Heathcote Safari

Update: 40 days to 40

2012-02-01T22:56:00.005+02:00

You see, when we're nearing forbidding milestones - as I am - we start doing silly things: like taking photos of ourselves to assure ourselves that we are still presentable ;-)

Presentable or not, I am sticking with my 40 days to 40 plan. Here's how it's going:

Every day I am taking care of my health: I've been running almost every day and the ones that simply refused to have a run squeezed into them have graciously made space for some other form of exercise. And I'm juicing (*love* my juicer: definitely one of my desert island choices!) every morning. My body is imperfect but I feel good anyway ;-)

Coming up, I have a couple of races, a fun piece of home gym equipment and some running dates with my hubby ...

Every day I am taking care of my heart: I am making space to connect with what is of true value, every day. (I have to say, the wonderful feeling of centredness doesn't always last from daybreak to dusk, but it's all about intention!) I am reading the Psalms aloud and asking for the ability to see Jesus as he really is, every day, in all sorts of ways.

Coming up, I have a guided spiritual retreat, a great book I'm journalling my way through and I'm exploring connections with other seekers...

I am nurturing my relationships and have had some lovely times with special friends: long Skype chats with faraway and sorely missed friends, meals and drinks with nearby friends and a lovely weekend with my sister. I have written letters (real ones, in envelopes), bought flowers, sent silly photos and simply made time for the precious people in my life. This feels important.

Coming up, I have some fun times planned with friends ... outings, overnights and opportunities to hook up with those I care about. So exciting ...

I am nurturing my beauty hungry soul: I've prepped for a couple of collages I'm creating for the girls and can't wait to go hunting for the bits and pieces I need to complete them. I thoroughly enjoyed rooting around in funky vintage shops with my sis. And sometimes simply lying with my eyes closed and classical music on full volume is enough!

Coming up: It is my duty to help Tim's sister celebrate her own 40th milestone ... it means a weekend in London, Phantom of the Opera and trawling Covent Garden, but someone's got to do it ...!

I have been setting up good times with the girls: we have started a Friday night ritual of going swimming together straight after school and it's been a wonderful way to embrace that weekend feeling! I've had 'dates' with both of them individually (yes, that really was my 3 year old standing in the middle of Redbourn common declaring, 'I really, REALLY want to go to the pub now, Mummy!') and we've had great jaunts all together. And they are the happy recipients of many little messages of maternal love and affection. One has to try, eh?!

Coming up: Groupon had a great deal for an overnight stay at a local B&B so Kez and I will be enjoying a sleepover special (it comes with breakfast champagne, so I guess I'll have both glasses!). Fun times ...

All in all, not too shabby for Day 18.

And, of course, there are bonus points for being told on at least 3 occasions that I look younger than I am. (You know who you are; I'll pay you later!)

These 2 things changed my life

2012-01-31T22:33:00.004+02:00

No, I'm not talking about anything existential or metaphysical (thank the Lord, they all say). Let's stick with simple things that make life easier, for once, shall we?!

1. This little light of mine
When the days started getting shorter, I kitted myself out with some high visibility gear and continued running with the club at 19.30. Before long, I decided that it made no sense to run in the *freezing* cold at a time when it had already been dark for 3 hours, when I could feasibly fit in a run some time earlier.
My head torch means that I'm not stressing about it getting dark ("Oh crap, I must leave work now so that I can run while it's still light") and I'm not bothered about running alone. It means that I can run whenever it works for me, even when it does get dark shortly after 4pm; and it means that I don't have to stick to well-lit areas because I have my own little front and rear beams ;-)

2. If it's worth doing it's worth doing *fast*
When we first moved here, I joined the fitness group at 7am at the YWAM centre. It was perfect: three times a week, for no fee, I could enjoy the motivation and fun of being with a group; being a morning person it set me up for the day. When the kids were on school holiday, I cycled to the YWAM centre; then they were at school so I took the car to make things quicker. Then Tim started going away a lot and that scuppered my perfectly laid plans.
Enter the Interval Timer App! Having this little gizmo on my phone means that I can do hard and fast interval training at home, fitting in workouts around the girls' activities. It's another aid to doing the things I want to do ('need' to do!) around all the other commitments. And when that little timer starts beeping, that's motivation enough for me!

Sometimes life feels like a hamster wheel ... and we all need to find our little ways of coping! What are yours?

Weekend with Hanna

2012-01-29T19:29:00.003+02:00

God bless little sisters! When Hanna realised that I was heading into another weekend without Tim around - and that he would be in Cape Town to boot - she organised her own family so she could head down here alone and spend a couple of days with us. Happily, this coincided with Jan offering to amuse my girls for the day yesterday, so Hanna and I headed into London for some R&R in the form of market shopping, coffee drinking and people watching.

It was the perfect sort of therapy. Knowing that Tim was spending the weekend with very special friends was enough to induce some emotional turbulence ... browsing shops and stalls in Camden and Portobello was exactly the distraction I needed. And I came away very happy with a couple of purchases; just what a girl needs!

Hanna is 11 years my junior, so she was younger than Keziah is now when I left home for my gap year and university. We haven't hung out all that much since - Tim and I moving to another continent sort of scuppered any intentions for closeness - so this was a real treat. We get along brilliantly and have lots in common, so a weekend with Hanna is very chilled. Keziah adores her Auntie Han, as does Manu, so her company was much appreciated by all concerned!

Having said that, she's now on the train back to Bradford and I feel like I could fall asleep within minutes. All that shopping, huh?!

#Catch-up: the smaller middling one

2012-01-17T21:40:00.003+02:00

Some highlights from Keziah's last month:

She spent a weekend with Kev and Jan and absolutely loved it. I cannot begin to express how important it has been for her to find a 'home' with people who love on her like family, who affirm her and give her freedom to be herself. It amazes me that she had special friends like this in our neighbours in South Africa, and now she has the Roys, who will hopefully be moving to a house around the corner from us in Redbourn. Such a God-send.

Kez had a whale of a time with both Chilvers and Heathcote cousins over the Christmas holiday (having been very glad to see the end of the long first term at school). She has very special relationships with some of the little cousins and also with those her own age. It's great she can spend more time with them and Christmas was special for her as it was our first Christmas in the UK since she was a tiny tot.

Going back to school this term has been somehow more manageable - bar the odd bit of girlie bitchiness that seems to be part of the territory - so she seems to be getting into the swing of things. She still finds the differences from school in South Africa a bit hard to swallow at times, especially the larger classes (so more boring lessons), the kids' behaviour (less respectful, so teachers have to be less personable) and more sex talk. (Today I was struck speechless when she retold a story of a girl saying she loved to suck lollies and a boy laughingly explaining to Kez the double entendre. Age 10, people: seriously?!)

Onto more pleasant topics ...

Music and dance continue to tick all the boxes for Kez. She reads voraciously, knits like a pro and comes to life with good friends around. It's going to be hard for her to watch her dad jet off to South Africa next week, but she really is coping well with the reality that life is not always the way you want it to be ... and she's even willing to admit that she's having fun in spite of herself ;-)

The countdown begins

2012-01-16T20:54:00.003+02:00

Yesterday marked the beginning of my 40 day countdown to my 40th birthday. Yes, it's looming rather large!

I'm trying to figure out whether I feel that 40 is significant because right now the whole of my life seems to be in transition, from one season to another. Or perhaps, my feelings about this time of transition are heightened because I'm about to turn 40.

No matter.

As part of my 'passage' into my forties, I have decided to mark each day of the next 40. Every day I will do something that reflects what's important to me as I pass this milestone. I'll be taking time to reflect, to find sanctuary in my busy life, to express gratitude, to enjoy nature, to run, to appreciate friends, to visit places I love, to be creative. All simple stuff, nothing very out-of-the-ordinary, even. Just living intentionally for 40 days as a signal of my desire to live that way for the next 40 years!

#Day 1 of 40 gave me the opportunity to have a lovely run in beautiful Devon, where I'd decided to spend the weekend on the spur of the moment. I love the hills there, the green, the nearness of ocean and moors, the promise of space. I revelled in the ease of leaving the girls chattering happily with their grandparents, the knowledge that as I ran I was passing near to the homes of well-loved friends. I was 'in the moment', which is rare enough to be remarkable!

Later in the day the girls and I enjoyed time with my lovely in-laws. It's not often that I have time with them without Tim around; I so enjoy the ease of our relationship, all the precious trips we've shared together, all the ways they've loved and supported us. We walked in the woods, laughed with the girls, swung on rope swings strung in the trees (Manu flying off and landing face first in a pile of leaves! Thank God for the soft landing) and sipped hot chocolate from a flask. It was just good, and I'm grateful for being near enough to make these moments together possible.

"I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder."
G.K. Chesterton

#Catch-up: next, the biggest!

2012-01-15T22:55:00.005+02:00

Time to talk about Tim who, as we speak, is having a whale of a time hiking in the Himalayas. Today, just as the girls, my in-laws and I were on our way to the local woodland for a gentle stroll, he called me from the snow-clad top of a 3,200 metre climb. I'm pretty sure that counts as mere foothills in Himalayan terms, but he was absolutely exhilarated - obviously more so because of the sheer satisfaction of getting through to me on the phone, so that he could rub in the fact that he was gazing at a clear panorama of snowy mountains that probably included Everest itself.

So, um, yes ... Tim is doing great. He hasn't been doing über-wonderful in the last few weeks though, I wouldn't say. This makes it all the more fantastic that he gets to hang out with an old buddy and talk deeply while pretending to just be hiking. As you do. Oh, and also, it's also very cool that he got to go to the Himalayas in particular, because he gave up a chance to go there back in 1998 when we were about to join YWAM; he felt he should be doing fundraising so that we could live as volunteers, not gallivanting around the world. Quite right too, but nice to see that good things come to those who wait!

After our debriefing time in Scotland, Tim decided to take most of December off to consider the direction he's moving in within YWAM. He's been frustrated, discouraged and a bit confused about where best to invest his considerable talents. Not an easy place to be within an organisation that rewards those who put themselves forward but is very slow to discuss options and opportunities for what, in other circles, is known as career development.

That being said, Tim enjoyed our anniversary weekend away back in December (that's him in the photo, enjoying the pub we found) and has been sort of bimbling his way through his mid-life crisis with very few meltdown moments. Darn it, if I can't even get him to throw a bit of drama around at a time like this, I think I'm doomed to carry the burden for staging the dramatic moments in our lives. Just to keep things interesting, you know?

Tim has a busy quarter now, with this trip to Nepal followed by one to South Africa, and another to Germany. The one is for a meeting relating to serving missionaries in Africa, and the other is a teaching trip. Whatever he does end up deciding about his further work, Africa and teaching are sure to feature strongly.

As I think about his travels - he's away for 20 of the next 40 days leading up to my fortieth birthday - it suddenly occurs to me ... do you think, with my 'Major Milestone' coming up, he could have chosen to be away in order to strategically avoid my mid-life meltdowns? Crap, that could be it. Cunning toad!

#Catch-up: starting with the smallest

2012-01-12T16:55:00.004+02:00

Yesterday, in response to the news that I had finally figured out how to get back into this writing space, one friend asked for news about how we're all doing. Man, how on earth do I catch up on more than a month's worth of family activities? I can hardly remember back to the beginning of last week, let alone last month!

So, breath a sigh of relief, there will be no attempt to recapture the wonderful, busy, slightly crazy Christmas that was. It is enough for you to know that it was our first Christmas with all our UK family since 2002 ... so you can perhaps imagine all that we tried to cram into it! In retrospect, less would probably be more. But on this occasion we went with the more: more people, more places, more driving, more big meals. The only thing we didn't have more of was snow ... perhaps next year.

Instead, I'll tell you how our little family is doing. Beginning with Emmanuelle, since she has such a Christmasy name ;-)

After a weekend staying with good friends of ours (while Tim and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary in a quieter place, at a slower pace) Manu was re-named 'Cackle Head' because she laughs ... a lot! She loves to get a good laugh and can usually be relied on to get the party started, so to speak.

Manu loves her Peppa Pig wellies ... not that this stops her from getting covered in mud, since she regularly falls over on the wettest, muddiest days. Having washed her coat almost daily for a month, I think I will take a leaf out of my sister's book and buy her a wipe-clean jacket in camouflage colours! Manu *loved* our time staying with my sister and her kids ... especially the muddy walks in the woods!

When not outdoors getting filthy, Manu adores puzzles and is very competent, even when completing them upside down ;-) Over New Year we stayed with the 'Cackle Head' friends at a wonderful farmhouse in Sussex, where everyone got stuck into a super-complicated 1,500 piece jigsaw. I'm pretty sure Manu placed more pieces than I did!

Manu, like many second children perhaps, is keen to do everything earlier than the norm. She is obsessed with having a watch and insists she is able to tell the time. It does not seem to bother her that everything happens at 'ten to eleven'. She is mortified to think that I might go jogging with Keziah, but not her. She is adamant that she needs pocket money as much as her 10 year old sister does, that she can stay up til midnight on New Year's Eve, and that she can beat her father at Scrabble.

But - miracles do happen - she is still happy to nap for 2 hours every afternoon. There is a God, my friends ;-)

Been doing other things?!

2012-01-11T15:34:00.002+02:00

Well, uh, yes ... and no!

The real reason I haven't been around here for a while is because I got locked out of my account. True story. Couldn't sign in, no matter what I tried. Couldn't get any help from Gmail. Screaming and banging things didn't seem to help either.

Then yesterday I decided to contact Gmail help one last time before finding another spot to post my pontifications. And this morning - as if by magic - I can sign in again. How weird is that?

I mean, did the help guy go on extended leave, or something? Had he been playing Hide & Seek with the Gmail gremlin and he finally found him? Truly, these web idiosyncrasies are a mystery to me.

But what really matters - as I'm sure you'll all agree - is that I'm back!! (Cue canned applause.)

Back2Blighty: Out for tea

2011-11-29T22:33:00.005+02:00

You don't expect things to be the same when you move countries. Of course not. But sometimes it's surprising what's the same and what's different. It's not always what you'd expect, if you know what I mean.

Take expenses, for example.

In England it can be way cheaper to buy groceries - all those '3 for the price of 2' offers can really bring down the cost of buying food. On the other hand, it's considerably more expensive to go out to eat or have coffee, something that in South Africa was very affordable for us. Cheaper to buy the food, but you'd better cook it yourself.

In England it is far less expensive than in South Africa to buy a car. There are loads of great used cars on the market and it's not difficult to get a lot of car for your quid. But keeping it on the road? Now there's a different story ... fuel, insurance, speeding fines (not that I'm expecting any of those, obviously) are all considerably more costly. Cheaper to buy the car, but you'd better run it on vegetable oil, or something.

In England there are loads of things to do. There are far more entertainment options than in South Africa - shows to see, events to attend, places to go. There's so much choice, it would be a bit bewildering, were it not for the fact that some are free and others are extortionately priced. It's not difficult to find museums and art galleries offering free entry. On the other hand, a humdrum local amateur dramatic society show is likely to be way over-priced. I'm still adjusting my expectations on the entertainment front.

In England I'm noticing way more subtle (and not so subtle) pressure to be beautiful. Glossy hair, perfect teeth, manicured nails and latest fashions ... to look at the media you'd never guess almost one in four of British women is obese. But that's beside the point: being beautiful - by which I mean getting a haircut, having your teeth fixed, getting your nails done - is tonnes more expensive than in South Africa. Over there (yes, I know I'm talking about just one segment of the population here) there's less pressure, but being groomed is just a normal part of life.

In England health care is free. If you don't mind waiting, that is. If you don't want to wait 3 months to see a physiotherapist, for example, then you're looking at private care costs that are 3-4 times those in South Africa. It's cheaper to see an NHS medic in England, but you'd better not be in a hurry to get well.

The broad impact on us of moving back to England seems to be this: life has become smaller. We can eat well. so long as we stay home. We can admire our decent car sitting in the driveway. We can browse entertainment choices on our high-speed Internet. We have an array of DIY home-beauty products.

And all this is maybe for the best, since our bad back is keeping us at home anyway!

Double Digits

2011-11-28T21:16:00.002+02:00

This was a big *partay* weekend for our eldest: a friend from Exeter came to stay, she hosted her 10th birthday bash at the Oval Cafe, more friends came to sleep over, then another friend had her birthday party the following day: phew! By this morning we were all feeling the after-effects (and especially the Queen of Meltdowns!). But I think, once she returns to normality, Kez will agree that it really was a great birthday weekend.

And that's it for birthday parties until she's 18. Or 21. Or maybe even 40.

Ten years on

2011-11-24T15:18:00.004+02:00

Ten years ago I'd just had a baby. Me! Who'd been married for 8 years and was quite happy not to 'produce', as they say (what are we, baby-making machines?). Who'd openly declared that I wasn't interested in children, that yes, I did feel 'complete' and that I had too many other *important* things to do with my life.

Ha! Then came that moment when Tim laid Keziah on my chest, and I fell in love. I didn't think I would, but I did.

Suddenly we're here, a decade later and I struggle to summarise these early years of our story together. She has taught me to expect *amazing* things in the smallest moments. I've learned that adventure is to be found everywhere - in climbing mountains and visiting ancient cities, but also in relationships and simple things, fleeting moments that are easily overlooked.

Because of her I've learned that there are no limits on beauty, and talent, and creativity - when one person is blessed with these, it doesn't mean there's less to go around; in fact, enjoying beauty together multiplies it somehow.

I've learned that tiredness is passing, not catastrophic, and that life is a journey of ebbs and flows. I've learned that I can do things that I thought I couldn't, and even take joy in doing them. I've come to realise that most things matter less than I thought they did, and that the things that really do matter are hard to get wrong unless you work at it.

I see now that my job is not to be perfect (thank God) but to create a place where our imperfections are less important - and less obvious - than our messy, wonderfulness. I'm way more honest about my shortcomings these days; I've discovered that dancing together is more important than cleaning the house.

I'm not who I was 10 years ago and life is not the way I thought it would be. There's more love, more chaos, more life. Thanks, Keziah, for sharing your messy wonderfulness with me - you enrich my life more than you can know!

How have your relationships changed you? Is being a mum anything like the way you thought it would be?

Anchored

2011-11-20T21:59:00.003+02:00

I don't really know how to summarise our time in Scotland.

We were a group of about 18 people who had been working in various parts of the world - some of them pretty difficult places - with Youth With A Mission. We were all in need of recharging, decluttering and re-envisioning; the program was designed to allow plenty of time to 'be' as well as time to process, talk things through, evaluate, and realign ourselves where necessary.

It wasn't what I expected. I had been a bit nervous that it would be overly 'touchy, feely' but in fact everyone was very down-to-earth, whilst also being spiritually switched-on. A number of us were in what might be termed 'transition', Tim and I among them. My main expectation was that we would somehow miraculously get clarity about our next steps ... well, that didn't really happen. Although on the very last evening we had a conversation that very much confirmed that we are right in what we are slowly pursuing.

But, for me at least, the fortnight was more about how I'm doing than what I'm doing. Since leaving South Africa I had been feeling like a little boat cast adrift on a vast ocean, all alone in a big, big sea. I guess now I would say that I still feel like a little boat setting out on a grand adventure, but that I am more aware of the support team around me and I feel much less alone. There's a wealth of stuff I could say about that, but I think in this context that will suffice. Feeling connected, feeling 'seen' has changed how I feel about being out on the ocean at all ... I guess you might say that I got back my sense of the adventure of it all, my sense that the best might still be to come ;-)

We had been longing for something like this and it just sort of landed in our laps. The combination of being outside in beautiful places and receiving input (and attention!) was just right. Do you ever get to 'retreat'? What would your best refuelling, decluttering opportunity look like? Go on, dream a little ... you never know ;-)

Island Hopping

2011-11-14T12:42:00.003+02:00

What a treat of a weekend! On Saturday we went to the isle of Arran, where we took a bus around the island and soaked up the wild beauty. Despite everything I know to be true about Scottish weather, we had clear skies and sunshine (albeit with lots of chilly wind!).

Yesterday Tim and I took off alone - the girls stayed with friends - for Cumbrae, a smaller island closer to the mainland. We took our bikes and cycled the coastal route, about 17km around. We happened upon a Remembrance Sunday service in the town of Mill Port, complete with bagpipes, marching band, scripture reading and the recital of the names of those lost in the two world wars. Very moving.

I can't begin to tell you how therapeutic it is for us to be near to ocean and rugged hills, and yes, even to be windswept! What is your 'therapy' of choice? Hope this week brings you some of the good stuff ;-)

A wee taste of Scotland

2011-11-09T23:02:00.004+02:00

Scotland is one of those places to which people love to claim some ancestral allegiance. I have a friend in South Africa who will pull out her clan tartan as evidence of her celtic roots, though I'm pretty sure the closest she's actually been to Scotland is a southern hemisphere Whiskey-tasting festival.

I make no such claims (though Tim might). I have once tasted haggis - I nearly heaved - and I have some great memories of visits to Scotland, one of which nearly had Tim and I, still inside our tent, in the loch instead of camped beside it. That there's a lot of damp weather in Scotland goes without saying.

Anyway, here we are. We are staying in a grand old dame of a house, overlooking the Ayreshire coast. The isle of Arran is just across the way and the sound of seagulls constantly tricks me into singing the theme tune for Ballamory. ("Mum, PLEASE shut up!") The local people of West Kilbride are friendly enough, and I've been practising my pronunciation of G'marnin' so that I can blend in ;-)

In this old house, that was once a nursing home (who knows what it was before that), Youth With A Mission has a training centre. Where once there were walking frames and queues for the commodes, there are now piles of baseball shoes and people waiting for a computer terminal. Fortunately, any lingering smell of cabbage has long since been banished.

We are here for a Homecoming Gathering, a two week retreat for missionaries returning from the field, or between 'postings'. The others attending with us have recently been working in south-east and central Asia, north and west Africa, and the Middle East. Tough, courageous people who just need a break and some time to process what happened out there, and where to from here.

Tim and I see this as a great opportunity to get a little more clarity on what we should do next - and perhaps a little more hope and faith to throw ourselves wholeheartedly into whatever that next thing turns out to be. S'funny ... the older I get, the more brazen my honesty about how I'm doing, my doubts, the formulas that just don't hold water anymore. But so far, it's been a good time and no one seems too phased by my frankness. Even the really lovely, sweet Christian-types are putting up with me pretty well ;-)

Oh, and the other thing we had hoped for this time was that it would be a good time for Keziah (Emmanuelle too, of course, but at her age a good time means any activity that postpones going to bed). We want Kez to feel an invested part of the grand adventure of our lives in missions, and not that she is simply getting dragged around by her unconventional parents. So it's great to see her hanging out with new friends. It could well be therapeutic that, in the bigger picture of *tough things your parents make you do* she hasn't yet had to attend school in a foreign language, as they have. Perspective is good, huh?!

Right-o, time for a wee dram after checking on the bairns ...

Dads are for Life

2011-11-01T23:45:00.006+02:00

She's crying her little heart out, big fat tears rolling down her plump, brown-velvet cheeks and a godawful noise coming from her throat: "I - sniff - want - wail - my - hiccup - daddy!"

Tim is in Germany this week. He's teaching a class of 98 fledgling missionaries more about what that lifestyle choice might mean over the long-haul. He's busy from first thing in the morning to last thing at night, and it's all fabulous, Kingdom-building stuff.

Which is of no comfort whatsoever to our daughter, who - if anyone is listening - wants her daddy.

And me? Nose-wiping, hand-holding, heart-soothing me? My heart sings.

My daughter has a daddy. A daddy who loves her, who is committed to her, who thrills at the sight of her, who laughs with her, prays over her and cheers for her through every milestone.

My daughter has a daddy. A daddy she adores, longs for, looks up to and - today anyway - cries for.

When we were in the process of applying to adopt in South Africa, our social worker told us that for many of the mothers choosing to have their child adopted, the desire for them to have a father was a primary motivation. For most of these mothers the baby's father was not, for a multitude of reasons, on the scene. Indeed, some sources say that 9 million kids in South Africa grow up without a dad, and as much as 30% of African children are raised without a father being present.

This week is National Adoption Week in the UK, an event designed to raise the profile of adoption as a realistic, reasonable (and, I might add, redemptive) way of growing a family. Who wouldn't agree with Mr Cameron that, “It is shocking that of the 3,600 children under the age of one in care, only 60 were adopted last year - this is clearly not good enough"?

Coming from South Africa, where the number of adoptions - including inter-racial adoptions - has been growing, I can only see this trend as a good thing. Speaking as an adoptive mum, I wonder who wouldn't want to be part of something as rewarding, relevant and socially robust as this.

The Big Picture, when it comes down to it, is really all about lots and lots of little pictures. It's about a little girl who knows she's loved because she has a daddy.

And that's enough to make anyone cry.

End of the Story?

2011-10-31T23:38:00.002+02:00

As a kid, I remember getting my hands on the biographies and autobiographies of great stalwarts of faith, lives held up as examples of tenacity, perseverance and fruitfulness. I would turn the well-thumbed pages, reading of adventures in far-flung places, and hope for something I would never verbalise, for fear of sounding presumptuous: that I too could somehow live a life as meaningful as these; that my life would count for something beyond the years I have to live.

As I think back to those stories and evaluate them in the light of what I know now, I wonder what the authors left out. I mean, it just isn't an accurate representation of life - of any life I know, at any rate - when it's all about successes, overcomings and 'mountain-top experiences'. What happened to the discouragements, the misunderstandings, the times they felt like giving up?

See, the thing is, we no longer wait until we know the end of the story to tell it. No, we are telling our stories as they unfold, chapter by chapter, paragraph by paragraph. The thread of our stories - such as they are - are tweeted, blogged and Facebooked as we go along.

It's all very well to tell a story from the perspective of a good ending, but what about when you honestly don't know what the ending will be; how does each chapter sound then? I'm one of those people who often scans the last few pages of a book before I can settle down to read from the beginning; I've never been very good with suspense.

I read the story of Noah from the perspective of a boat built and death-by-drowning avoided. I forget how stupid he must have felt, labouring away for years when in all likelihood no one even knew what a downpour was.

I read the story of David knowing that in the end he does, in fact, become king. I skip over the gut-wrenching discouragement of camping out in caves while someone else - someone unjust and egotistical - is on the throne.

I read of Job's 'Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him' and forget that when he uttered those words, he really thought he might, after suffering bereavement, misfortune and disease, be about to lose his life.

And then I come to my story. I want to rush through the pages to know what the ending will bring. I stumble over chapters entitled, Discouragement Comes, or At a Crossroads, or Hanging in There, because I really don't know what comes next. Will perseverance prove worthwhile? Will the choices I make today bear good fruit? Will the price we pay today for those things we consider important turn out to be a price worth paying?

We don't know what the ending will be, and it's killing me! This tale we're part of sure is a page-turner.

#La Suisse: Thursday

2011-10-29T17:46:00.002+02:00

On our last day we had another walk and chilled around the apartment. Emmanuelle has somehow decided that Scrabble is her new favourite game, which is interesting ... especially when she's not even sure which way up the letters go, let alone how to spell. Anyway, we humour her ;-) It was great just to have time to play games, watch movies, sleep late, snuggle on the sofa and all the things that get missed in the normal busyness of life. We're all charged up and ready for the next half term ... I think ;-)

#La Suisse: Wednesday

2011-10-29T17:40:00.004+02:00

I know, what happened to Tuesday? I have no photos of Tuesday, which was the day we spent hours at the thermal baths. It was the most perfect day to go because it was cold and cloudy, and snowing over the mountains. Sitting in the outdoor pools, the steam from the hot water rising all around you, your body warm but the weather cold, is the most awesome experience. I visited the pools on a snowy day when I was on my gap year in Switzerland (ooh, a long time ago) and it was really fantastic to take the family there.

The following day we drove to Lac Léman because I had a yearning to sit by the lake drinking coffee in Montreux! We picnicked and bought newspapers, sitting in the fabulous sunshine and pinching ourselves ;-)

#La Suisse: Monday - snow!

2011-10-29T17:37:00.003+02:00

For the Africans and the pseudo-Africans amongst us, this was the best treat ever: real snow! The first and last time Keziah had been in snow was back in 2005 in Colorado. Emmanuelle had no idea what snow was. So this beautiful circular hike, with lots of stops for photos, hot drinks and snacks, was a favourite for all of us!

#La Suisse: Monday

2011-10-29T17:33:00.002+02:00

We couldn't miss the opportunity to go up in the cable car. Emmanuelle wasn't too sure about the whole idea, but Keziah was beside herself with glee! (Truth be told, so was her dad!) Great views, great vibe. *Love*

#La Suisse: Sunday

2011-10-29T17:29:00.002+02:00

We did lots of great family hikes, taking a flask of hot chocolate and other goodies and finding lovely beauty spots for little picnics. This helped Manu's wee legs (or rather her wee attitude) to make it all the way home ;-)

#La Suisse: Saturday - running

2011-10-29T17:23:00.003+02:00

It probably goes without saying, but the potential for great running routes in this area was infinite. Of course, hills were to be expected ... although on this first route I played safe and stuck to a relatively flat contour path. On other days Tim and I took it in turn to discover new routes. One of his took him up a crazy gradient (not running) and then down again (falling over multiple times as he hared down the track!). Suffice to say, we ran with grins fixed to our faces ;-)

#La Suisse: Saturday - Keziah's Hike

2011-10-29T17:21:00.003+02:00

One of the cutest things about the whole trip was how excited Keziah was to see snow again (it had been a while!). She was determined to get to the snow-line from our apartment, so Tim embarked on what turned out to be a 2.5 hour hike with her and they both came back high on fresh air and fabulous views!

#La Suisse: Saturday

2011-10-29T17:12:00.002+02:00

On Saturday we got ourselves oriented to the village and environs. There happened to be a raclette-tasting festival on in Ovronnaz, so we mooched around, smelling the melting cheese!

#La Suisse: Friday

2011-10-29T17:07:00.003+02:00

You know, it's not so far to Switzerland from England: it's like driving from Cape Town to Bloemfontein, with a few more national borders! The girls did great on our first driving day ... the novelty of the Channel Tunnel and the discovery that it had recently snowed in Switzerland was enough to keep them very cheery! Arriving at the *beautiful* apartment - admittedly after way too many hairpin bends - made me very cheery too :-)

Grateful

2011-10-20T22:58:00.005+02:00

One of the hardest things for me to be faced with, over the past couple of years of our journey, has been how transactional is my view of blessing. Without stopping to think about it, I somehow adopted the idea that If I do *this*, God will do *this*. I don't think I would ever have formulated it in those words, but circumstances - great revealer of character that they are - showed this to be true.

Do you ever think like this? If I live a good life, show care and compassion for others, give generously and am generally not a mean bitch to the people around me, then I will be comfortable, healthy and life will be full of good things.

A + B = C - Right?

Wrong!

The harsh reality is that good people (and their kids) get sick, generous people go bankrupt and compassionate people's dogs get run over.

What I'm trying to say is, no one said life was going to be easy. And no one - nope, not even little old missionary me - is immune to the tough stuff. The pawpaw, as they say in South Africa, just goes on hitting the fan when you least expect it.

That said, if there's no formula for making sure we get the "too blessed to be stressed" life we think we deserve, the reverse is true: Good stuff just happens - when you least expect it, when you don't deserve it and even (or especially) when you're pretty sure other people deserve it a whole lot more than you do.

Case in point: I reckon I've broken all the rules they make for missionaries over the past year or so. I've shouted at God, sworn at my husband, declared that I'm leaving missions (and probably him too) about a dozen times. I've argued with my co-workers (not my fault, obviously), upset my family and looked for paying jobs in any country other than the one I'm probably supposed to be in.

If I was my parent, the last thing I'd be doing right now is dreaming up a special treat for good behaviour.

But here we are, all packed to go to Switzerland. Where I've wanted to go with Tim since forever (we've been separately). And not just anywhere in Switzerland either, but - through a weird series of double-bookings and friends-assisting - to Ovronnaz, a beautiful mountain resort with thermal baths and *amazing* views where ordinarily we probably couldn't afford to pitch a tent.

So that's it then. There's no formula, life is not black and white. And in the greyness there are shadows, but there are also shafts of light and inexplicable beauty. And something we don't deserve: a special quality of goodness that leaves us humbled, and very grateful.

Catch the love

2011-10-18T12:26:00.004+02:00

Yesterday I was sitting with a group from the Youth With A Mission centre here in Harpenden, as part of the weekly prayer time. A New Zealand girl was leading us through some topics to do with London and I was sitting with some people from different parts of the world: Brazil, Rwanda and others.

Within minutes I felt my hackles rising ... people were praying about the needs of London and the nation, speaking out their concerns for the people of the UK and I was thinking, "What do *you* know?" I realised that I was feeling personally affronted that people from other places thought they might have some insights into what would make Britain a better place to live!

Do you ever feel like this about your family or friends? You know, when you feel okay about criticising that annoying thing your brother does, but woe betide anyone else weighing in on the criticism; you'll come right back with a strong defence!

Then I got to thinking about all the times Tim and I have talked about and prayed about Africa with African friends: shoot, what did they think of the way we perceived their people and the places they call home?

Since Tim and I were in our teens (oh yeah, *so* long ago now) we have been focused on Africa. We have prayed for Africa, visited Africa, introduced others to Africa, adopted Africa as our home and loved the people and places of Africa.

Living as part of a missional community means that we are regularly part of corporate prayer times. Often, back in South Africa, we would lead times of prayer for different nations of the continent, for different aspects of life there. We did this with passion because we truly cared about it.

Now I hope, with my heart in my throat, that our friends there caught the love we felt for them and their land, more than they caught the idea that we thought things should change in order to be 'okay'.

Being in our 'home' nation instead of our adopted one sort of puts on a different spin on this stuff, you know?

I want to belong

2011-10-16T11:30:00.032+02:00

It was a Friday night and we were eating at a friend's place. The kids were *somewhere* in the house doing *something* (ignorance is bliss) and we were chilling on the sofas with some glasses of wine. Emmanuelle appeared and made her way from one lap to another, from one pair of loving arms to the next. Then - you know how these earth-rocking moments creep up on you unawares - she held out her chubby little, child-smooth forearm and said, "I want to be white like you." My breath caught in my mouth. "Look, you're white, and you're white, and you're white. I want to be white."

Then, into the vacuum of my mind from which had been sucked, just for a moment, all capacity to think, to form words, to move, even, rushed laughter and "Oh, but I want to be brown like you!" and "We're all the same on the inside!" as my friends loved on my little girl in the only way they knew how.

I have hesitated to write about this. Oh, I know this is just one in a lifetime of conversations that we'll have with our adopted daughter. I know this is part of the journey on which we knowingly, willingly, embarked three years ago. But isn't it easier to write about things to which we already have the answer?! How much harder to be 'on the way' where things are still messy and unresolved, and to join one another in friendship right there, where things are not yet sorted out in the way we'd like them to be.

All my fears rose like bile in my throat when I heard Manu say those words. I want so much for her to be secure in who she is, I want redemptive love to be proven true, I want to find a way, in the messiness of family life, to navigate a route between black and white to a place where each one of us is loved for our uniqueness; where we are fully 'us'.

I'm not stupid. I know that in adoption there is loss involved, a loss that cannot be glossed over no matter how much we love (although it can be healed). Emmanuelle will have to come to terms with that loss and her process towards doing that won't negate our place in her life, nor diminish her belonging with us, and us with her. I guess, as a parent, naturally I would want her to avoid all that pain. And we all know that life ain't like that!

Sometime after this Friday night conversation, I sat with a Ghanaian friend and talked it through. She reminded me, in that sweet way of hers, that Emmanuelle was only verbalising what is universal to us all. We all want to belong, to know that we fit, that we're part. In that way, she is just the same as us all and helping her to understand that truth will undoubtedly make her journey easier.

As if to bring this home to me, I overheard another conversation, this time between Emmanuelle and her big sister. "I wish I could have lovely brown skin, like you" said Kezi, "Can't we swap?" "No, I like being me!" came the response.

And so I breathed.

Back2Blighty: playing the tour guide

2011-10-12T17:30:00.001+02:00

I took a bonus day off today and met a South African friend in London for a good old catch-up and a mooch around. (It was even more of a bonus than I'd planned, given that Tim got lumbered with two sick girls off school, but that's another story!)

Mel and I have known each other a fair few years, having shared a good number of our kids' young years. We had mutual friends and lots of mutual interests, but the age of our kids meant we were invariably limited to a succession of interrupted conversations. We did manage to squeeze in the odd 'grown-up' dates but they always seemed few and far between!

Needless to say, with her accompanying her hubby on a work trip (yes, she left her three beauties at home with family) it was too good an opportunity to miss. It was fab to meet up, to wander around the British Museum and Covent Garden and to discover The Poetry Cafe, one of the places that was on my list of must-sees.

I did attempt to play the tour guide - you know, revel in the fact that she was in my home nation instead of me being in hers - by planning the places to visit. That didn't stop us getting lost in a rather *blond* sort of way, and walking further than one should in heels. But hey, it was all part of the fun and we found great places to revive our flagging energies ;-)

Living in Style

2011-10-08T21:02:00.001+02:00

Since we moved into this square little 1970s red-brick house, complete with boring furniture and magnolia walls, I have been mulling something over: are we who we are because of our environment, or in spite of it?

It was easy, living in shabby chic, artsy cool Kalk Bay, to feel that we too were chic and artsy (if a little shabby). We could fling open the old wooden doors of our 100 year old cottage, let the sound of the ocean interplay with the mellow jazz chords on the sound system, sip a chilled local chardonnay while rustling up a risotto and revel in the sheer coolness of life!

Are we no longer cool? Did we drop any coolness we might have had like a cloak as we stepped off the plane?

Do the white PVC windows, the folksy kitchen tiles, the floral carpet and the sheer squareness of everything mean that we are now missing something we once thought we had? Or is it somehow possible for us to bring our own sense of style into this middle England suburbia?

I don't have answers to these questions, yet. But I did enjoy a shot of style into my veins today, as I cruised around the Old Truman Brewery in East London. Ah, the grungy industrial surrounds, the vintage retro vibe ... some of the cool simply must have rubbed off 'cause I'm feeling so much better!

What do you think? Are you styling' because of where you are or because of who you are? Answers on an art postcard, please ;-)

Poetry without Words

2011-10-07T16:25:00.001+02:00

Yesterday was National Poetry Day. I only became aware of this at about 11am when I stopped work for a soya chai latte and a browse through the day's web pickings. That being the case, it was a little late to create my own Poetry Day celebration (which, needless to say, I would have loved to do).

Nevertheless, poetry comes in many guises and at its core is really just a flow of creativity, strung together in a more or less attractive manner.

A little like knitting perhaps?!

I am fortunate enough to share my life with a poet whose creativity is not limited to words. Over the last couple of evenings - with his mum as his guru, guide and cheerleader - he created this beautiful little 'stanza' of clothing for me to wear. He and I make a perfect pair: he creates gifts and I receive them, magnanimously ;-)

How's the poetry in your life this week?

Introverting together

2011-10-05T20:54:00.002+02:00

Tim's parents are with us this week. We all seem to find it pretty straightforward to be together ... I'm not sure if this is due to practise, or simply because we have developed the art of introverting within close proximity of one another ;-)

What's your trick to successfully spending time with your in-laws?!
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My lovely MIL did point out that when these introverting photos were taken we had just had a rowdy family meal, and immediately afterwards we went on to play an even rowdier game of Settlers!!

All things webby

2011-10-04T16:17:00.004+02:00

What a time I'm having with web-based projects! The Internet has been up and down at the YWAM centre, which makes working there problematic. Here at home I took time to write a piece about our visit to Devon last weekend and made the mistake of posting it via Picasa (because I was loading a collage) and all the text disappeared! Today I have been working on our Wordpress site (big thanks to Cris for his help) and the idiosyncrasies of the WP system has been driving me nuts (combined with using Picasa for photo editing.)

I need a run!

Anyway, I will soon be moving over to heathcotesafari.org for all updates connected to our life and work with Youth With A Mission. That leaves this blog, which is like an old friend so I'm loathe to close it down. Perhaps I could feature some of my creative writing now that I'm enrolled with The Writer's Bureau? Perhaps I'll just keep this space for things that are personal and frivolous.

What do you think?

All Aboard!

2011-10-02T22:08:00.000+02:00

I just wrote a fab update about our weekend in Devon and our visit to YWAM's boat, the Next Wave. Picasa has eaten my text, but here are the pretty photos nevertheless ;-)

Living as part of a Missional Community

2011-09-30T09:44:00.003+02:00

'Living in community' sounds like something left over from the hippie era, something tree-huggers and off-beat alternative lifestylers would try. I'd be the first one to get twitchy if my daughter told me she was moving in to a 'community'.

Weird, how words get taken over like that, become loaded.

Living together, in some sort of shared space, is how Youth With A Mission works. It comes from the value placed on learning from one another. And a lot of learning happens in that space where we rub one another up the wrong way, have to work hard to communicate something, figure something out together, resolve some conflict ... get along, really.

This sort of real-life relating is among one of the most painful and beautiful parts of life, I've found.

When we moved to Harpenden, we thought we'd have a small apartment on the YWAM property. We were looking forward to it. For 9 years we'd lived all of 4km from the nearest YWAM centre and, in terms of community, our life found its orbit outside of YWAM. We had some good friends who worked in the mission, but we had many others who didn't and spent a large amount of our time with them. Personally, I think that's a good thing.

Anyhow, change is good too and we thought we were ready to take a crack at this 'living in community' thing. Turns out, we're pretty much in the same situation as in Cape Town: there was no family accommodation available at the YWAM property, so we're renting a house about 4 miles away.

In spite of that, it feels different somehow. It does feel as if we are given the opportunity to nibble at the edges of community life, and we're loving it. There's something dynamic about a group of people with shared purpose all living near to one another; there's more space for creativity, perhaps. We've been amazed at the people willing to have the kids, and leave theirs with us; I'm loving the morning work-outs with a group of girls; there are always people to talk to if you need to; we're getting drawn into things we wouldn't otherwise be doing.

It's certainly helping me to get over my How-can-we-be-missionaries-in-our-own-nation hangup!

How do you feel about community? How does it work out in your life?

You always take the weather with you

2011-09-29T21:36:00.002+02:00

My two sunny girls are doing well.

I say that as a statement to myself because, in spite of having colds this week and in spite of Keziah reporting back from school on some *intensely* irritating behaviour among the girls in her class, they really are doing well.

This week - as well as dealing with girls at their manipulative worst - Kez has enjoyed the daily break from routine in the form of the Bikeability course (the trendy new term for the Cycling Proficiency). This evening she and Tim went on a cycle ride together, so she's obviously motivated! She seems to have very quickly picked up violin again after about 3 months without an instrument, and is generally a lot more settled. Starting Spanish classes was a fun addition to her week too … she can be my translator next Easter when we visit Torremolinos ;-)

Emmanuelle has done her usual cold-to-chest-infection-in-the-space-of-6-hours trick this week. We learned from earlier mistakes and got her straight onto antibiotics, so she's on the mend and was back at nursery today. I have yet to find anything that stops her from smiling, however … the kid is just a joy factory!

And in spite of sniffles and sneezes, the weather has been glorious this week. I'm tempted to think that my sunny girls have brought a little South African sunshine with them :-)

Sound the barbaric yawp

2011-09-25T21:01:00.002+02:00

I love this photo of Keziah. Even if you know her well - and I do - it might be hard to tell whether this was a moment of joy or a moment of drama. With her, it can always go either way ;-)

And that's how the last week has been. Tim has been in Spain for a conference of church-planters from places with very few believers. It could have been a pain for him to be away - Kez certainly thought he should have been around! - but he and I were justifiably excited about the people he would meet and the stories he would hear. Since our earliest days working as part of Youth With A Mission, we have wanted to visit the North Africa centre in the south of Spain; and for a long time we have had a 'thing' about the region of North Africa, especially Morocco, so it was a really special opportunity for him to be there. Can't wait until we all return as a family next Easter :-)

At the same time, there have been some tense and challenging moments with some of YWAM's communication locations. This could be a cause for discouragement or a sign of a doorway into something new. Right now, it's hard to call it either way ... but somehow I have a sense of fresh shoots, of positive change.

Other new things include Keziah recommencing violin classes, getting back into climbing as a family, and me embarking on a creative writing course. I'm not sure whether to trust my gut here, but I sense a sea change.

Do you ever have those moments when you can't *quite* put your finger on it, but you have a sense that something significant is taking place? Have you learned to trust your gut?

Currently ...

2011-09-11T00:24:00.007+02:00

Currently waiting for the man in my life to finish watching Match of the Day and come to bed. The fact that, for him, good soccer coverage is the highlight of our return to Blighty, means I need to find something better to do with my Saturday evenings!

Currently wearing my new, highly flourescent running top, that I *had* to buy because from next week the running club introduces a £1 fine for everyone who turns up to an evening run in poorly visible clothing. I'm just sitting here, trying it out and glowing gently ... it's kinda cool ;-)

Currently working off the scrummy meal we shared with new friends last night ... so yes, I do actually run besides all the sitting-around-in-snazzy-kit ;-) This evening's trail in the low, September sunlight was divine.

Currently wishing I could see the whales off the coast of Cape Town, and the spring flowers ... willing myself not to think about it too much and determined to enjoy the extensive network of footpaths in rolling countryside we have here ;-)

Currently working on not feeling jealous that the week after next Tim's going to the south of Spain. He's attending a conference on church-planting in West Africa and will no doubt record some amazing stories ... someone's got to, right?!

Currently writing up a calendar of *interesting things to do* to keep me busy 'til Christmas. This includes a cross-country league and a French club, though not at the same time. "Voulez-vous courir avec moi, ce soir?"

Currently need to whip up a couple of blinds to replace the hideous curtains I removed from our dining/sitting rooms. Only the need to actually go out and look for fabric is stopping me ...!

Currently the washer of the cold tap on the bathroom sink is broken. Which means no cold water for teeth-cleaning etc. The good thing about living in rented accommodation is that we can call someone and make it their problem. The bad thing is aforementioned hideous curtains.

Currently wondering whether it's safe to pack away my warm-weather clothes and whether Autumn has completely pushed Summer into the gutter. Frankly, that's the only proper place for an English Summer, but you take what you can get, you know?

Currently worried about our YWAM team in Cape Town. They did a superb job on the latest publication, but they had to publish on-line and not in print due to lack of funds. In most places that would be okay, but for our staff around Africa erratic Internet makes it a pain to view on-line stuff like this. I guess it's hard to see the team carrying this sort of thing alone ... but I won't kid myself that they can't do it without us!

Currently wending my merry way to bed ...

When we were young ...

2011-09-07T15:58:00.003+02:00

At the family weekend I met up with my cousin, Sarah, who I hadn't seen for years. She mentioned a letter she still had that I had sent her in August 1981! We had a good laugh about our childhood perceptions (I thought she was cool because she was an only child, she thought I was cool because I had neat handwriting!).

Anyway, here is aforementioned *neat* handwriting (and I don't even have that anymore) and proof of the early eighties ... and the longevity of Mr Men ;-) I have hardly any relics from my childhood - maybe none - so this is pretty precious!

And you? Do you have any meaningful bits and pieces from your childhood in a box somewhere?

Who's crying now?

2011-09-05T21:26:00.002+02:00

When Keziah was 2 years old, we enrolled her in a Montessori pre-school for a couple of mornings a week. It was a great school, small and easy-going, but she struggled so much to be left that we quit after two weeks, postponing that particular milestone for another year. Waiting made a bit of difference, but not all that much; she just hated being left in the mornings.

At the beginning of every school term we told ourselves it would be different. But it wasn't. She pretty much always hated being left at school, although some days were worse than others. We tried rewards for good mornings; we never pandered to it, even when she chased after me in tears; we always said goodbye and then left briskly, even when she clung to me and had to be prised off by her teacher. She was always fine once I'd left - which was some comfort - but I got used to driving into work with my heart racing and making a strong cup of coffee once I arrived. Honestly, it was hell.

Then this morning: You. Have. No. Idea.

I have been gearing up for today for *months*. When Kez first caught whiff of the fact that we would be moving from South Africa and she would have to change schools, she declared that she absolutely would not go to school in England. I could drag her through the school gates kicking and screaming, apparently, and she still wouldn't go. Homeschooling, to her mind, was the only solution.

We worked hard to have good, positive, healthy closure of her life in South Africa. Knowing that there would be no guarantee of returning, and even if we did, no guarantee of a place at her old school, we wanted to celebrate with her everything and everyone she'd enjoyed there. Then we talked - very gingerly at first, in fear of full blown tizzy fits - about starting school here.

At this point I have to honour Trish Holgate, a friend and *brilliant* play therapist, who met with Kez to talk about all the changes in her wee life, and with whom Kezi fell in love from the very start. Every parent needs a Trish in their life, and I thank God I had one in mine over those last couple of months in South Africa.

Back to this morning, then. I've been amazed at the even-tempered way Keziah has been dealing with the prospect of school over the past month. She was chuffed with her new school uniform, had said she was excited but scared about the term starting, and slept really badly last night due to that combination of nervous anticipation. How would today go down?

I don't want to count my chickens, but I feel like my life is forever changed.

She said goodbye at the door to her classroom, went in alone, asking her teacher as she walked if she could sit anywhere, and choosing a seat. Her little chin was jutted slightly as she bravely went - alone - into her new environment. I peeked through the window and waited until she turned her head before waving. She wriggled her fingers back and turned resolutely away from me.

I just about held my tears in check as I crossed the playground (thought she could do without that sort of start to her reputation!). Then I found Tim, buried my head in his shoulder and balled.

All those years of horrible, emotionally draining school drop-offs and I never cried. I ranted; I swore; I drove like a crazy woman with the radio on full blast; I never cried. But seeing my little girl channeling all her energy into being brave; watching that little chin lifting in defiance; that broke me.

Good grief, I'm a wreck! She's doing great, I'm happy to report - had a great day, made friends, enjoyed the work, made the boys laugh(!). But I'm a wreck.

Better that way around though, any day ;-)

You can't choose your family ... but that might be okay

2011-09-04T22:34:00.002+02:00

For the past year, my Dad and his 7 siblings have been planning a family reunion. This was a pretty big deal, not just because there are 8 brothers and sisters, with all their kids and their kids, but also the family has been spread around the world for decades, with some parts of the family in Canada, others in France and the rest littered around the UK (oh, and with the odd one in Africa and New Zealand). Just getting people together was going to be nothing short of miraculous.

Fast forward to this weekend, to a holiday resort in the Forest of Dean. Family members had flown in from a bunch of different locations, and amazingly the vast majority of the family had made it to the beautiful group of wooden cabins dotted around the woods.

I imagine I wasn't the only one with a level of curiosity bordering on anxiety before this weekend. There were quite a few people I hadn't seen since my early teens, let alone seeing everyone all at once! But in fact it was a blast ... there's nothing quite like being with family and having fun spotting family traits popping up throughout the generations: "You have an allergy to (name a random consumable)? Me too!" Of course, the spouses were the noticeably sane people ;-)

There was a lot of catching up to do, a lot of laughter and teasing, not a little confusion about where I last saw everyone, and lots of repetition of news. One cousin told me she still has a letter I'd written her when I was about Keziah's age. Keziah, Emmanuelle and one of their cousins seemed to have the most fun of everyone, racing around the place and spending hours in the hot tub; but even some of the oldies shared a run and a cycle.

These are some of the snaps I took on my phone. I'm hoping for some far superior shots from a couple of my cousins. Then you can properly see what a great gene pool I come from ;-)

On the importance of getting it right

2011-09-01T10:57:00.000+02:00

For the last 13 years, we have lived this – let’s call it – alternative lifestyle as part of Youth With A Mission. Probably all of you guys know, by now, that the way the organization works is to have all personnel raise money for their own salaries from among their circle of friends and family members. Wacky, I know, but they’ve done it for 50 years so who am I to question it?!

Up steps an outfit known as Stewardship Services. They help process monies given by tax-paying individuals to those working as part of charities, like YWAM, making tax-effective giving straightforward for the average donor.

All this time, I thought that was all they did: accounts, tax forms, and emails to the likes of us.

Yesterday I went with some other YWAM staff members to visit the Stewardship offices about an hour from here. It was a great day, for many reasons. For the first time, I realized that the people working there really have a vision to help voluntary workers raise the money they need and use it well; they have a heart for Christian ministry. I also discovered the breadth of services they offer, and those they make available from others they network with. Oh, and there were so many different people there … we’re (maybe) not that weird after all ;-)

Anyway, all that is business. A couple of things stuck with me as I left the Stewardship offices (apart from the obvious, Oh my gosh, we have to get so much better at this!):

The head honcho almost choked up when he said that he sees a good number of older people who have been in ministry for years, and who haven’t made provision for their older years. They have ‘trusted in God’ to look after them, without having the understanding or wisdom (or help from others) to get practical about it. How sad. How scary. How real.

One lady there, doing great work among child soldiers in Asia, was poo-pooing the idea of saving for a pension, saying “God will look after me’. In the next breath she was asking if anyone knew of a dentist who would work for free because she needed extensive treatment and couldn’t afford to get it done. Reality check?

It reminds me of something that happened a couple of months before I left my job to join YWAM. I was doing some work as a fundraiser and it had been agreed that I would be paid on commission, depending on what I raised. Well, I did quite well for them but they didn’t pay the commission. I was understandably upset, when a friend commented, “You’d better get used to it, you’re going into missions.” There can be this underlying belief (by no means everywhere) that if you’re making the choice to go into ministry, you’re choosing to do without so suck it up. It was cool to have the Stewardship guy blow that one out of the water.

Then he said that Stewardship gives everyone registered with them a funding target. It includes buffers for unexpected expenses (like the car breaking down), as well as savings, pensions, insurance. He admitted that it’s on the higher end of what most people would think, but he’s accountant so he’s not talking out of his you-know-what. The point is that most of the people on their books are living on LESS THAN HALF of this target. How sad. How scary. How real.

Of course, it does get real and scary when that’s us. But no one said we couldn’t learn to get it right, right? And better still, no one said we had to do this on our own. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past 13 years it’s that we do this as part of a team; the others on the team are as much a part of the overall effort as we are. Phew: How sane. How secure. How real.

I heart my family

2011-08-30T22:43:00.003+02:00

In the spirit of Ruth's blog - and with thanks to Becky and her lovely wedding photographer - I thought I'd post the latest in a long line of lovely family photos, whose gorgeousness I owe entirely to the three scrumptious people in my life!

I recently tweeted that "I think the concept of nuclear family could be one of the most sad/destructive things we've done to ourselves." Whilst I stand by that statement, I am supremely grateful for the particular nucleus to which I belong ;-)

Back2Blighty: safety in signs

2011-08-29T20:14:00.003+02:00

One of the most 'underwhelming' feelings about living in England again has been its tameness. I mean, it's all very lovely - and who would knock loveliness - but it's all so very easy, and predictable, and, well, I don't know, contained. (Yes, I know I am writing this in the context of riots, and scary economics, but if you've traveled beyond the West you'll catch my drift.)

Anyway, be that as it may, there are benefits in this sort of security, I am discovering.

I remember first arriving in South Africa, still getting used to driving myself around. Often the signs at intersections just weren't clear. I'd be motoring down the highway and suddenly catch sight of the sign for the off-ramp I needed, just as I sailed past it. Or I'd be pootling around a residential area, looking for street signs, only to find that they were inscribed in the kerb bricks at ground level and barely legible. Or sometimes, the name of the place I was looking for had taken on a post-apartheid personna, lending it a name the map had yet to list. For a nation of consummate travelers, this vagueness about directions was disconcerting.

And in this respect, I am reveling in the reliable nature of British road signs. Not just the road signs, mind you. The place is criss-crossed with public footpaths, cycleways and walking trails. Since moving to Redbourn we have gathered an armful of local maps, with endless options for walking, running and cycling (ran a fab 8km route today). It seems every possible route has a corresponding map, and even without the map one would be hard-pressed to get lost since each trail is obligingly labelled with colour-coded 'waymarkers'.

It strikes me as a little ironic that it should be so easy to find my way around. Here I am, back in Blighty and sort of scratching my head at how this came to be. Life's waymarkers seem obstinately difficult to track down, if I'm honest. If only this re-entry malarky came with a map of colour-coded routes, accompanied by details of how long each stretch would take for an average soul, such as me.

Perhaps there are waymarkers out there; maybe they're just a bit harder to spot (a little more like the half-rubbed-out specimens along South Africa's kerbs). A careful choice of bedside reading material (currently Pete Greig's God on Mute); an intentional sharing of time with those who've walked a tough road and are willing to share the journey; a back-to-basics sort of attitude to life. Maybe, just maybe, these might provide the waymarkers I need.

How about you? Ever felt like you'd lost your way a little? What helped you rediscover the right track?

Back2Blighty: village life

2011-08-21T20:05:00.002+02:00

When our house was up for sale and we were looking for houses outside of Kalk Bay, I bemoaned the need to forsake village life. I loved the fact that we could walk from our house to buy fresh bread, post a letter, meet friends at the pub, or to catch a train. I dreaded the idea of living somewhere that required a car for the simplest of tasks, like buying a pint of milk.

Introducing Redbourn! Not only is this village well-known for both its history and its prettiness, but from our house we can easily walk to no fewer than three pubs, a common/parkland dating from medieval times, and - if we have the energy - along an old railway track-cum-cycle way into neighbouring Harpenden. There are a couple of general stores, a wee post office, a pharmacy and a barbers (not that any of us need one of those!). There is a little park for the girls, a cricket ground and a network of walking/cycling trails.

As it turns out, we have found a home from home. Heck, if I close my eyes the hum of the traffic on the nearby motorway could almost make me believe I can hear the sound of the ocean ;-)

Back2Blighty: new local beauty spots

2011-08-20T15:37:00.001+02:00

Our 10k trail this morning went something like this: down the gravel track *crunch, crunch*; past the dog-walkers *Morning! Morning!*; across the shin-high grass *swoosh, swoosh*; over the stile *humph, clatter*; through the wheat field *thwack, thwack*; past the blackberry bushes *yum, yum*; through the cow field *moo to you too*; over the stream via the stepping stones *splish, splosh*; round the golf course *putt, putt*; up to the water fountain *slurp, slurp*; across the road *zoom, zoom*; between the overgrown nettles *ouch, sting*; through the kissing gate *mwa, mwa*; past the water mill *swoosh, swoosh*; around the thigh-high thistles *ouch, prickle*; and home again *put the coffee on!*

My legs were a bit nettled and scratched, but it was a superb run. The water mill was so appealing that after showering and collecting the girls, we packed up a brunch and returned there by car to buy bread and sit in the sun munching and reading the paper.

All so idyllic. And then the rain came down.

There's something about timing, eh?!

Back to Work, if you can call it that

2011-08-18T15:16:00.004+02:00

There's a bit of a joke around the YWAM centre in Harpenden. It's about our team-mate, so *shh*, don't tell her I told you. Everybody knows that as a communicator for YWAM International, one whose job is to manage websites, run the Facebook page and the Twitter feed, she's, like, *always* on the Net. Until now, she hasn't really had people she works with IRL. In fact, her scattered, virtual team required even more face-to-face time with her laptop, placing conference calls and checking in with colleagues over Skype and iChat.

This kind of work doesn't really require a big office set-up, you know? It's the sort of thing you can do from anywhere ... the dining table, the hot-desk in someone else's office, heck, the car park if you have to. And, of course, the coffee shop.

Our beloved team-mate is a well-known fixture at the Oval Cafe, the coffee shop YWAM opened on the campus a couple of years ago. She gets away with it because she is, we have to admit, pretty productive. Now that we're a larger team, we have been graciously afforded office space with other communication-types ... but I'm a bit picky about where I work and am waiting to move in there until I can revamp the little desk space on offer.

In the meantime, I figured I would follow in the well-worn steps of my colleague and hoof it over to the coffee shop during office hours this week. We international comms people have a reputation to maintain, don't you know?!

What about you? Are you a one woman, one desk kind of a girl? Or do you prefer to work on the go? Are you easily bored with one little nook, or do you like to have your own special space for all your bits and pieces?

Back2Blighty: new digs

2011-08-16T15:06:00.003+02:00

I was chatting with an SA friend yesterday, who said she was wanting to see photos of our new place. I side-stepped, wanting to wait until we had put our stamp on the place before letting everyone take a peek! But hey, that's pretty dumb: it is what it is! Certainly not our beloved old cottage in Kalk Bay, but still a roof over our heads with enough room for us all to welcome friends, live life and fill the spaces with gratitude and laughter.

We moved in last Friday, driving from Exeter to Redbourn in about 4 hours. The house belongs to a missionary trust, and is the end of a row of five identical homes leased to missionaries on leave. It is furnished, with towels and bed linen included, so we were able to move in and simply unpack our clothes. We can stay for up to 18 months if we need to.

The girls seem happy with their new home, especially the 'secret tunnels' which are the under-stairs cupboard in the sitting room, and the above-the-stairs cupboard in Keziah's bedroom. Emmanuelle had a very 'noughties' response to the old style TV (check out the picture): "What's this for?" she asked, pointing at the box at the back of the TV!

As well as possibly finding a more user-friendly TV (that works!) it will be fun to get some light shades, whizz together some blinds and generally cheer the place up a bit. Consider these the 'before' photos!

Redbourn village is very prettily English, so I'll follow this post with one featuring the little cul-de-sac we're in and our local surroundings! In the meantime, to what extent do you find your home expresses something of who you are? Does being house-proud have more to do with our identity than we realize?!

Back2Blighty: family

2011-08-13T22:37:00.001+02:00

Whenever I told people that we were coming back to England for a while their response invariably included a 'Well, at least you'll be near to family." True. For 14 years we have been living far away from parents and siblings: raising kids, struggling through the tough times, rejoicing at times of success, and generally 'being the grown-ups'!!

Tim's mum and dad have managed long-distance parenting and grand-parenting pretty darned well, I'd say. They've even made it to African shores for a few Christmases and birthdays along the way. And on our return to Blighty, they've provided us with a place to stay (our usual second home, with food and board!), the odd babysitting duty and lots of grace as we've weathered the ups and downs of re-entry.

The girls and I went out with them to beautiful Bickleigh Mill to celebrate our last couple of weeks with them (Tim was teaching on a YWAM discipleship school last week). It felt weird to say goodbye to them yesterday, only to drive down the motorway instead of flying off to South Africa! Here's to great in-laws :-)

Do you get on with your in-laws (go on, spill the beans!).

True wealth versus the abundance of possessions

2011-08-09T21:06:00.008+02:00

"Good! Now I don't feel poor anymore" remarked Keziah, as she admired my new cell phone. Come again?! So she explained that since leaving our house - and most of its contents - and arriving in England with no car, she'd been thinking we must be poor. Interesting that a car and a shiny new phone were enough to disabuse her of that belief!

Her comments really took me by surprise, because the whole leaving process from South Africa had left me feeling incredibly rich. Having time to reflect on 9 years in South Africa - living in a home that we had loved and filled with laughter and magic, surrounded by people with whom we had built really great friendships - made me realize just how wealthy we have been, in so many ways.

At the same time, I could understand where Kez was coming from. Living in South Africa in a comfortable home with all our needs met, is to be in the wealthiest 10% of the population. Every day, as we encountered people begging at the traffic lights or going through our trash, we were aware of just how well-off we were. We lived there with a sense of undeserved privilege.

Returning to the UK for visits has always been bitter-sweet. Yes, it's great to see family and friends, but we are always confronted with the consequences of our lifestyle choices. While we've been working in Africa, friends have been getting promoted, increasing their salaries, buying better cars, moving to bigger homes, treating their kids to the latest gadgets. Being back here can distort the perspective of privilege and tempt us to feel hard done by, even foolish for thinking that the choices we've made are worth it.

Today a friend's blog reminded me that there are so many enriching experiences that daily break into our lives, insisting on wealth without the price tag. Today I also read a quote by someone involved in the London riots who, when asked why they were engaged in the violence, said "...its coz, we don't get nothing init, so we is showing the police, we can do what we want and show them stuck up people we can take anything, init'' (you get the idea).

I don't want to belittle the very real underlying causes that would lead someone like this to resort to violence to make their voice heard. Camila Batmanghelidjh wrote in The Independent newspaper that, "It's not one occasional attack on dignity, it's a repeated humiliation, being continuously dispossessed in a society rich with possession." Needless to say, I cannot presume to compare our experiences with some of the lives she describes. Nevertheless, I am reminded of the power of choosing one's attitude ... Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said that "In ordinary life we hardly realize that we receive a great deal more than we give, and that it is only with gratitude that life becomes rich."

May you and I daily be aware of the richness of our lives ... without the need of shiny new gadgets as reminders ;-)

Back2Blighty #5: Footwear Frenzy

2011-08-06T11:26:00.002+02:00

It's funny how things go.I remember writing this post about Keziah wearing flip flops to school in South Africa, and even then spending most of the day in bare feet. I would buy her cute little shoes that would largely go unworn because, in spite of her appreciation for cuteness, bare feet were to her mind always more comfortable and more practical.

Since arriving in the UK Keziah has been resisting the pressure being put on her to wear shoes. Whether being warned about prickles in the woods, possible spillages in the kitchen, slippery floors or other hazards, she is adamant: bare feet are best.

I think it's in her genes. When I first got to know Tim he was a university student and spending every holiday somewhere in Africa; he too had developed a penchant for bare feet and wasn't bothered by the funny looks he got walking around the streets or campus without shoes. His mum and older brother are the same, and are unfazed by comments about the hippiness inferred by their lack of footwear. Needless to say, Keziah is getting all the encouragement she needs ;-)

I think it's fair to say that the application of Health & Safety regulations has gone a little loopy in the UK. Everyone seems overly concerned about any potential risks to the public, whether out of fear of being sued or out of concern that non-compliance will compromise their license to operate, I'm not sure.

Yesterday I took the girls and a friend to a Pick Your Own berry farm. It was about a 20 minute drive across town, to a pretty village the other side of Exeter. The girls rushed excitedly to collect their punnets and get out to the berry bushes, when the guy in charge noticed Keziah had bare feet. This was deemed to be *very dangerous* because she might tread on a thorn, and because the soil is classed as 'agricultural' and therefore might have some hazardous substance in it (manure, I'm guessing). No, flip flops would not be a good alternative - the only thing we had in the car - because they could not adequately protect her feet. (This, in spite of the fact that I was wearing open sandals that were considered acceptable.)

Off we trogged back across town, collected closed shoes and trogged back again. And then, when we finally got close enough to a berry bush to pick a few berries, we noticed the neat carpet of grass and clover that covered the lanes between the rows ... it looked highly dangerous, mark you. I was so relieved my daughter had been protected from coming into contact with anything potentially lethal to her wellbeing ;-)

I know, it's not a big deal. To wear shoes or not to wear them is hardly a life-changing affair. But isn't it funny that culture shock comes when you least expect it and often as a result of those inconsequential things ... like shoes!

Back2Blighty #4: Not winning points with the locals

2011-08-04T23:14:00.001+02:00

We just had four and a half stunning days in Somerset camping at New Wine with the family. Sunny days of kids playing, cycling, having water fights; of getting to go running around the country lanes with Tim; of cooking and eating al fresco. And of course, of going to some great meetings and seminars (those with Baroness Caroline Cox speaking stand out).

It was good. You know, hanging with family, watching the kids playing together, hearing great teaching. I almost felt normal (whatever that is).

And then the rain started. I woke up this morning with the sound of rain drumming on the tent and the smell of damp grass and damp bedding all around me. I had flashbacks to the same event two years ago when we walked around in damp clothes for days, sheltering under dripping canvas and constantly shifting things away from wet spots. That time I had desperately wanted to go home but had stuck it out for the sake of everyone else, feeling pretty miserable. So as I lay in bed this morning, contemplating the *craziness* that is wet weather camping with small children, I decided to exercise the right to choose: I don't have to stay in a muddy field with hundreds of other damp, muddy people. No, I can opt out, after all.

So I did. And then Keziah did. And then Tim did. (So Manu did too, of course.) We packed up and left with forecasts of better weather ringing in our ears.

Brits can do damp camping with a smile. They can do lots of usually-grumpy-making things in that unfailingly uncomplaining fashion that is so uniquely British. They don their macs and wellies, queue in the mud for showers that are even muddier, gather in damp-smelling marquees that begin to steam as people's singing in close quarters heats up the atmosphere. They're great at it; brilliant.

I seem to have lost the knack, though. Not the lack for hardiness, I wouldn't say. Marathon training and Africa travels seem to negate that line of reasoning. But the knack for unnecessary, meaningless *wetness*, if you know what I mean. I'm not knocking those who can do it; it just ain't for me.

Am I getting older? Or just wiser?

Re-entry: celebrate often

2011-07-29T23:40:00.001+02:00

Re-entry is a bit like pioneering: in order to experience long-term success, it is essential to celebrate the little things. This week the sun has been shining and, given the weather's propensity for change, I will sip my chilled Rosé and celebrate the beauty of a sunny week in Devon!

I miss Cape Town like a jilted lover, but knowing that it's cold there and sunny here does make it a little easier. Catch me on the other side of this weather front ;-)

Together is a choice

2011-07-26T23:27:00.007+02:00

The other night I was sitting with some Exeter-based friends, some of whom have known us for more years than I care to think about. For Tim, who spent his teenage years in Exeter, they have been a part of his landscape through his growing-up years (this means they know more about my husband than he might wish to admit!).

One chap recounted an anecdote, saying that when he first knew us as a couple we were very "lovey-dovey" - I'm not totally certain what he meant by this, except that we were young and very much in love! Then he said, now when he sits with us and hears our story, we are 'together' in a way that goes deeper than the obvious demonstrative affection of earlier years.

That gave me pause for thought. Maybe every couple goes through times when one or the other wonders how life would be if they hadn't gotten married; even if it doesn't go any further than wondering. I can't count the number of times Tim has looked at my tear-stained face and said, 'We're together in this.' When things get tough that feeling of togetherness is often the first casualty.

I could write about the highs and lows of our entire marriage, but even just the last 3 years have offered sufficient challenges to make the strongest heart feel faint. There have been times, I'll admit, when I have looked longingly at single friends and pined for a simpler - if lonelier - existence.

But somehow, almost imperceptibly, the bonds that keep us together have grown stronger. We have seen one another under pretty extreme pressure and yes, we have chosen to be together (not just stay together) and now that seems so precious, even though at the time it was through gritted teeth.

I guess that's what came to mind when Tony said what he did: that each of those little choices somehow counts for a whole lot more than it seems at the time. Because now I can feel how together we are, how understanding of one another, how authentic, how revealed in a warts-and-all sort of way. And it counts for something ... in fact, it might just be The Something that we all hope for when we gaze at one another with starry eyes and say, "I do".

I dunno. What has made the difference in your marriage and what is it about the two of you that gives you hope for enduring togetherness?

Glad Rags & Good Times

2011-07-25T17:13:00.003+02:00

Many moons ago, I was working as a fundraiser for the Exeter YMCA. I made friends during that time who have remained great friends through all our years in Africa. In fact, Becky was a volunteer at the YMCA when I worked there, and when she came to Cape Town to work with an organization going into Pollsmoor Prison, to visit juvenile inmates, she lived with us. We loved the time we had with her and have cheered her on through years back in the UK training as a social worker, until this weekend when she got married.

Saturday was a perfect, sunny day (my friend, Dave, and I had celebrated earlier by going for the sort of run that lifts your spirits and makes everything right with the world) and the wedding celebrations were great fun: a relaxed, low-key service, champagne on the lawns in front of Cheltenham Pump Rooms, a fabulous meal later, a folk band and then a good old boogie until the kids were almost dropping. Mind you, by that time they had been dancing for about 2 hours, let alone all the running around they did while we were eating!

Certainly, one of the great things about being back in the UK is being with people with whom we have a shared history that pre-dates kids, careers and ocean-crossings! Don't you love your old friends?! And Becky: wishing you and Simon many more adventures together - it was wonderful to celebrate the two of you with all your family and friends :-)

Re-entry: kids & homesickness

2011-07-21T16:31:00.002+02:00

The girls have, in general, been doing really well with all the changes to their lives recently. When I feel the weight of guilt about uprooting them from the only home they've ever known, I think about all they've been exposed to in terms of the diversity of people and places, and everything they've learned thanks to the opportunities they've had. I tell myself they will be richer for it in the end.

But, I must admit, there are moments when the guilt is crushing. Doubtless, every mother feels this at some point, about something. But still, this is sort of huge.

Last night we chatted on the phone with friends in Cape Town. Good friends, whose voices bring tears to my eyes one minute and laughter to my lips the next. Kez chatted with the friend she's known and loved since he was born a week after her. They talked, laughed, and Googled things of mutual interest at the same time(!). It was a great time of reconnecting, so I thought.

This morning, though, she refused to get out of bed. She cried that she wanted to go home, that she doesn't belong here, that clearly God doesn't love her, and that we have made some horrible mistake. She said she wouldn't eat or get dressed until she could go home to South Africa.

Ugh, these moments rank high on my list of Least Favourite Things About Being A Mother. I want to take the pain away, I want to give her what she wants, to soothe all the discomfort away. And I can't.

What I can do, and what I need to learn how to do, is to give her the tools to cope with everything life brings, the good, the bad and the ugly. And to teach her that good relationships can survive distance and separation. That the conversation continues. And I need to do this even when what I really want to do is tell her I know how she feels, that I feel the same way.

So what parental challenge is hitting you this week, and how are you dealing with it?!

Freaking out underground

2011-07-18T21:03:00.003+02:00

Check out these photos of Keziah and her cousins: along with their Uncle Pete, I took them to see the medieval passages running under the city of Exeter. Once a cutting edge means of supplying the city with clean water, these passages are now the only medieval underground tunnels in the whole of the UK that are open to the public.

Once the stone passage we were in narrowed to about a metre, I thought Keziah was going to start hyper-ventilating (look at her face!!) but she hung in there and we made it round the whole tour.

The things you do to amuse kids on a rainy day ;-)And the things you do to convince yourself that freaking out is a perfectly normal thing to do, for which there are concrete, sane reasons and solutions!!

Silver Linings: cool cousins

2011-07-18T13:47:00.001+02:00

Yesterday we spent most of the day at Tim's sister's place. This normally manic time (*so* many kids going crazy together!) was actually soothing after the morning's escapade at church when I left in tears after 30 minutes. Ah well, you win some you lose some. We celebrated beautiful Bethany's 14th birthday and took the obligatory family photos ;-)

Keziah wheedled her way to kidnap the two older girls for a sleepover last night, and they had a fabulous time together. Apparently they agreed to stay awake for 15 minutes each, taking it in turns until 1am when they planned to get up and raid the kitchen. They all fell asleep after one turn each ;-) This morning they came on a walk with me in the drizzle - somewhat persuaded by the promise of croissants before arriving home. They had an hilarious time giving each other points for the person who was able to make the most people say hello to them. (I know, this would be a dumb game in Africa where anyone greeted would reply, but here it really is a challenge to win a response to one's cheery hello!!) They gave people flowers, chatted up the builders and even - in desperation - told people that Jesus thought they were awesome! Yes, by this point my head had receded deep into my hoodie ;-) But they had fun and Keziah once again proved herself to be unbelievably outgoing when she chooses to be!

Family ties are hard to beat :-)

Currently: Highs & Lows

2011-07-17T22:52:00.002+02:00

At some point in the distant past I recall writing a regular journal in which I listed highs and lows from the week. This seems a straight forward way to distill the activity of the past days into something comprehensible, so here we go ...

High:
The van in which we were collected from the airport had ample room, not only for us but for our 10 pieces of luggage, 2 guitars and hand luggage! Of course, this was a direct result of my brother breaking down on the way to meet us and going to great trouble to find someone to fill in.
Low:
Not seeing my brother and his wife on arrival, due to the engine of their *new* vehicle blowing up. Turns out we may not see any of my family until the end of August.
High:
There were other familiar faces waiting for us at the Youth With A Mission centre in Harpenden, with some excellent coffee courtesy of the Oval Cafe.
Low:
The following day we left the Harpenden centre for another one a couple of hours' drive away and spent a whole weekend with people we didn't know. This was just one of many unpacking-repacking scenarios that left us - quite frankly - reeling.
High:
We've never been part of YWAM England, so it was good to rub shoulders with people from around the country ... even though it's weird to be so 'unknown' after being part of the Africa scene for so long. The weekend was really well done.
Low:
On returning to YWAM Harpenden we then spent a week in a flat with no exterior door and barely a view of the outside world. This was not a good way to lessen the shock of leaving our light, airy home in South Africa (albeit in Winter).
High:
Sunny evenings helped, especially with 4th July celebrations thrown in for good measure and lots of opportunities to hang out with new friends.
High:
After a few days we moved to a different flat with plenty of light and more space to * breath*. We even unpacked a little.
Low:
We waited longer than we thought to collect the car we finally decided on, a Renault Megane estate.
High:
We were able to borrow a car in the meantime and explored the area a bit. It's green and lush and very pretty.
Low:
This is due, unsurprisingly, to the regular sprinklings of rain it gets.
High:
When it rains, there are plenty of great places to go shopping.
Low:
There are times when the choice is overwhelming and it takes me 30 minutes to choose something as simple as a bottle of wine. Not something I usually have a problem with.
High:
We visited the village we'll be living in from mid-August. It's very quaint and beautiful ... we do seem to have a knack for picking exceptionally nice places to live ;-) Oh, and with good pubs.
Low:
We have to wait until mid-August to move in and we are quite ready to do so now. *Yawn*, more unpacking and repacking before then.
High:
In the meantime, we get to hang out with family in Exeter. Even Tim's elder brother is here (he's moving to Pretoria in a month's time. Yes, that is in the very same country we have just left: how ironic)
Low:
Being in Exeter is super-weird, maybe because it is the place we left the country from back in 1998. I feel like we have given our lives for something, been chewed up and spat back out. More on that another time, perhaps.
High:
There are lots of lovely people here that we know from years back.
Low:
They know us well enough to say things like, "You can't really be missionaries if you're living here, you know." Yes, well, thanks for that.

And so it goes on, a summary of sorts. What have been your highs and lows of the past couple of weeks?

Back2Britain #2: Sunglasses & Shade

2011-07-13T10:37:00.003+02:00

Those of you who know Britain to be that sun-starved, rain-blessed place in the northern hemisphere might be as surprised as I am to note the important place *sunglasses* have in British society.

In the past 10 days I have observed many people wearing sunglasses when the sun isn't actually shining. Hard to believe, I know. In the absence of sun, I have had to research other possible reasons to wear dark glasses and I've come to a number of conclusions:

1. British people are quite private. They like their personal space and by wearing dark glasses, they can avoid the eye contact that would inevitably lead to some sort of social exchange, such as a nod of the head or a 'Good morning'. Dark glasses allow people to preserve their privacy even in a crowd.

2. Hayfever is rampant. Many, many people are terribly afflicted by the itchy eyes and snotty nose reactions to pollens that are common during Summertime. Dark glasses serve two purposes in this instance: firstly, they protect the eyes and reduce the itch-inducing affect of the pollen; secondly, they allow the sufferer to go out in public with puffy, red eyes whilst maintaining a semblance of normality.

3. Britain has fewer flies but more midges. When running in Summertime - particularly along hedgerows - dark glasses are a must. I ran without them just the other day and had to stop numerous times to extract several specimens that were in the process of excavating my retina. Indeed, I would understand it if I saw runners wearing face protectors, since midges have a penchant for noses, mouths and ears too. Nasty little buggers.

4. On a positive note, there is a huge amount of great fashion available, often at fantastic prices in the Summer sales. It could just be that our wearer of dark glasses recently bagged a brilliant bargain and is determined not to have to wait until next month's heatwave to show off their designer shades.

5. Finally, it could be that the person wearing dark glasses is one of hundreds of employees of the News of the World newspaper that closed down this week in the phone-hacking scandal. Who knows?!

Back2Britain #1: Hedgerows & Horizons

2011-07-12T14:11:00.004+02:00

When you're in the throws of re-entering your 'home nation' after a long time living elsewhere in the world, there are great highs and deep lows. On the one hand, there is a familiarity to the place that finds an echo in childhood memories, creating the sensation of returning home. On the other hand, so much is different from wherever has been your adopted home, and this leads to uncomfortable comparisons. All this is happening at a time of seismic change, when you are likely grieving much that you have left 'over there', but are still unsure that 'over here' will offer anything like the same enjoyment.

That's my experience anyway.

This blog will no doubt be a place where I process this particular part of our journey, both the physical move and the internal processing that is at once the engine and the exhaust fumes of that move. I will try not to do too much comparing of our last home and our new one; comparisons tend not to be helpful. But as a returnee, many things about living in Britain stand out to me - about the place, the ways of doing things, the people and how they relate - and those things will likely feature in these pages.

So, to quote U2, right now I am struggling with having 'no line on the horizon'. I have tried a few running routes and everywhere are these wonderful British hedgerows - home to many happy animals and insects, not to mention rampant species of plants - and totally obstructing the view. I am used to seeing the ocean in one direction and the mountains in the other; this tunnel perspective just feels claustrophobic.

I follow narrow lanes from where we'll be working to where we'll be living. I pass through sweet little villages, lush with well-watered vegetation, and neat as new pins. And I long for somewhere altogether more rugged, an open vista across a landscape whose mood changes daily.

At the weekend we borrowed a car (ours should be ready any day) with the intention of finding space outdoors to run, spin, jump. We followed the map to interesting-sounding places and discovered Tree Cathedral. In my mind I imagined a huge old oak in an open field. And what we discovered was beautiful ... a cathedral, complete with nave, chapel and cloisters all marked out with head-high hedgerows: I couldn't see more than 15 metres ahead.

And then it began to rain. Of course it bloody well did.

I remind myself that people come from all over the world to enjoy the British phenomena of the hedgerow ;-) I breath deeply and look for elevated ground. I push back curtains as far as they will go and throw open windows, no matter what the weather. Let in that special quality of light at the beginning and end of the day that is British Summertime.

And breath.

The sunny side of YWAM England

2011-07-04T13:49:00.001+02:00

Tim and I have been part of Youth With A Mission since 1999 (unofficially since 1998 when, together with our soon-to-be team-mates, we bought land for what would become a new YWAM centre in Mozambique). In all that time we have never been part of YWAM in England. We've visited a couple of the training centres here over the years, and are most familiar with the Harpenden centre that is to become our new home, but really our experience of YWAM England is very limited.

This weekend, still blurry from our last days in South Africa, we joined a couple hundred other YWAM staff members for their annual national gathering: this was our YWAM England baptism of fire! Thankfully we managed to opt out of camping by pleading the likely onset of re-entry insanity. We had a great twin-roomed place on the top floor of the beautiful old building that is the King's Lodge, in the Midlands.

There was a pretty busy programme but under the circumstances - being fresh off the boat and all - we took the timetable as being purely advisory. It was not at all ideal to shift the girls around so soon and Kez was initially far from impressed. She screwed up her face and issued her worst insult: "I hate it here; everyone is FAT!" But once the ice had been broken with a couple of lovely (svelte) girls her age, she decided it wasn't so bad after all. (In fact, "This was a GREAT weekend!") The weather played nice and we had some fabulous sunny days, with the long light evenings that are the privelege of northern hemisphere Summers.

Honestly, I was personally in overload and found a novel to read on my bed whenever Emmanuelle was napping. Tim, on the other hand, turned into someone I haven't seen in a while: he went to the meetings, socialized like a pro, played soccer and quickly found some mates with whom to escape to the pub. It's good to have my husband back!

My hazy conclusion? There are some really great people around who I'm looking forward to getting to know. Now, if only I can find something to wear in the chaos that is our semi-unpacked luggage, I might even be able to leave the appartment and go find some of them ;-)

Monday was Moving Day

2011-06-30T22:00:00.002+02:00

Once the removal company arrived, it was quick sticks - as they say in South Africa - to clear the house of the stuff for storage. Especially with Keziah helping ;-)

Empty Spaces

2011-06-26T19:59:00.001+02:00

Our last night in our house: more empty spaces than boxes. An emptiness that leaks into this home, filled with memories and the echoes of laughter. But we don't feel empty, we feel full with the blessing of having had these precious years in this wonderful place. We'll sleep - in linen loaned by the neighbours, so that we could pack every last item - with a peace that comes from knowing that, while we were here, we lived well. We lived to the full. We loved, and laughed, and celebrated. We raised two beautiful children and built many lasting friendships.

Empty spaces; full hearts.

Brave, beautiful girl

2011-06-25T21:45:00.002+02:00

Yesterday, Keziah's class threw a farewell party for her. There were about 16 kids, filling one of the mom's homes with their shrieks and laughter. They are 9 and 10 but their physical presence seems to take up twice as much space as a year ago.

I was sitting with half a dozen other women, sipping tea in the open-plan sitting room and shooting the breeze when I heard a loud voice; it sounded distinctly like my daughter. "Come on, everyone! Gather 'round. I have something I want to say! Gather 'round!" My ears pricked up ... we're talking about a girl who still has the capacity to cry on going into school on a Monday morning. A girl who had hated to be left by me from the time she was 2 years old, until very recently.

This child - who I scarcely recognized, but who was somehow terribly familiar - got this rowdy group of tweens to gather round and listen to her as she gave each one a photo and a note about how and why she had appreciated them. She spoke to each one in turn and then rounded off by saying goodbye, and how much she'd miss them. I didn't piece all of this together until later - I couldn't hear everything from my perch among the moms - but even so, I was gobsmacked.

Keziah confided in me later that a couple of the kids had told her they found speeches boring. I told her (in an awestruck voice) how proud I was of her confidence. I was fishing to discover just what it was that had given her the confidence to hold centre stage: "Oh, I'm going to England so I just don't care anymore!" she declared.

Freedom from what other people think of us comes at unexpected moments, with startling results. Don't you think?!

Heaven forbid ...

2011-06-23T12:44:00.003+02:00

Last night I came home in the *pouring* rain from watching a friend's drama production. Tim had made a fire and was lounging on the sofa enjoying a 'boy movie': 127 Hours. You must have heard of it; you know, the one where the guy gets pinned by a boulder and ends up cutting his own arm off with a blunt knife (after first breaking the bones) in order to save his life.

I'd heard the buzz surrounding this story for a while and just last weekend, a friend was discussing the book and the thoughts it stirred up for him. I haven't read the book. I haven't even watched the movie (I watched the DVD extras, showing how they made the movie, but not the movie itself). Perhaps this disqualifies me from commenting on the story at all ... but hey, I figure half the Christian population is discussing Rob Bell's book, Love Wins, without ever having turned a page, so heck, what's stopping me doing the same. Everyone has an opinion, right?

Obviously, the biggest drama of this story is when the guy actually chops off his own arm. You can't get around it, it's the moment that has everyone asking themselves what they'd do in his position: would I have the guts to do that? Or would I just crumple in a heap in the gloom of the canyon and wail with self-pity? Would I weep for unfulfilled dreams and lost opportunities? No doubt.

This morning I was with a friend whose husband died suddenly a year ago. We chatted for a long time about our different journeys, about the strange turns life takes, about what this does to our hearts and our relationships. And as we said our goodbyes, the car's engine running and me just pulling away from the kerb, she said, "It's all about the choices we make when things don't turn out the way we thought."

This friend has made some tough choices: about not being bitter, about getting on with life, about giving herself grace when she couldn't 'get on with life'. Those choices were no easier than Rolston's decision to cut off his arm: it's the hard choice to accept the way things are and to survive, positively, exhuberantly; to embrace the next season of life even if that means doing so without a limb, or a soulmate.

Apart from the bloody arm scene, the thing that stays with me from Ralston's story is the fact that, as he recalled the way he had handled his relationships with family and lovers, he had to extend grace to himself for not living those relationships in the way he now wished he had. His internal choice - as opposed to his external, physical decision about how to get out of there - required the courage to accept himself for the way he'd been, even whilst longing for a second chance.

What does grace mean? For me, right now, it means living with the greyness of what I just don't know. It means looking my fears in the face and still taking the next step. And you?

With a little help from our friends

2011-06-21T19:45:00.002+02:00

I'd kinda got to the point of not being able to think straight. You know when you stand in the middle of a room and turn in circles because your addled mind can't quite focus on anything? So it was just what I needed to have two friends come to help me sort and pack the kitchen :-) We still have a week until the movers come to take our stuff to the storage location, and we're *almost* done with packing. Yeah, I know those last few bits and bobs can seem like they take forever, but we are pretty much there. The luggage for the flight is all stashed in one of the empty bedrooms, and - bar the one bag we still have to pack with our clothes and wash-kit for the next few days - everything has fitted in. Yay!

In between boxes, friends have popped in for their 'finals': a final cup of tea here, a last cup of coffee there. Bittersweet, you might say. For sure, it's easier to say goodbye to the ones I know pass through Europe on a semi-regular basis. Anyway, I'm sort of hoping that since the kitchen is packed, we might score a few 'last suppers' with friends who still have access to pots and pans ;-)

Celebrating Friends

2011-06-20T20:37:00.001+02:00

The great thing about this season of change is the opportunity it gives to reflect, to appreciate what we have enjoyed here in South Africa. And when all is said and done, the best thing about the last (almost) decade has been the people. Truly, we feel like we have been given a family here. The weekend's party was about just that :-)

Build me a raft

2011-06-18T15:52:00.002+02:00

Apparently, all those clever debrief-ers tell me, what you need at times of change is a raft. You build yourself something solid yet buoyant enough to get you from the safety of one shore to the relative security of the other, across the choppy, unpredictable waters that lie between. All you need, so they say, is a good acronym.

'R' is for reconcile - bringing together expectations with reality; making right old wrongs; dealing with regret and what will never, now, be the way you wanted. 'A' is for affirm - speaking out all those lovely thoughts you had towards your friends and colleagues, but never found the time or the place to verbalize. And then - even lovelier - be affirmed yourself: receive the assurance that you did a good job, you were a good friend. 'F' is for saying farewell - to all the people and places that have mattered to you. This celebration of good things and good people is the best part of the whole process, if only it didn't actually entail saying goodbye! And finally, 'T' is for taking time for talk about the future, the good things that are to come.

I believe in rafts. I value good processing. Change can be amazing when it is embraced with all your heart.

But it doesn't stop you from lying in your bed, looking at the expanse of wooden ceiling and beyond, to the view of the sea, and sobbing that the time has come to leave. It doesn't make it easier to pack up the place where your kids learned to walk, and talk, to be the people they are becoming. It doesn't take the sting out of parting kisses, farewell words.

The raft will take you to the other side, but there's a lot of choppy water to navigate on the crossing.

Snapshot of South Africa

2011-06-13T17:28:00.003+02:00

Meet Shane (22) and Sufeet (23). They live in a shanty area outside Muizenberg; Shane still lives with his mum but Sufeet - who finished High School - lives alone. This shot of them was taken this morning when, after a chilly hour's walk from where they live to Kalk Bay, they began a morning's work sorting through other people's household rubbish.

Our rubbish has been a magnet for trash-trawlers recently; we are chucking so much away that's not worth storing or taking with us to England. We have taken to driving through to the tip and recycling centre instead of leaving the rubbish for collection, because most of our visitors are not as considerate as Shane and Sufeet when it comes to putting the unwanted trash back in the bin.

But this is not a recent development: every Monday morning for the past 9 years, we have left our wheelie bin at the kerb for collection, only to find people going through it moments later. This is a very common sight and difficult to get used to.

I asked Shane and Sufeet why they do this sort of work; I'm always a bit surprised that it's not just homeless people who rake through others' cast-offs ... is it so hard to get a job that people will resort to this?

Sufeet said, "I don't know about him, but I'm just lazy." He said he prefers to work only when he needs to, so he'll either do a few days as a labourer or join Shane in rubbish sorting. They collect things that can be fixed and resold, or used by themselves. They also visit the local tip and go through the things they find there, looking for anything they could make money from.

Shane said his mum kicks him out of the house every day to make money anyway he can. Everyone in the house has to make a contribution to household expenses and he's no exception. When pressed as to why he does this particular work, he said "Well, this is just what God has given me. I have to accept it - what can you do?"

More than the sight of strangers going through my personal stuff, more than the feeling of guilt that my unwanted junk is their provision, it was this statement that stayed with me. For me, it is this fatalism that is even more of a trap for people like Shane and Sufeet than poverty itself.

Do you have a way of thinking that keeps you stuck making rubbish choices? Are there things you believe that prevent you from 'moving on' in certain areas of your life?

A local like no other

2011-06-10T18:50:00.002+02:00

One of the fabulous things about living in Kalk Bay has been proximity to the Brass Bell. This inimitable waterside pub has been one of our favourite Friday night haunts, and today, after stripping the house of books and paintings, we felt deserving of a decent pint! Apart from that, we had received Emmanuelle's British passport by courier, thereby completing the many hours of arduous paperwork familiar to any adoptive family. No more visits to Home Affairs! If ever there was a good reason for a celebratory drink, this was it!

We walked down the road in bright sunshine and took a table directly above the waves. It was warm enough to sit in the open air, with the seagulls landing beside us every so often, hoping for a spare chip. Soon the mist closed in, cutting off the view of the rocky hills behind the fishing village, and hanging off our coats in wisps. We walked home in the gloaming, wondering whether our next 'local' will come anywhere close to this very special place!

It's not about the money

2011-06-09T08:53:00.005+02:00

Today AfriCom is holding a special time of prayer that the last $2,000 will come in to make it possible to print and post our complimentary YWAM Africa magazine to missionaries around the continent.

It's not about the money: it's about encouraging missionaries, most of them living in cross-cultural situations away from their extended family. It's about strengthening them by sharing stories about what God is doing around Africa, through people just like them. It's about holding up their arms, helping them to persevere when the going gets tough because they know that others are praying for them.

Stronger missionaries means more effective ministry. Whether they are running an HIV clinic in a rural African village, or training locals in computer literacy; whether they are training pastors or teaching university students about the bible. When missionaries feel supported, cared for, part of something bigger than themselves, then they are more capable of playing their own part, with a light heart.

It ain't easy out there, and we want to do our bit to make it just a little bit easier.

And you can too: say a prayer today for the shortfall to be provided so that YWAM missionaries in Africa can receive this encouraging magazine. (It will be on-line too but for many missionaries in the field Internet access is not reliable enough to view this sort of thing.) And if your heart whispers to you, then go here to make a donation.

And remember, it's about much, much more than the money!

Just to spice things up a bit

2011-06-07T20:19:00.003+02:00

There's nothing like a spanner in the spokes when you're already maxed out, don't you know?!

There we were, thinking it was oh-so-great that Emmanuelle's British citizenship had been granted before we left for the UK. We merrily set about getting her a visa to enter the UK on her South African passport, relishing the easy-peasy prospect of applying for her British passport once we'd arrived.

Spanner hits spokes: Britain can't grant her a visa for the country of which she is already a citizen. Doh, so obvious once you think about it!

So, now we have 3 weeks left in which to get a UK passport that normally takes 4 weeks to process - 6 weeks for first-time applicants.

What does this mean when you are surrounded by half-packed boxes; trying to remember which person is coming to collect which for-sale item they just gave you money for; handing over all the work things you do to some other poor sod; keeping track of paperwork on the house you hope you've sold; making sure your kid gets to school dressed and on time every morning, having revised for her assessments, learned her poem, researched her mammal project, and, and, and?

It means you stop all of that and focus for one day, one of the precious 22 days you have left, to get that darned passport. Without which all of this manic activity means nothing (in spite of the fact that I had at least two people offer to keep Manu for us if she can't leave South Africa!).

First, there are the phone calls to be made. The endless calls to explain and cajole, to ask questions and get things straight. Yes, normally an emergency travel document would be a fall-back plan. No, you can't apply for one unless the full passport has first been applied for. No, a passport cannot be expedited just because the timing is unfortunate.

Then we wait for an hour. We waste time on Facebook, letting people know what's happening and asking them to pray that somehow, something will get worked out. You know, kinda fast. And then another phone call and, well actually, you are a special case. Aha, I always knew it! The full passport will be expedited if we make the application immediately.

So then there's the unabridged birth certificate to collect from a town an hour's drive away. There are the passport photos to have taken. Then taken again to make sure both ears can be seen. There are the forms to download, and the forms that explain how to fill in the other forms. There's the marriage certificate to find, and the photocopies to take, and the payment to organize. There's the courier company to book and the phone calls to make, again, just to check that absolutely everything is in order and the embassy really will do their job.

And then the day is over. The wheels turn once again. And we're back to half-packed boxes, half-completed lists, and half-learned assessments. So maybe the benefit of the spanner is that when it's removed, the mess you're left with doesn't seem half as bad, by comparison, as it did before!

Kalk Bay Farewell

2011-06-05T19:16:00.000+02:00

Ever since Emmanuelle's British citizenship came through, I've been trying to think of an appropriate way for us to celebrate. This morning I created a 'Kalk Bay Passport' for Emmanuelle, Keziah and her friend, Jude ... so we combined a farewell to our favourite places in Kalk Bay with a celebration of Emmanuelle's now-possible British passport.

Jude and Keziah hoofed it around Kalk Bay, chatting to shopkeepers and asking them for stamps to put in their passports. Tim and I sat and soaked up the vibe at one of our favourite coffee shops. Both kids and adults found their own happy way to say goodbye to the stunning place that is our own dear Kalk Bay ;-)

Which is your favourite spot in the world, and why do you love it?

This is why I love my friends

2011-06-02T12:44:00.004+02:00

Yesterday I found an email in my inbox. The address belonged to a close friend of mine, but the email was to Keziah from her daughter. As I read it, tears spilled onto my cheeks ... not so much because of what the email said, although it is really sweet, but because my friend knows me well enough to know how concerned I am for Kez during this time of transition. And she did something about it in the most perfect and appropriate way :-)

A few days before, I was speaking to my sister-in-law on the phone and she asked - as if I might say no - whether she and my brother could pick us up from the airport when we land in London at the end of the month. Again, I was choked up. That they would drive 4 or 5 hours to be in London at 8am so that the girls would have family to meet them absolutely knocked me sideways.

One time Tim asked me, what was the most romantic thing he'd ever done for me. I thought of all the trips we've taken, the meals we've shared, the nights away in special places. And the thing that stood out in that bank of beautiful memories was one time when I was walking home from work on a regular weekday. He had guessed at when I'd be coming home and had set out to meet me. As I stepped onto the bridge that crossed the canal near to where we lived, I saw him walking towards me on the bridge. And that was it: I felt cared for, anticipated, desired, loved and special, in that one simple moment.

This email and the offer to collect us from Heathrow are both like that for me, on a friendship level: totally unsought for and yet absolutely what the family and I needed! I feel seen, cared for, considered: and it feels GREAT!

Here's the sweet email from a sweet girl who is being taught by her sweet mum what it means to be a good friend. (I won't put the photo it came with up here, but it was of the cutest group of girls, sitting outside with their tea in china cups, surrounded by beautiful cakes!)

"Dear Keziah,

This week it is half term and today I had a tea party for my friends. I am sending you a photo to show you who some of your new friends will be when you come to live in Harpenden. We do fun stuff like this all the time!

In the picture is Hannah (on the left, at the front) she is 12. Next to her is her sister Abigail, she is in our class. That’s Sarah behind her, she is new too, and she is also 9 but she goes to another school. Next to me is Gabi, she is 7 and beside her is Amanda who is also 7.

I can’t wait til you come!

Love, J."

What have been the special moments in your friendships? Do you have someone walking across the bridge to meet you?

Planted seeds that become shade-giving trees

2011-05-31T11:10:00.003+02:00

We're in that clearing-out phase; that sorting-selling-giving-away phase. It's a healthy part of moving home that enables us to clear away the clutter that accummulates over years of living in one place. It feels good to me; for Tim it seems a little harder (do we really need to keep those Portuguese books just in case we're ever in a Portuguese-speaking place again?!).

It's kinda cool to think about some of the *stuff* that we've passed on to others, to think about the 'new life' those things will have!

Tim's old guitar, for instance, has found a new home at a safe house for women fleeing violent situations, or trying to build a life away from the streets. YWAM workers are helping them develop skills and take up new interests that build their sense of self worth, that foster again an appreciation for beauty. Learning to play guitar is one of the opportunities these women can now be offered. This guitar - still making a decent sound after travelling around the world with Tim for 23 years - will be a part of nurturing the humanity, the tender interiors of these broken-and-being-rebuilt women: a seed sown.

My old bike has been bought by a YWAM guy who wants to be able to cycle into local communities to teach bible truths. Our car has been bought by a group going into a nearby township to build houses, teach skills and work with kids. A hand sewing machine I used in Mozambique will be used to teach marketable skills to local women without work, who need to find ways to feed their families. The iMac we bought with money we'd saved for a camera will remain with the YWAM communication ministry, enabling the team to continue with the design and video work that helps tell the stories of what God is doing in Africa, providing opportunities for others to get involved. Shade-giving trees are going to grow in the spaces left as we 'clear out'.

It's just *stuff* ... but it's more than that. It's music and beauty, bible teaching, house-building, and story-telling. It's seeds sown that become shade-giving trees for many lives.

Did you ever hear of a better reason to have a good clear-out?!

Packing can be fun!

2011-05-30T18:53:00.000+02:00

A while ago we sold our roof tent. Unfortunately, the resulting deposit into our account had not materialized, despite numerous phone calls, emails and (empty) promises. So this morning Tim decided to drive over to 'supervise' the necessary Internet transaction. Not a fun job on a rainy day like today ... but a small detour to find bubble wrap to help with the packing process proved worthwhile: happy girls :-)

Sometimes whether something is fun or not is just a matter of perspective. Packing became fun for us today ... what change of perspective have you enjoyed recently?

Good-looking Brollies

2011-05-29T12:42:00.003+02:00

It's been a *cold* and rainy weekend in Cape Town. Not only have we compensated by building up the fire and sharing comfort food with friends, but I have enjoyed the chance to try out my new brolly!

My friend bought me this little number, with the kind thought that I need to be prepared for our UK return. I love it - me and my lady friend will be stepping out in style: grey weather is no excuse for a lack of colour!

Poetry Competition. Isn't that an oxymoron?

2011-05-27T21:09:00.002+02:00

We've borrowed this really beautiful poetry book from a school teacher friend of ours, so when I saw Keziah poring over it I was stoked. She read out a couple of the poems she found funnier (predictably, mostly ones that poked fun at parents or teachers) and I thought it was cool that she was enjoying the music and malleability of language.

"I have to learn one for school," she said, holding out a notice slip. "Oh yeah?" I reached for the notice, scanning it quickly: Poetry Competition ... at least 4 stanzas ... graded according to ...blah, blah. What the ..?

Am I the only one to find this weird and sad? Weirdly sad, sadly weird? That we make creativity a competition? Sure, maths tests, spelling tests, comprehension tests, debates. Okay, sports day; I don't think sport has to be competitive to be fun but sure, I get it.

But poetry? That personal, creative expression that somehow says more than the words on the page. Aren't we cheapening that to make the reading of it a competition? Aren't we teaching our kids that even in the realm of beauty, creativity, self-expression they're going to be compared to others, arranged along some sort of sliding scale of success?

People who know me well know that homeschooling is something I admire, something I think would be really great for my kids. I guess you could say it's something I aspire to, so long as I can do so from a distance that indicates no real intention of ever fulfilling the aspiration. The fact that we are not homeschooling is really just an admission of my own limitations ... meaning, I figure they need a sane mother more than they need a homeschooling one ;-)

The little school Keziah goes to is a great compromise. No, that's not fair; it really is a great school. But it does my head in that they feel like they have to make e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g a competition: bible knowledge competition (should have seen that coming), talent competition, fundraising competition, craft competition. You name it, it has a scorecard attached to it.

Keziah is 9, for heaven's sake. Couldn't she go a little longer without having it engrained in her to compare herself to other people on sight?!

Every so often I go to this poetry evening known locally as 'off the Wall'. It's a unique mix of people who all love poetry and some have gone so far as to write their own. They meet at a Victorian house in Observatory - an artsy, hippy suburb of Cape Town - that's been converted into a pub. It's dark and quirky, oddly ornate in a down-at-heel sort of a way. Each week they'll have a poet read some of their work (when does a poet become a poet, I wonder? Maybe only when they're published?) and then - after an interval for ordering generous glasses of wine from the bar - anyone is welcome to the mic to read (perhaps the wine is for Dutch courage).

And listen to this: everyone gets applauded. Everyone. Some of it is really good; clear and simple but profound in that almost imperceptible way, as though if you tilted your head slightly you might miss the meaning. And some of it is just, I dunno, nothing special. But there's no order to those who read (not the worst at the end when wine has dulled the senses) and, like I said, the applause is generous and kind. It's the applause of people who know what it is to put your creativity out there for scarily public consumption.

I love that. If I was homeschooling, that's where I'd take Keziah so she'd know the preciousness of a poem. As it is, I have to grit my teeth and help her read her chosen verses over and over and over, so that somehow she passes muster!

How about you? Are you all for some healthy competition? And when it comes to poetry: open mic, anything goes, or competition and only one person wins? Go on, whether you're a closet baird or one of those people that thinks poetry can only mean rhyming couplets, I'm pretty sure you've got an opinion?!

Go on, humour me

2011-05-25T17:58:00.003+02:00

So, I'm really interested: what do you do to drag yourself out of the mire of grumpiness? And don't pretend that you don't go there; we all know that's not true.

It doesn't matter what gets you down: difficult people (hey, we all know how that feels, right?); money worries; the cat left a dead mouse on your front doorstep; your husband is being a pain in the ass; you want to swap your kids for someone elses (or maybe, for none at all).

This morning, on the way to school - which is when most of our meltdowns happen - I fell out with my eldest. She realized she was going to have to stay late at school for computer club and she wanted out, "just this once". I'm normally pretty patient, even when I'm not (you know that gritted teeth, I-am-being-nice-about-this tone of voice we have perfected by their third birthdays?). But she shouted at me and, for whatever unreasonable reason, I shouted back. She was in tears by the time we got to school, and I was ready to lay into someone who was big enough to stick up for themselves.

Of course, passive agression is often so much easier than direct confrontation. So - when the friend I've known for longer than anyone in Cape Town said 'she may or may not be able to make it to our farewell party, she wasn't sure 'cause, well, something might come up' - I made a rapid retreat, uttering "Good grief, Capetonians!" not quite under my breath. By the screeching of the tyres of a passing mother, who was completely unrelated but had obviously overheard the incident, I figured I had offended at least that particular Capetonian, if not the whole city.

I drove down Main Road on my way into work, mulling this over in my mind and thinking how to put things right. I had DVDs to drop off, after the sick day Kez and I pulled yesterday, so I dove into the nearest packing space so that I could be quick about it. Except I wasn't: *crunch* went my rear bumper as I steered the car too sharply into the space, scraping past the vehicle in the space behind. In the event there was no harm done, but I don't need to explain just why this was really bad timing, do I(we just sold the car)?

So, I find myself at 5pm just home after collecting Kez from computer club (yes, she did go) and taking her to piano class. I am feeling decidedly gloomy (or bleak, as the good old Zimbos put it) and a phone call from Tim completely fails to cheer me up. So what do I do?

Maybe I should have put on great music, poured myself a glass of wine and simply made the choice to mellow out (kids' supper, bath and bedtime can go to the dogs at moments like these). But no, I resort to soliciting Facebook friends for funny videos! Ha! What is wrong with me?! But hey, it worked ... I felt loved and supported with every funny clip a friend sent my way. And that, I guess, was the point. When we are glum, we need to know we are loved ... just the way we are :-)

What do you do when you're down in the dumps? And does it work?!

It's not all about me? Gasp

2011-05-24T12:16:00.003+02:00

I'm a busy type of a gal. I like doing stuff and I like to make things happen. I'll freely admit that I'm into lists: it's my greatest joy to tick things off my list; it makes me feel like I've accomplished something, even something small (do the laundry ✔).

For the past 8 years I have been busy making things happen. When things didn't want to happen the way I thought they should (read: knew they should) I pushed harder.

Back then, Youth With A Mission had, oh I don't know, 100 operating locations around Africa. There was no communication that linked them all together, not really. A YWAM Africa website was just getting off the ground; someone in England tried to get the African locations to fill in a sort of census every year or so, with limited success. Most of the French and Portuguese speaking centres received their YWAM information in English, so felt cut off from the rest of the mission. If there was a project in one country setting up a clinic for HIV+ clients, say, someone might start an almost identical clinic in the neighbouring nation and never know they had colleagues just down the road they could learn stuff from. That was just how it was.

Now, there's still a lot to be done, but things are different now. We have a magazine for all our staff around Africa and it gets published in English, French and Portuguese. There are stories about what YWAM is doing in Africa on our international website and in our global e-zine. There are video stories about ministries, resources that help those teams find partners and recruit staff. People around the continent receive text messages reminding them of key YWAM initiatives they can be part of.

I got to tick a lot of things off my list in those 8 years.

And now? Now I hand it all over to someone else to lead, to make more progress, to tick things off their list.

Is it hard to let go? You betcha. Am I willing to, as Kipling put it, watch the things I've given my life to broken? Well, I doubt they'll be broken, but turned into someone else's idea of success? Yeah ... I am ... kinda ;-)

Over the last month or so I have received staff enquiries from three really fantastic-sounding people. People with great communication skills and a solid load of experience in Africa and missions. I would love to work with them, to make them part of my team and to show everyone what we could do by working together. But I'm not going to be here. If they come - and I really hope they do - these awesome people will be part of building a great communication network for YWAM in Africa. They'll see a lot of fabulous results that make things easier for our missionaries out there and give lots of other people the chance to get involved.

And I won't be around to take any of the glory. I will simply get to cheer from the sidelines.

Coz, at the end of the day, it's not about me getting to tick things off my list, or about me feeling successful. Real success has to go beyond the people who worked to make things happen, to be about the stuff that lasts when we have to walk away.

What have you poured yourself into over the last few years ... and what of all of that will still be around when you've gone?

Latest news bulletin

2011-05-22T16:22:00.003+02:00

Open publication - Free publishing - More africa

Take a few minutes to read a summary of our news from the past couple of months - including snippets from ministry trips to Mozambique and Sudan, and headline news about the implications of our decision to spend a year in the UK from July.

Careful readers will note the donate button at the bottom of page 2: with just one click you can help us cover the costs of shifting our ministry to another continent! We'll do the hard work of moving and you can play a key part from the comfort of your armchair - sounds like a great deal ;-)

Check out Keziah's first movie project!

2011-05-20T18:19:00.000+02:00

Donkeys Rock!: Grooming the donkeys: "Hi!! Grooming the donkeys is inportant because otherwise there hooves get all horrable and they get sick. As well as that we have to file ..."

Banging my own drum

2011-05-19T09:25:00.002+02:00

A couple of years ago, Darcie and Marie were two of the students on the journalism course we ran as part of YWAM's University of the Nations here in Cape Town. From Sweden and the United States, once they met they became a dynamic duo, http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifsharinhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifg dreams as well as double espressos and chocolate muffins!

The pair soon launched Eye See Media as a way of engaging with today's serious issues in a relevant manner, thereby offering others all sorts of ways to respond to the needs of the world around them, whether by buying fairly traded products, understanding how to be ecologically responsible or learning to recognize victims of human trafficking right where they live.

It pays to have such talented friends ... today they featured a little piece about yours truly (and I'm so shy and retiring that I'm giving all of you a chance to read it!).

So ... you think you know me?

2011-05-18T21:55:00.002+02:00

I noticed this on Bill's blog (thanks Bill). I thought, since it made me smile so much, there must be more than a grain of truth to this guide to translating British lingo.

You think you know me, so ... what would you say?!

Redefining Origins

2011-05-16T21:08:00.002+02:00

Kez is processing a lot at the moment. I guess it doesn't take a psychologist to figure out that this move would be unsettling for her, but it's interesting to listen to the things that she drops into conversation; small indicators of entire inner landscapes.

Making friends is a big one; how to do it? Wouldn't we all like a 1+2=3 formula for building life-giving relationships?!

Then there's the question of where she's really from: being born and raised in South Africa but being 'officially' British suddenly appears to be problematic. I thought that maybe she was feeling a need to be more solidly South African, but in fact she wants to feel more British, it seems. Perhaps she's preparing herself for integration and wants there to be as few things that are different from her peers as possible.

With all this in mind, it was interesting that, as she lay on my bed tonight and kicked her heels, composing poems and doodles in her journal, she came up with this:

Englishmen

If I were an Englishman
I would have a big top hat
And a black coat.
What about some blue faded overalls?

Well, girls are not the same.
I don't see why.
They wear silly frilly petticoats
And pink frocks, to go.

In great South African tradition

2011-05-15T19:54:00.002+02:00

I would say he's become pretty expert at the great South African braai, but today Tim flopped pretty spectacularly. I think his mind is on other things!

We put the non-braai food in the oven way too late. When we put the meat on the grill, the coals died. When Tim removed the meat to add more coals and build up the fire, he dropped the sosaties into the ash. The chicken wasn't cooking fast enough, so halfway through Tim had to take the pieces away to be nuked in the microwave. We had no beers and no wine in the house (you still can't buy alcohol on a Sunday in South Africa). Good reef, as Emmanuelle would say ... anyone would think we'd just stepped onto the tarmac at Cape Town International Airport ;-)

Fortunately, we were more successful in pulling off a wine-tasting yesterday - that other great South African tradition. We stayed close to home and visited the Constantia wine farms of Buitenverwachting and Klein Constantia, strolling the leafy estates and tasting some delicious wines, under the guise of getting a few bottles in for our leaving party next month.

A friend commented on Facebook that we're living a life of luxury ... I'm not sure what she meant, given that both visiting wine farms and tasting wines are complimentary, but our surroundings are certainly 'luxurious' and make me feel incredibly rich, in the best sense of the word. Just this morning we were walking and clambering on boulders, as sunlight pierced the low-lying mist over Silvermine Reserve, and yes, it felt luxurious just to have the opportunity to be there.

Do you have any favourite traditions? And what - about where or how you live - makes you feel most blessed?

Tears before bedtime?

2011-05-14T20:19:00.002+02:00

It's not that I'm averse to crying. And it's not that I can't cry. It's just that I don't.

Take the last few weeks for example. My eldest brother and his family have been in an earthquake and my youngest sister has been in a potentially fatal car accident. Not one tear. Nada.

And it's not just the sad stuff either. My younger brother and his wife are in the middle of the most amazing adoption adventure. And my eyes are dry.

The last time I really cried it was months ago and it was because I was so intensely frustrated that if I hadn't cried I would probably have punched someone. Thank goodness the release valve worked that time!

Last week our team was discussing Strengths Finder, chatting through our individual strengths and how they effect the team. My top strengths are all action oriented and one of the other girl's top strengths are mostly relational. She remarked that when she and I had been working through some thorny issue or another, she had thought that because I wasn't responding emotionally, I wasn't really getting her. Meanwhile, I have always thought that I'm dealing with an issue well when I put my emotions to one side and handle things in a rational way.

This works fine for the whole packing-and-sorting thing we're into right now. But it's not such a great way of processing leaving the country that's been home for the past 9 years, along with all the friends, work, places and pets(!) that have been part of that picture.

I think it would help to cry, really I do. I'm kind of afraid that by just carrying on, coping with everything, all I'm doing is delaying a major breakdown. Like I'm walking around with a stone in my belly that's made up of all my un-shed tears and one day it might explode!

The other stress reactions - waking up at 5am, teeth grinding, itchy scalp, tense shoulders - are just not nearly as satisfying as good cry would be ;-)

A friend suggested watching P.S. I love you to get the tears flowing. I dunno, I'm not so much a lame movie girl either. How do you deal with stress? Are you a crier or a stiff-upper-lip sort? Which seems the most healthy to you?

Why do we do what we do?

2011-05-11T14:56:00.006+02:00

I'm told by Tim that I have the annoying habit of beginning conversations with him as though they were halfway through. I introduce ideas that are completely new to him, in a way that implies we've recently had entire dialogues on the subject.

Perhaps this is why I love the opportunity - afforded us by Facebook, Twitter and the like - for ongoing conversation. I love the connections between one conversation and another, sometimes with people I've never met.

We are all communicating all the time. And for me, this sort of ongoing conversation is part of life. Ever since we chose to work as volunteers - our work only possible thanks to partnerships with people living in a slew of different locations - communication has become crucial, like the raft upon which we float across a foreign sea.

So I am used to explaining and describing to people what we do. I am used to questions like the one Jamie responded to in a recent guest post, about 'what a normal day looks like'. People probably have a pretty good idea what we do, but how many people 'get' why we do what we do?

Maybe people think we moved to Africa because we're the adventurous sort? (A friend recently described us as "avid campers and quite hardy"!) Maybe they think we just can't stand living on a small, perpetually cloudy island? Maybe, because we work with a 'mission', people think that we're some species of spiritual giant (but if they read this blog, I highly doubt it). Maybe they think that we became missionaries because we couldn't get 'proper' jobs. Or that we switched from working with churches in rural Mozambique to communication ministry in Cape Town because we wimped out.

Why do we do what we do? Inspired by a TED talk by Simon Sinek, I thought on this for a bit, anxious to avoid sloppy, pat phrases that get bandied about by do-gooders and to get at what I really believe. There must be more to this than the 'we felt called' cliché?

When it comes down to it, it's all about believing that the story of Jesus - a story of love and beauty, of redemption and relationship, of forgiveness and reconciliation - is worth telling. That this story is worth knowing and that people everywhere are intrinsically special enough to get to hear about something that could change their lives.

Now, we could live in one place, telling and living this story until its truth got rubbed into the crevices of everyday life, and a few people in that place became permeated with the truth of it. But we have chosen to work in communication, and tell this story in a million different ways, to many more people, so that some of them hear the story in such a way that they are inspired to give, pray and go to far-flung places so that others can also hear it. If the story is powerful, then the telling of it ought to be powerful too.

And that's why. Why do you do what you do? And now that you think about it, is that reason enough?

Drawbacks of Show Home Sundays

2011-05-09T16:01:00.002+02:00

It was late afternoon yesterday and I was about to go out. A friend had just arrived with her boyfriend to watch the kids, as Tim had already gone to a pub to watch the Arsenal-Chelsea match. I popped to the loo adjacent to my bedroom and when I came out - still fastening the belt of my jeans - a woman I didn't know was standing in my bedroom.

The conversation went something like this:
Me: "Er, hello, do I know you?"
Random woman: "You do look vaguely familiar."
Me: "Did you come with Cindy?" [The babysitter]
Random woman: "Er, no."
Me: "I'm sorry but I don't think I know who you are?!" [Or why the heck you're in my house.]
Random woman: "Are you not here to look around the house?"
Me: [Penny dropping] "No, I live here!"

Any regular readers will know that here in South Africa one of the main ways of marketing a house is Show Home Sundays. This is when the family vacates the house - in pristine condition, obviously - for the duration of a Sunday afternoon. Potential buyers drive around the neighbourhood and when they see a sign signalling that a house is 'On Show' they pop in to look around. The estate agent takes up residence for this time, which is dull or busy for them depending on how many people come to view.

Random woman had seen the For Sale signs outside the house and - missing the obvious clue that none of the signs said 'On Show' - had let herself in to look around. The fact that she had arrived just after Cindy and just as I was getting ready to leave lent enough confusion to the situation for her to get a good look at all three bedrooms before being recognized as an intruder!!

I was super-polite to the poor, embarassed woman ... and that bit in the bible about entertaining strangers because you never know when one of them is an angel did come to mind ;-)

I think it's time to take down the For Sale signs!

Tethered? Or free to fly?

2011-05-08T15:55:00.002+02:00

Mother's Day morning dawned bright and gusty; the sort of southeaster this coast is famous for. We dressed up warm and headed to the beach with the kite, laying out the strings carefully on the sand before lifting the triangle of colour and letting the wind take it into the blue sky above us. The wind pulled and tugged us, too strong to make flying easy. Keziah was twice pulled over onto the sand in a giggling heap; Emmanuelle ran from the kite as it dived crazily towards her.

The beauty of the kite against the sky, the pulling against the wind, the dance of the kite made possible only by the tension of the strings, all this is motherhood to me.

It was one day when Keziah was much younger and I was feeling oh-so-tethered, that this image came to me as a way of appreciating the freedom of flight that is only possible because of the anchor and the attached strings. Without its anchor, the kite is just a colourful yet limp piece of fabric; it cannot fly. The tether, that which keeps the kite attached to the ground, makes the beauty of flight possible (that and the wind, of course).

I was not one of those women that yearns for motherhood. Neither did I fall into it almost without aforethought. There was plenty of considering, plenty of weighing things up. And even then, it hasn't always been easy. It seems to be a human tendency to focus on what we perceive ourselves to have given up, instead of all that we have gained.

This image of a kite has returned to me often. Yes, being a mother has placed certain restraints on me (though far fewer than I had imagined it would). Yet motherhood has also provided the tension which, as I have sought the wind of dreams and ambitions, of individuality, has been part of making flight possible. I am who I am in part because I am a mother; there are things I would not have learned, character traits that would have remained undeveloped, had I not been willing to embrace the boundaries of motherhood and its responsibilities.

I choose - and will continually have the opportunity to choose - to see motherhood as an opportunity for expression and beauty and flight; to see the strings, not as restrictive and limiting, but as enabling a particular sort of freedom and joy ... and yes, flight.

Have you ever found that what you first thought was a hindrance actually became a facilitator? Or that an obstacle became a bridge into something new?

The Day After

2011-05-07T20:12:00.003+02:00

Certain moments, long anticipated, when they happen are vaguely anti-climactic. The day after starting your period, when you realize this is it for the next 40 years. The day after graduating, following months of hard graft, when you have yet to land a job you really want. The day after returning 'home' from a long stint overseas, when everything seems the same as when you left. The day after buying some much anticipated 'saved for' item, when it turns out to be just another toy.

For months we have wanted to sell our house. We have gone out many Sunday afternoons so that strangers could wander through the rooms we call home, discussing the merits and drawbacks of living here. We have endlessly re-jigged our plans so that potential buyers could drop in at a moment's notice. We have gone through countless highs and lows as time and again we came tantalizingly close to selling.

And now it's done. As near as we can make it. We have signed on an offer from a couple already living in Kalk Bay, who will move in immediately we move out and rent the place until the purchase process is completed. It's amazing, really. We fly to the UK on 29 June and on 01 July they move in. How crazily convenient, after all these months of stress. How straightforward, how neat.

And all I feel is, 'Well, that's that then.'

The anxiety, the praying, the sleepless nights are past. It's all over bar the packing. I should be raising a cheer to the rafters, opening champagne, singing the Hallelujah chorus. And here I am already moving on to the next item on my to-do list.

Have you ever felt this way? What significant milestone, once passed, seemed to lose its lustre? While you think about that, 'scuse me just a moment while I take a minute to be in the moment.

We just sold our house!!!

Learning from each other

2011-05-04T19:58:00.002+02:00

When we started AfriCom, the first regional communication team for Youth With A Mission, it felt like we were creating something completely new. And we were, for our organization. Communication had either been dealt with at a local level - more or less competently - or, when it came to our public face, at an international level from the United States.

Those first years were a combination of experimentation, building connections with leaders in the organization, being told what we were trying to do couldn't work, and then seeing the first small signs of success. It was hard and sometimes ugly. But we were convinced it was important and we enjoyed it enough to keep going!

The last couple of days I have been sitting around a table with the communication directors for Africa from Wycliffe, Africa Inland Mission and the International Baptist Mission. We have been discussing how the unique 'personalities' of our organizations have led us to pursue communication in specific ways on their behalf. We have exchanged ideas. We have been impressed by what one another is producing - beautiful stories from Africa in video, written and photo form. We have identified ways of partnering with one another, together supporting the work of each of our missionary groups in Africa.

I learned that I am not alone. That others have walked this road before me and have made the road smoother for those that follow behind. That this great mission which we have all given our lives to - making Love and Life known - can only be done as we work together.

What have you learned this week? In your life, who walks the road with you and helps you to see challenges as opportunities?

Currently …

2011-05-02T16:45:00.002+02:00

Currently busy with …
I flew up to Johannesburg early this morning, along with Pete, a colleague from AfriCom, where we are for a few days to meet with a couple of other communication directors from different mission agencies working in Africa. Ever since the Wycliffe Africa communication director moved in to share office space with AfriCom some months ago, I’ve been excited about this opportunity to network with others who have a similar job to mine Let’s see where this first step takes us.

Currently envious of …
My brother and his new motorbike, which he swears has nothing to do with a mid-life crisis. I believe him. When I manage to convince Tim to agree to me upgrading from a scooter, I will say the same thing.

Currently planning …
What to sell, what to chuck and what to store. The next step is Keziah’s clothing sale that she’s holding next weekend. I am so dying for this all to be over. As a coping strategy, in between I plan my come-back to road running: a 10k next Saturday seems as good a place as any to start.

Currently watching …
News that Osama Bin Laden has been shot dead by US navy seals in Pakistan. I guess you heard about that, right?! In between interesting snippets I am gazing out of the window at autumn leaves and the fading light of a bright, sunny day where missionary kids from around Africa get giddy with vacation excitement.

Currently reading …
Songs for the Butcher’s Daughter by Peter Manseau: a brilliant book by a stunning storyteller. Also reading through my husband’s draft of his book and hoping that he’ll soon have the head-space to finish it. (It’s good. And I’m telling you that because I know you care.) And finally, over and over and over again I am reading Hebrews 11, about people of faith: “S/he who comes to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.”

Currently obsessing over …
Oh, the usual: how toned is my butt?! Can I manage to look tanned for the UK Summer? (The answer to that should be obvious given that it’s Winter here and my Irish skin fails to tan even in Summertime but, hey, we’re talking irrational obsessions here, right?!)

Currently giggling about …
The billboard I saw along the Gauteng highway today, advertising the ‘IRA SA’. ‘What?’ I thought. ‘The IRA have had enough in Ireland and they’ve come over to South Africa, a country with enough struggles of its own?’ But fear not, the Independent Ratepayers Association is sure to cause very few ripples in this particular political pond.

Family

2011-05-01T13:02:00.002+02:00

We all know how rarely we get decent photos of our nearest and dearest, right?! So here is our latest family shot, just for the record :-)

Speaking of family, this makes me think of the family reunion we have coming up in September ... my Dad is one of 8 siblings (good Catholic family that they are!) several of whom live overseas in Canada and France. In September all the sibs are getting together, for the first time I can remember outside of funerals! Along with Dad's generation, there will be all my cousins (most of whom I barely know) and all our kids.

Talk about brave! And I can't wait for the family photos that come from that particular get-together ... let alone the opportunity to hear some old family stories, get to know people I haven't seen since I was a kid and, I admit it, to drag a few skeletons out of cupboards ;-)

Are you close to your extended family, or not? What does family mean to you?

Coffee & Cool Clothes ... for small(ish) people

2011-04-28T16:35:00.000+02:00

Open publication - Free publishing - More clothing

What Easter is ... for me

2011-04-26T21:04:00.003+02:00

Easter is ... having a place to rest, because someone knows you need to.
Over the weekend we were able to go to a cute farm-stay cottage, not far from Worcester. It was a perfect little getaway for us all and we reveled in the autumnal beauty, relaxed time together, the chill in the air, the change of the seasons. Our own season is changing and this was our last chance to take a breath before the reality of our move to the UK sets in, with all the busyness of packing up. We drove the back roads, taking in the majesty of the mountains as we sang silly songs and laughed together. We read books every chance we got. We failed to cook and opened bottles of delicious Pinotage instead.

Easter is ... bright faced girls hunting coloured eggs.
The miracle that is my two girls claiming one another as sisters never ceases to amaze me. Their love for one another, their having-things-in-common, their creeping around in the early mornings making breakfast for themselves with loud whispers, their sisterly bickering and especially their making up ... these small miracles of grace playing out before my eyes (my usually cynical eyes) makes the larger miracle that is marked by Easter all the more real.

Easter is ... its Truth being for everyone, whether they know it or not.
This year our Easter readings came from Emmanuelle's new Bible story book. It is beautifully paraphrased and even more beautifully illustrated. On every page there are faces of every colour: angels, Jesus, disciples all portrayed with skin the shades of real people, everywhere. Thank God Manu doesn't have to grow up thinking the Bible is a book about white people. Maybe there'll be an Easter in the future when we celebrate a Bible that doesn't talk about 'being adopted as sons'!!

Finding the right words

2011-04-22T15:46:00.002+02:00

For some reason, people often find it hard to 'get' what we do. I guess it's something to do with preconceived ideas about what missions is and struggling to understand how communication can also be a part of that.

A friend posted this video clip on Facebook: it does fantastic job of expressing why good communication is important. The woman in this story creates a bridge for passersby to understand the needs of the pavement guy, making a connection between them so that people were inspired to be a part of meeting his need.

And that's pretty much what we do ... using photos, video and the written word we build a bridge of awareness and understanding so that people can hear about what YWAM teams are doing and get involved. Do you get it?

[Un]attached

2011-04-21T20:16:00.003+02:00

Tonight I got home from work at 17h40 and I had to leave for Pilates class at 18h10. Enough time to say hello, how is everyone? But not enough time to really qualify as 'being home'. This caused a Crisis in the mini-Heathcotes, never mind that I have been home early twice this week, that tomorrow's a public holiday and that I have just about the most flexible job a parent could hope for.

It will forever be one of the unmentionables of motherhood: the times you just don't want to be with your kids. Can it be possible to love them in a way that makes your heart ache with a mixture of tenderness, hope and anticipation, but to find yourself running for the door sometimes?

I love my girls and they love me. This is indisputable. I'm a pretty good mother with a healthy relationship with my kids. And yet there are times when I find myself wondering where I can run to. I speak this in a whisper, and yet I have a sneaking suspicion that it's not all that unusual.

And here's the thing: the more my kids cling to me, the greater my desire to get away. What is that? The reverse elastic band effect? I feel smothered, claustrophobic, anxious ... like that part of a bad dream when it feels like the walls are closing in and the focus becoming dark and narrow.

Oh, I don't mean those times when the kids are sick and need extra nurturing; or those times when small people are responding to Big Things in their lives and need Mommy more. I mean the mornings when they don't want me to leave for work, or the evenings when they don't want me to go out. Times like that make me just want to get gone so the trauma will be over with.

They sure don't teach you this stuff in parenting class.

Do you ever feel like prising little fingers off yourself and heading out the door? What do you wish they'd told you before you became a parent?

Confidence Boost

2011-04-14T20:13:00.002+02:00

In the busyness of the end of last term and getting sorted to leave for Mozambique, I skipped over Keziah's Term 1 report. I didn't even read it until we returned home from the trip (gasp!) as it was Tim who went to the parent-teacher meeting ... so it was a nice surprise to have waiting for me ;-)

It had been a less than straight forward term for her. She'd been looking forward to having the Grade 4 teacher - who has a reputation for being sweet and caring - but had to endure a maternity cover teacher for the first term. 'Endure' is a bit of a harsh way of putting it, but the term was far from being as fun as Kez had hoped.

It was only at the beginning of January that we took the decision to head back to the UK for a year. Kez appeared to handle this news really well, but the realization that she has to leave behind her friends and all that's familiar did eventually sink in. And with that realization came a bit of a reaction; she was struggling to concentrate at school and clowning around to compensate. One of the hardest things as a parent is seeing one's decisions have repercussions for one's kids, especially when those decisions were flippin' hard to make in the first place!

After weeks of hearing Keziah's perspective on school - that she was finding subjects that she'd previously enjoyed a challenge; that she felt like she wasn't doing well - it was a huge relief to read her report: one of the top in the class for both foreign languages (Afrikaans and Xhosa) even though she'd repeatedly bemoaned their difficulty; brilliant marks in anything to do with English language and even in maths, the subject she moans about the most, excellent marks.

The only thing the teacher seemed to suggest could use some improvement is Keziah's confidence! I think this is a lesson to me to take the drama of homework time with an enormous pinch of salt ... and to believe in the resilience of our kids :-) It was really a joy to watch Keziah in Mozambique: not only does she thrive on new experiences, she loves being given responsibility (she became the Assistant Photographer for a couple of shoots!) and being one of the team. No lack in her confidence there, then. Perhaps it's just in the school context that she needs a little boost!

What are your fears for your kids? In what ways do they most surprise you, and in what contexts do you most see them shine?