the coolest 18 year old that I think I am haha.  

 

Survival Weekend

I start this post slightly dishevelled and confused.  I have been on a survival weekend without even leaving my house.  I shall do my best to explain.

Hubby (whom I have now decided to nickname the Raving Rev) is away at a conference all to do with his training.  I have been left at home alone, yay.  Before leaving the Raving Rev looks at me with great concern on his face, "now are you sure that you are going to be ok on your own?"  I tut, of course I am.  I am a fully grown woman, I think I can manage.  He asks me at least 20 more times and I am beginning to get slightly annoyed that he seems to think that I cannot manage.  His final question to me was more blunt "will you and the house still be in one piece when I get back?"  I glared, what was that supposed to mean?  I am not clumsy like him; I do not break things like him; rant, rant, rant.  He backed off, nodded, gave me a kiss and was on his way.  To add insult to injury my mother also kept texting me and phoning to ask if I would be alright.  What was this?  You would think I was a disaster waiting to happen.  Turns out, I am.  

Saturday morning, after a lovely long lie, I get up and decide that I will wash the dog beds.  The upstairs one was particularly stinky and when I picked it up, to my horror, I found out why.  My beloved little pooch had decided to stash some of his food up there under his bed and it had started growing, arrrgh, gross.  I get it downstairs and in the washing machine.  That was all fine and uneventful.  Then the fun began.  I decided to bath the dog.  I managed to get him into the bath and everything was going well until I pushed him further down the bath so that I could use the shower head on him.  He slipped and couldn't get his footing and was sliding around all over the place.  I was trying to hold him in one hand and the shower head in the other and water and dog shampoo was going everywhere!  I managed to rinse him off and he got out the bath himself and then the delightful drying began.  Fifteen minutes later the dog emerges from the bathroom slightly damp and smelling sweet and I emerge looking like a half drowned rat.  

I went downstairs and decide to wash the other dog bed.  This is a large bed with memory foam insert (gift from parents).  I gather the bed up and I push, heave and squeeze it into the washing machine.  I then stop and have a thought.  I don't really need to wash the inside, just the cover.  I can fabreeze the inside and that will save time drying it.  So I start to pull the bed out of the washing machine.  I pull and I pull and I heave and it is refusing to budge.  I grab a bit of it and give it a massive yank.  The bed stayed put but the washing machine lurched forward.  Thankfully it righted itself and I'm now getting slightly worried because I've got the bed stuck in the washing machine and its not budging.  I sit on the floor, place both feet on the washing machine, grab the cushion and heave with all my might.  On the fourth heave the cushion came flying out of the machine and I went flying backwards and hit my head on the cupboards, ouch.  At least I've freed the cushion, hoorah.  I proudly unzip the cover to retrieve the inside and was met with an explosion of foam.  Apparently the cushion inside is ripped.  I stood there, slightly stunned and confused as bits of foam went hurtling all over the kitchen.  I yanked the cover off and, still with bits of foam in it, shoved it into the washing machine.  I then went about the task of clearing up the foam which the dog thought was great and was spreading it throughout the house, nooooo.  

Whilst gathering up the foam I noticed that the tumble dryer was making a strange noise.  I went to investigate and became concerned that it was about to burst into flames, such was the strange noise it was making.  I noticed the Raving Rev's bag stuffed down the side of it and decide to pull it out in case its that making the noise.  As I pull the bag out, it hooks onto the sliding cupboard we have and pulled it straight out into my face.  I reeled back in shock and hit the back of my head on the cupboard again, owwwwww.  

I am now getting slightly distressed and all this has happened within an hour.  I decide to do some food and settle for the easy option of pasta in a sauce.  It's one of those packet pastas so I can't possible go wrong.  I set about boiling the milk and water.  I stand there watching the saucepan.....nothing.  Sigh.  The saying sprang to mind "a watched kettle never boils" so I grab the local paper and begin reading that.  I stop and check the milk, nothing.  Fine, carry on reading.  Stop and check again, nothing.  Reading, checking, nothing.  Reading, checking, aaarrrgh.  There is now a volcano of milk where there should be a saucepan.  I grab the pan and turn the knob to reduce the heat.  Suddenly I'm aware that I'm standing with the saucepan in one hand and the knob in the other.  That can't be good.  I put the saucepan down, manically shoved the knob at the space where it should be and thankfully, after some 'gentle' persuading, it reattached.  After 40 minutes, I eventually managed to get my pasta that was only supposed to take 6-7 minutes.  

After all this, I decide to dry the dog beds in the tumble dryer and tidy up the rest of the house.  After a bit I become aware that something is not right.  I don't know what it was but I ran to the kitchen to the tumble dryer where all appeared to be fine but I knew something was amiss.  I yanked open the door to discover that rogue foam had entered the tumble dryer, blocked up the filter and was starting to make the dryer overheat, aaargh.  Nearly had a fire, oh good grief.  Then, one of my poor, elderly rabbits took one of his fits.  I grabbed him out of the hutch, brought him round and was just putting him back when our adopted auntie popped in to see me.  I was stood there covered in bedding, hay and rabbit fluff and looking slightly harassed.  Straight away, she checked on the bunny, made sure he was ok and then laughed as I told her about my day.  

Suddenly, I realised why the Raving Rev and my mother were so concerned.  Memories began to flash before my eyes.  Like the time in our last house when I was left alone, the tap in the bathroom kept dripping and wouldn't stop.  I took a hammer to it and it never dripped again.  Didn't work again either until the Raving Rev replaced it.  Or the time I was assembling a cabinet by myself and I couldn't find a bradawl so I used whatever I could find.  Raving Rev came in and I proudly showed off the cabinet.  He was impressed until he spotted my DIY bradawl, apparently it was the thermometer thing for the microwave.  You would stab it in the food and it would tell you if it was done.  Well, by the time I had finished with it, that thermometer was done.  Then there was the time that the chimney caught fire.  I kept calm and went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the saucepans off the side (it was the weekend and I hadn't washed up from the night before tut tut), filled it with water and then went and threw it on the fire.  The chimney fire went out and the whole house turned black/brown.  Raving Rev came downstairs and stared at me whilst I, with a big grin, proudly announced that I had put the fire out.  "You threw it on?  Are you crazy?  It could have exploded into your face!"  Also the saucepan that I used had fat in it which I had also thrown onto the fire, ooops.  The other bit as well was that all the soot and ash had come flying out of the fire and into the house.  My dressing gown was lovely and white at the back and brown all up the front (as was my face).  The dog we had then who was white, as he had been laying down, he had one white side and one brown side.  The house rabbits were covered, the settee, everything.  Ten seconds to put the fire out, five hours to clean the house.  

I think I'm beginning to understand their concern, perhaps I'm not safe to be left alone.  What will I be like in a manse?  Can you imagine me trying to serve tea to visiting parishioners?  Or trying to do a dinner for guests?  Will we all survive?    

Be blessed.

Seeing God Work

I've been away working at a Christian summer youth camp for a week and what an amazing week it was!  I felt truly blessed and honoured to be there.  What happened?  Well, grab a cuppa and a biscuit, put your feet up and read on. 

I should probably explain what this camp was so that you understand.  Camp was not 'camping', there was not a tent in sight or, needless to say, I would not have been there.  After my last experience with a tent where the inflatable bed started to deflate during the night which made my husband and I roll together and get stuck in the middle of the darn thing with 2 inflated sides which would allow no escape; ducks who insisted on doing a night raid around our tent and thought it was great fun to try and pull the guy ropes out; camping on the side of a hill (hubby's great idea) so that we awoke in the morning down the bottom of the tent where we had slid down with the dog on top of our heads, I'm not a lover of camping.  This camp was a residential setting where adult leaders and approximately 43 teenagers stayed in dorms in a fantastic old building (nice comfy beds and warm showers, my kinda camping).  We had morning and evening meetings where we learnt about God, built friendships and throughout the day we had outdoor activities.  Ah the activities...more about them later.  

It's hard to know where to begin when telling this story.  Do I start at the very beginning of the journey where my husband directed me to the wrong ferry port at 6am and I then had to race in my car to the other ferry port at high speed, praying all the way, cursing all the cute fluffy bunnies that kept leaping out on us and trying to make us crash and listening to my husband sob and squeak "I want to live!  I want to live!  Please God, I want to live"?  

Maybe I should start during the leaders training weekend, a behind the scenes look where we invented ceilidh style extreme ping pong (or table tennis, no table necessary).  I never knew ping pong could be so viscous nor how much a ping pong ball hurts when it hits you in the face (thanks to the very tall dude for that who then brutally laughed, you know who you are!).  Or when we all played catapults by tying together elastic bands, attaching the elastic bands to our big toes and then 'pinged' bits of paper at one another.  Again, this is very painful when you've got a young, strong American lad who pings the paper at your face and who is then rude enough to avoid all the bits of paper you try to ping back at him grrrr.  

It was a serious training weekend but the fun bits are, well, fun.  Our serious bits were good and everything was going well until the leaders had to say which activities they would do.  As I said earlier, there were activities most of which were outdoor ones, I'm sure you can possibly see where this is going with me.  We began with canoeing and kayaking, faces turned to me.  Um, no, I can't swim.  Ok, next activity - caving.  Me "Are you serious?  Look how tall I am?  I'm sure it's against health and safety regulations to put someone my size into a tight, dark hole".  Ok, next....mountain biking.  When I managed to catch my breath from laughing they realised that the answer was probably no.  The last time I was on a bike I was 8 years old and as soon as I climbed on it I promptly fell off.  I'm also, only ever so slightly unfit.  Not biking then.  I wasn't offered the high ropes as I had never done it before and couldn't tie off the ropes....awww but I really wanted to do that one, ahem.  Sailing - can't swim.  Gorge walking - seriously?  Why would I want to go for a walk where I'll get soaked?  If I wanted that I'd go out in the rain.  Crafts - YES, I mean, yeah sure!  I can do crafts.  I am brilliant at stick men.  Crafts is good and no-one else seemed too keen to do them.  For the sake of the other leaders, I'll take the crafts hahaha.  I also volunteered to do the first aid with the teenagers.  This sadly did not happen due to the paramedic unfortunately breaking her ankle, I kid you not.  

So with the training weekend over and done with the leaders waited with baited breath for the teenagers to come (and while we waited we ate jam doughnuts - it was tough week haha).  The teens came and the week began and I truly don't know how to explain it.  Going into every detail would take too long and become boring.  Skimming over it makes it sound unimportant, so how do I tell you about it.  Perhaps in the way that my memory works.  Laughter, singing, eating together and laughing and joking, the meetings where we read the bible and learnt together, the small groups where we gathered to discuss what we had learnt during the meetings, drinking tea and sitting in the sun talking about favourite bands and music, wet teens running around when they came back from a wet activity, funny stories and the list goes on.  

My treasured memories are during the small groups, a twelve year old taught me something about my faith that, although I had heard it a hundred times before, had never really taken it in and understood it.  Their simple outlook and explanation really hit home with me and blew me away and the smile on their face when I told them that they had taught me something was amazing.  Sitting outside in the sun, drinking tea, discussing a band with a teen that we both love.  I loved this conversation because we went from discussing our love for the music to how in the lyrics you could hear that these people have everything that a lot of people long for (fame, money etc) but are desperately lonely and unhappy.  This led to discussing the Christian faith, topics we had covered earlier in the week and then back to the music.  It was a natural flowing conversation and it was great to connect with the young people and to hear their views and thoughts.  Watching the youngsters participate in the talent show - we had a rapper, a guitarist, a rocker (who did Paint It Black, totally rocked), a singer (Your song) which brought tears to my eyes and a dance act (cha cha slide).  These youngsters were fantastic!  I was so proud of each and every one of them for being brave enough to get up there and perform and their gifts were amazing.  They bought tears to my eyes and I'm not one that easily cries.  Finally, my most treasured memory, on the last morning, the youngsters were asked to remain standing if they had experienced God throughout the week or had decided to have a relationship with Him.  In all honesty, I expected most of them to sit down.  In truth, only 5 or 6 sat down.  Out of 43 children, about 37 teenagers remained standing for God.  To see God working in them, touching their lives, it was awesome and humbling.  I was astounded and yes, I cried.  The beauty, seeing God work, witnessing this was brilliant.  I struggle to try and describe it.  Amazing.  

So after this, we made sure that our youngsters knew about clubs, meetings, etc that they could come along to so that they can grow within the faith.  Then it was time to say goodbye.  There were tears, photos, hugs, waving and suddenly it was quiet.  The leaders packed away all the tech stuff, checked the dorms were clean and that was us away.  Of course, my story doesn't quite end there.  

In my small car I had 4 people and something like 8 bags/cases (I was giving lifts to the train station).  Hubby was squashed into the back along with a suitcase and tall dude who had his suitcase on his lap with our youngster in the front (who couldn't help but giggle and occasionally mention the leg room that they plenty of).  Well, I had to stop for ferry tickets (yes another ferry) and as I came out of the shop I saw hubby squeezing back into the car.  I thought that I would be helpful and closed the back door as I got in so that he wouldn't have to.  Instead of a thank you I was greeted with a howl and a moan that I had now hurt his side.  Tut, no gratitude.  On the ferry, tall dude, youngster and I are chatting whilst hubby is mumbling away to himself.  On the road hubby carries on moaning that it hurt when I shut the door.  After a while I told him to shut up and stop being such a drama queen.  I had apologised and I won't shut the door for him again.  Well, after a hospital trip on Sunday, turns out I'd busted his ribs when I shut the door, oops.  That's me eating humble pie then.  

God bless.          

Minister's Wife Training - Step One

I have had my first training session to be a minister's wife!  It went.....well.....it went.  I think more training and practice is needed.  Let me tell you all about it.  

Last week I set off on my trails to where I used to live as a youngster.  My friend, who I have known since I was 15 years old, was getting her wee one baptised/christened and as I hadn't yet had the chance to get back and meet her and the baby, this seemed to be the perfect opportunity!  I must say at this point that he is a fine young fellow and it is truly lovely to watch my friend's face light up with pure joy whenever she sees him and he smiles.  

So there we were, sitting in her kitchen, being all grown up and drinking tea and discussing how different our lives are from the plans we had made when we were fifteen.  I had planned to marry the lead singer from the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and live a rock 'n' roll lifestyle, riding around on motorbikes and just living the dream.  My friend's plans....well that's her story to tell, not mine.  She looked across at me and shook her head and said "I still cannot believe that you are a Christian youth worker and that you, YOU, are going to be a minister's wife".  I'm still not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, if there even is one in there.  She carried on "I mean, come on, let's face it, I'm more of a minister's wife than you are!  I like baking, I do sewing and crafts, I could do coffee mornings and those Guild meetings."  I nodded in agreement.  In theory, and taking the 'traditional' viewpoint of a minister's wife, my friend would indeed be perfect.  Suddenly she leapt up and I knew from experience that something frightening was about to happen.  "Come on, I can help you!  I'll help you to become a minister's wife".  Cold dread filled me and I looked at her completely terrified.  My first thought was "she's going to try and show me how to dress properly".  This was because my friend was stood before me in a nice pair of trainers, jeans, white top, small green cardigan and her make-up looking lovely.  She looked like a modern version of a minister's wife and she had done it all and stayed clean and tidy with a toddler in the house.  I was in sheer awe of her.  I, on the other hand, was sat there in my boots (think tomb raider style), jeans, little top and a fitted plaid shirt over the top (yes I admit it, I've joined the plaid brigade).  My friend, as if reading my mind, gave a small shake of her head.  We both know that the clothes will take longer.  In all the years she has known me, she has managed to persuade me to buy 5 dresses and 4 skirts and actually gotten me to wear them.  Now that I have left, I have no idea where they are and my legs haven't seen sunlight since 2002.  It's now a safety hazard for me to expose my legs as the sunlight bounces off them (white as they are) and blinds oncoming traffic.  The clothes will have to wait.

So what is the training that my friend offered me, I hear you ask with baited breath.  She taught me a skill and a hobby, she taught me the art of crochet.  My friend is fast becoming a crochet queen.  She has made cushion covers, blankets, bags, teddies and more!  Here is a photo of just some of the things that she has made.

Totally brilliant and just a wee bit daunting.  "Don't worry, it's easy and I'll talk you through it" said my friend, with a confident smile.  So we sat on, what I have now termed the 'magic' blanket and began to crochet.  I must say at this point that my friend is a natural teacher and encourager.  My first attempt, the loops were so tight it was impossible to continue the crochet but she smiled and said 'try again'.  Second time I ended up with a twisted mass of wool.  She took it, looked at it, twisted it, smiled and said "no, look, there is the chain that you need to go through.  Keep going, you're doing well for your first try".  One hour later and I've created a small row of crochet.  I've dropped stitches and it forms the letter C but I've managed to do it, phew.  My friend smiles proudly at me and I grin back.  Then, unable to help myself, I sarcastically 'give' her the C of crochet and say "It's a gift from me to you, so now you have to keep it hahahaha!"  At this point her smile wavers slightly but she takes it and places it in her 'special' box which looks suspiciously like her little one's toy box, hmmmm.  

Now, apparently, I'm ready for something more serious and adventurous in the crochet world.  We're going to make a granny square.  I gulp and shakily pick up the crochet hook.  I feel like I've just entered a crochet battlefield and I'm not sure if I'll survive to the end.  "Don't worry, I'm here with you" smiles my friend and we begin.  She talks me through the steps getting faster and faster - "through the hoop, wrap the yarn, pull it through, wrap the yarn, slip two, wrap the yarn, slip two" on and on.  I'm doing well and feel like I can do anything.  I'm casting chains, wrapping yarns, slipping stitches when suddenly, in the rush and excitement and panic I got lost.  The yarn wasn't wrapping and stitches were slipping when they should have been staying.  I could see my friend charging away from me on the crochet battlefield aaargh!  She stopped and looked back and I looked up at her, tears brimming in my eyes, "go on, I'm lost, keep going and save yourself" I cried.  She shook her head and against all the dangers to herself and her granny square, came running back for me.  She grabbed me and my crochet square "come on, you can do this, wrap the yarn, through the hoop, wrap the yarn, back through, wrap the yarn, slip two - THAT'S IT!  Come on, we're almost there".  A true friend and crochet soldier to the end and do you know, we made it out alive.  Here below, is my granny square.  

It's not perfect nor is it anywhere near as pretty as my friend's but I made it and I'm quite happy with it.  After the excitement of that day my friend gave me homework - go home and make another square.  Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!  

Two days later I'm at home and I pick up the wool and crochet hook. Ah, hmmmm, can't remember how to begin.  I find some instructions from a crochet book that another friend had bought for me (don't ask, I think it's a conspiracy and all my friends are ganging together to train me to be a 'traditional' minister's wife) and I begin.  I start off quite well - 

I'm feeling happy and confident.  It's not looking too bad.  So I carry on 'wrap the yarn, through the hoop, wrap the yarn, back through, wrap the yarn, slip two' and on and on.  Here is how my square is looking at the moment - 

Ah, I think I may have gone wrong somewhere.  I apparently didn't know when to stop putting corners in and my square ended up with 8 corners.  Ahem, well, um........I think I may have failed this stage of 'minister's wife training'.  Somehow, this isn't going to be easy as was first thought.  However, on the plus side, after realising that I can't even crochet a square on my own I got a fantastic surprise through the post.  

I won some mascara, yay!  So I'm off to get my black, grey/silver eye shadows on and dress up my lashes with some new fancy mascara.  I'll try the crochet tomorrow, or maybe next week, perhaps next year.......    

A Comedy of Errors!

Hey there,

I thought that today I would share a bit of my history with you in my 'new' house.  It might give you an idea how crazy my husband and I are (and some crazy people think we're suited to the ministry haha).  The story I'm going to tell you  takes place one night during January 2011.  So grab a cuppa, get comfy and join me in a night now fondly known as 'A Comedy of Errors'.

On this night, the word windy could not describe the weather.  The gales were over 70mph.  It was the kind of stormy night where I was thankful to be curled up infront of the coal fire, nice and dry and warm.....or so I thought.  In the late evening my hubby shouted and informed me that we had a slight problem.  I went through to our hallway and to find that it was flooded!  The wind was so strong that it had pushed the rain through the seals in the door.  It was chaotic with us both running around grabbing the mop and towels and trying desperately to stem the flow of water.  We finally managed to stop the rain coming in and we mopped up the hall and congratulated ourselves on a job well done.  After all the excitement I sat down with a much needed cup of tea and began to relax.  How very silly of me.

Unbeknown to me, hubby darling had gone out into the backgarden to get some more coal for the fire.  Now, for reasons best known to himself, he decided that he would peer around the side of the house to see what the sea was like in the bay.  He peered round the corner, directly into the wind which promptly took away his breath, his slipper and his glasses.  Yes, he had managed to have his glasses blown off his face.  He came hobbling into me (where I was nice and warm and dry) to inform me that he had lost his slipper but found it again but couldn't find his glasses and we had to go outside to find them.  Outside, in the dark, in the rain and 70mph winds?  Of course, in the dark with a hurricane blowing this is what you do.  I think that we must have looked like a couple from a really crazy comedy show.  It was one of those acts that you would not believe people would be stupid enough to do such a thing and yet, there we were. 

So we were out in the dark, where the wind was so loud that I had to shout to be heard, crawling around in a garden bed with a tiny torch looking for a pair of glasses.  I could not help but laugh at the idiocy of the situation.  I was laughing so hard that I nearly fell over, face first into a puddle.  Thankfully, the Lord heard my hysterical (laughter not the other kind) prayers and I found his glasses.   I shouted as loudly as I could to hubby that I'd found them and that I was going in.  I struggled to the backdoor but a strange noise made me turn around.  There was my hubby, stuck in the middle of the road, screaming for help.  How was he stuck?  The wind was so fierce that it was physically pushing back and he couldn't move against it.  There he was, flailing around in the middle of the road, looking like he was trying to walk forward in a wind tunnel.  Ever loving and helpful wife that I am, I crumpled onto the floor in hysterical laughter.  Upon realising that I would be of no help to him, he did the funniest thing I had ever seen.  He did a kind of stuntman leap forward, upon which the wind picked him up and flung him into the fence allowing him to work his way back into the garden.  He heroically picked me up off the floor and flung me through the back door into the kitchen.  Well, that was enough excitement for me.  I crawled through to the frontroom and sat down, still giggling.

Soon it was time for bed and I started to get my pyjamas on.  Suddenly, I heard a choking sound, coughing, felt a freezing cold blast of air and then the fire alarm started screaming.  FIRE!  Aaargh.  I ran out into the hallway only to collide with hubby, which sent me flying onto my backside.  I looked around, in a panic, trying to work out where the fire was.  I saw that the front door was wide open, the dog was thinking of doing a bunk and hubby was bravely brandishing a tea towel.  What was going on?  I looked toward my hubby only to see him in his dressing gown, leaping around like a Morris dancer on speed flinging the tea towel around.  What on earth was he doing?  In between jumps and flicks, he yelled at me that he was trying to shut the alarm up.  It was going off because when he had let the dog outside the wind had created a draught, causing the smoke from the fire to enter the rooms downstairs instead of going up the chimney.  He had opened all the doors and windows trying to let the smoke out which was working but it was also letting the rain in.  In that situation, I did the only thing I could, I laughed.  

I eventually regained composure and offered to help hubby.  I began the manic Morris dancing but unfortunately, I didn't know the dance very well and when I wafted the tea towel at the smoke alarm, the smoke alarm exploded and went hurtling down the stairs, just missing hubby's head.  Ah, that wasn't supposed to happen.  However, the aim was to shut the alarm up, it was quiet, therefore - job done.  The downstairs had turned into a swimming pool and everything smelt of smoke.  What next?  Nothing.  I couldn't take anymore excitement and went to bed, leaving hubby to clear up the swimming pool that he had created.  

So there you are, a glimpse into the stupid antics that are my life.  At some later point I'll share with you the story of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly standoff involving me and some scary poultry.  

Until then, take care and God bless. 

 
 

Greetings!

Hi there,

One of the beautiful beaches

So who am I?  As you can guess from the title of this blog, I am a youth worker - a Christian youth worker who lives in the back of beyond!  What do I mean by this?  In my new post (officially as a children and youth advisor) I moved away from towns and cities, 24 hour Tesco's, cinemas, shops and everything else that I took for granted and moved to (almost) the furthest edge of the country that you get to.  I used to overlook rolling hills, woods and towns, now I overlook the Atlantic Ocean which is very cool.  I live in a rural location now, where I work with approximately 15 churches (sometimes more, sometimes less) in creating sustainable children and youth ministries.  A challenging but brilliant job.  

As for the other part of the blog title, I'm not technically a minister's wife yet.  I am more, a minister's wife in training.  Confused?  So am I!  My husband has been accepted to begin his training to become a minister.  I have a few years to prepare myself.  Why does this confuse me and (slightly) worry me?  When you think of a minister's wife what do you think of?  I see the old fashioned, traditional wives in the tweed outfits, scone shoes (aka sensible), bicycle with a basket on the front, coffee mornings, guild meetings and on and on and on.......  This terrifies me and causes my friends great hilarity simply because you could not get anything more opposite of me.  I like my rock and heavy metal music.  I have New Rock boots.  I have been to over 20 rock concerts (and am off to see Alice Cooper later this year yay!).  I have a sub woofer in my car (you can always hear me coming) and a thousand and one other reasons why I am not cut out to be a minister's wife and yet, here I am.  

So join me in this journey from youth worker to minister's wife.  What you read will be the truth although sometimes it will seem far fetched and unbelievable but it will be true.  (An example, which one of my friends thought I was lying about until she came to stay with me - did you know that hare's will run along the road and will not dive into the side until they come to an opening or a gate?  Or that geese and guinea fowl will gang up on you and do sneak attacks on your car?  Crazy but true).  Join me on a surreal adventure - my life.