My Father...

My father is the kind of father who has a very big lot of axes and a very big lot of wood.

My father is the kind of father who pays for you to go on a lovely adventure with your mother to Minniapolis or Venice or Barcelona or Paris or Pisa, and then stays home to look after the swearing cat.

My father is the kind of father who tells a story about how you saved his life at your wedding when he is speaking at conventions, and then gets a tear in his eye.

My father is the kind of father who takes minor obsessions with things like baking, and buying cooking equipment, and starting computer clubs, and going to Ard Lui in the summer.

My father is the kind of father who retires early and buys my mother part of a mansion near the sea.

My father is the kind of father who teaches other people about word processing and how to make some head way with "Steps".

My father is the kind of father who competes with your son at computer games, and gets your girls flowers after a dancing show.

My father is the kind of father who takes one day at a time, and does not like Edinburgh that much, and tells the "Chief of Edinburgh" that fact - by accident.

My father is the kind of father who is over awed by no one, and treats window washers and millionaires just the same.

My father is the kind of father who creates a community out of strangers in the back shop or at Redheugh House, and also bakes good scones every Monday morning.

My father is the kind of father who takes you to the sea in the morning when you have chicken pox and lets you have dressing up clothes, even when you are far too old to play with them.

My father is the kind of father who likes to tell you how to put puzzle rings back together, whether or not you are paying attention. (you were not!!!)

My father is the best father in the world, and I am lucky he is mine, and you can't have him.

My Mother...

My mother is the kind of mother who tells you to put a lion's dropping in your bed to prevent cats urinating there.

My mother is the kind of mother who cooks for another family because their mother is sick.

My mother is the kind of mother who gets stuck in water flumes and slides down the side of a muddy hill on a sledge.

My mother is the kind of mother who fights windmills, and organises for Santa Clause to come up the street in a double decker bus, and makes Christmas Wreaths even though they jag her.

My mother is the kind of mother who shakes a ladder when you are up it with a gleeful look in her twinkly eye.

My mother is the kind of mother who tells you to get human hair from the barbers to put round your rose tree to prevent bambi eating your flowers.

My mother is the kind of mother who goes para-gliding, and makes fancy glittery eggs.

My mother is the kind of mother who keeps on keeping on no matter what life throws at her, and then paints a bear on a rock.

My mother is the kind of mother who looks after two of your children for you, and reads them a story, when another one of your children is very ill in the hospital.

My mother is the kind of mother who makes you laugh till your sides hurt, and keeps conkers on the windowsill because that will keep spiders at bay.

My mother is very elegent in the swimming pool.

My mother is the best mother in the world, and I am lucky she is mine, and you can't have her!

Goodness

Courage can be a hidden virtue. Faith can be personal. Goodness is the kind of character trait, however, that cannot be practiced alone. Goodness requires a public posture. To be good you have to be good to someone else. Makes you think, doesn’t it?



To be smart is an accident, to be beautiful is a cultural definition, but to be good is a choice.

Sister Joan Chittister

Trapped

• Remember the time when I was doing a night shift, and you were all in bed, and dad went out into the porch, which was also the home for our little black and white kittens?

• And, remember that dad was doing some kind of work around the house and was putting his tools away and the porch door closed?

• And, remember how there is no way to open that door without a key. And, remember how he did not have a key. And, so he decided to shout "HELP!!!" in a really loud voice but no one heard him.

• And, remember how the kittens were jumping all over his back, and he was lying down trying to shout under the gap in the door, and no one was hearing him. And then he found a mouth organ.

• And, remember how he was blowing and blowing and blowing the mouth organ, and the kittens were biting and scratching him, and he was sneezing because he is allergic to cats?

• And, remember how he was blowing that harmonica and banging on the door and shouting for a looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong, looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong time and was just about to give up because he was getting dizzy.

• And, remember how you, Emilie, came down the stairs, and in a little girl sleepy way, and opened the porch door, and looked at dad like he had lost his mind.

• And remember how you put your little hands on your little hips and said to him in a puzzled voice, "Daddy, what are you doing?"

It's a family thing


Nice things people have said to me...


"I forget that you are actually our mother, and not just a nice friend who lives with us."


"Mummy, you are clever at singing songs."


"You are such a good help."


"I know what I've got, and I never want to loose you."

Curious George

One day Melissa said to Mummy...

"Mummy, can God ever die?"
Mummy answered,
"No, he can't. God has no beginning and will have no end, Lissa."
Melissa said,
"Mummy, is Jesus God?"
Mummy, knowing where this was leading, answered,
"Yes, Melissa. Jesus is both God and man."

Melissa said,
"Mummy, did Jesus die?"
Mummy, feeling a bit perplexed, answered,
"Yes, Melissa Jesus did die."
Melissa said,
"So, did God die Mummy?"
Mummy answered,
"That is a very good question. And I'm afraid that I do not know the answer Melissa. Would you like to play with the Play Doh?"

The Fruit of the Spirit





But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,
Galatians 5:22 (New International Version - UK)


One day I decided to play a little game...and teach a little lesson at the same time. I made a paper basket. I made fruit shapes in appropriate colours. I called them love, joy, peace, patience...and so on.

"Come and pick a fruit," I called. "We will ask Jesus to help us to show this character quality to others today."

We had a lovely time...I was very pleased with myself for teaching something of lasting value.

Dinner time.

Emilie hops up to the table... she eats a grain of rice...Emilie hops down from the table...Emilie hops up to the table...she eats another grain of rice...Emilie hops down from the table...Emilie hops up to the table...she eats another grain of rice...Emilie hops down from the table...Melissa hops down from the table...Emilie and Melissa hop up to the table...they eat a grain of rice each...they hop down from the table...Emilie and Melissa hop up to the table...they eat a grain of rice each...they hop down from the table.

Lorna is not happy.

"WILL YOU SIT STILL AND EAT YOUR DINNER, GIRLS," she says.

Tear filled little eyes...quivery little lips...gaspy little breaths...

"Wh...wh...wh...what fruit do you think Jesus would like y...y...y...you to take and learn to sh...sh...sh...show others, mummy?" whimpers Emilie.

Game, set and match...Jesus, Emilie and Melissa.

"I think it would need to be patience and kindness, Emilie," mummy concedes.

The moral: be very careful when playing a game with a moral...it may just sneak up and bite you.

But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.
Galatians 5:22 (The Message)

No Man (Woman or Child) is an Island

Continued...

Teen - age culture invaded our world.

No games nights at school...but Disco's...where little girls had competitions to see how many boys they could kiss in a night.


5 year olds singing "Do you want to be my lover?"

Blatant sexuality packaged in pink - of course in this particular picture it is wrapped in black leather, which is not so poetic...darn it.

It may seem archaic, but I wanted to preserve your innocence a little longer...I wanted to read stories of honour and valour...I wanted to learn and to live a more simple life together.

However, there is no such thing as a perfect environment..."life" seeps in under the cracks in the door. I may have protected you from some influences...but I'm not so proud as to think myself flawless...I could not protect you from myself...I wasted time on the unimportant...I made mistakes, some more significant than others. For all that I am sorry. But I don't regret one single day of the life we made together during those years.

We are a strong unit, we learned many lessons - some of them from books, and we lived to tell the tale.

I am glad that we had snow days, and "bad" days, and a spell in Hungary. I am glad that we were obsessed with Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter, and the West Wing. I am glad that we went bonfire making on the beach (with a person (!) not talented in the art of fire-making), that we did "school" wherever we found ourselves (in foreign lands, in hospitals, in my bed), and that we made up a funny song in French.

We have lived an interesting, and different, and good life - thus far.

Jolly well done, I say.

No Man (Woman or Child) is an Island

What was going on in culture was also a factor...

This is a picture of the P1 class from Dunblane Primary School...most of these children were killed when a deranged gun-man walked into the school, opened fire, and shot them...

In the aftermath schools, very understandably, locked down...like prisons.

This did not happen in some far off country...but on our very own doorstep.

Emilie was the same age as these children...it was too close for comfort; I was frightened.

In the beginning…

“Beginnings are difficult. Implied in the process is choice, a road not taken. Whenever we begin the “dreamtime” comes to an end, and we mourn the loss of the potential, forfeited when the actual beginning is made.”

From: Storymaking in Education and Therapy, by Alida Gersie and Nancy King.

“What on earth made you take your children out of school?”

I am asked that question more times than I care to remember. I chose an unconventional path, it invites curiosity and questions, and only time will tell if it was a good idea or an ill-advised act of madness. Implied in the choice is a “road not taken”, which means that your life experience is different from that of most of your peers. Maybe one day you will be glad, but for now, it is a pain to answer the predictable questions about whether or not you did school work in your pyjamas, and if it is legal, and how you took exams.

So, what made me do it?

There isn’t a short answer; but these next posts may serve as an attempt at a very long-winded explanation.

Part One:

The biological act of giving birth was not sufficient to transform this particular girl into a mother. There must be more to motherhood than looking after the body of a child, I thought; more to the art and skill of it than merely keeping people fed and clothed. Then the enormity of the whole deal dawned, and I felt somewhat under skilled and overwhelmed! Deep breathing, herbal remedies and a quick course in relaxation techniques restored a degree of equilibrium; I made an effort to “get a grip” started brushing my hair, and pondered:

What is a child?
What does it mean to be responsible?
What kind of environment do children need to grow?
How do you define success?
What is education?


It is one thing to fill a space in one’s heart with “starlight from heaven” (see previous fairytale post)…but what was I going to do now, now that so much starlight was living with me?

I don’t seem to be a very intuitive person, what seems to come naturally to others is hard work for me. I’m not sure why that is. Practically everything I know has come out of a book (having tomes in every crevice of our home is a worthy testament to this truth (!)). So, I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do…I went on a course (Wee Friends Pre-School) and read lots of books.

I learned that children are born persons…and should be respected as such…and not talked down to.

“ I know a person of three who happened to be found by a caller alone in the drawing-room. It was spring, and the caller thought to make himself entertaining with talk about the pretty “baa-lambs.” But a pair of big blue eyes were fixed upon him and a solemn person make this solemn remark, “Isn’t it a dwefful howid thing to see a pig killed?” We hope that she had never even heard of the killing of a pig, but she made as effective a protest against twaddle as would any woman of Society…”
From: Home Education, by Charlotte Mason

Susan Schaeffer Macaulay says: “Harshness, fear, and autocracy are ruled out if we follow the New Testament teaching that leadership means a serving of the other person…We are to lead in love.” I learned that I had a responsibility to provide an atmosphere, or a framework, where we could all learn how to live harmoniously with each other. I have often meditated on the verse “Blessed are the peace-makers.” An abundance of love, common sense, and wisdom are needed for any group of people making a home together; but anytime I thought I had it cracked – the whole being a mother thing – a new phase would begin. And it was back to the drawing board to think about what I was doing, and why. There are no set formulas then, nor will it happen spontaneously as if by magic.

Aside: you know that people often say to me that I am “lucky” to have such a lovely family – and indeed you are all very lovely…I smile and say “yes, I am.”… but I think, “Buddy, LUCK had absolutely nothing to do with it!!!”.

I’m still not sure what success is, but it has to be more than just being a cog in a wheel, more than earning the highest salary possible (don’t misunderstand me here, higher salaries do make for a bit of an easier life, I just don’t think that’s all there is to it). Being the best version of yourself is part of it…being in tune with the song God wrote with you in mind is another…finding a way to be a positive presence in the world. Education then is what equips a person to be all that, a truly good person, in step with God and themselves. It’s more than learning times tables and how to pass tests.

That is why I sent you to the lovely Wee Friends Preschool. Respect for the person, a nurturing environment where you had to learn take turns in the playhouse, and wait in line for a snack, good educational content and a pretty yellow bird. It was a good foundation… and hard act to follow...

What is a family? A family is a mobile...a living...intricate mobile made up of human personalities...an artwork that takes years, even generations, to produce...which is never finished.

Every individual is growing, changing, developing, or declining- intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, physically, and psychologically. A family is a grouping of individuals who are affecting each other intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, physically, and psychologically. No two years, no two months, or two days is there the exact same blend or mix within the family, as each individual person is changing.

Contestantly changing patterns, affected by each other, inspiried by each other, helped by each other. A family which is real in space and time and history, with roots in the past and stretching out into the future.

A Christian family is blown by gentle the breeze of the Holy Spirit...one can picture not perfection, but a measure of reality in thinking...never static, with always new fascination in discovering new points of communication as human beings are growing and developing.

The deep underlying sense of importance of family continuity must be stronger than the insistence on having perfection. People throw away what they could have had, by insisting on perfection, which they cannot have...

Artists have to work to produce their art. It doesn't fall down ready made from the sky!

From: What Is A Family by Edith Schaeffer.

Heather Leigh Burton

Once or twice in a lifetime, someone walks across your path; and you are never the same again. Meeting your dad was one such occasion, meeting Heather Leigh Burton another.

I am twenty-seven years old and the mother of two tiny girls (almost 4, and almost 2). They are beautiful, and wonderful, and very busy; and I don’t quite remember when I last had a full nights sleep.

I think that Cinderella – now married to handsome Prince Charming – is still alive in there somewhere…but a worrying wicked stepmother metamorphosis seems to be underway. My bungalow is about to burst with too much crying and piles of laundry, and bits and bits of tea-sets, and a rainbow of dressing up clothes. I shout sometimes.

I keep endeavouring to take courage from my reading of odd snatches from the Psalms, and the oasis of Hillview Crescent to visit my mother. And there is no doubt that I enjoy my pink Laura Ashley dining room curtains, and singing to giggling girls in a bubble bath. I am muddling along.

She is twenty-one years old. She is in Scotland to have a Grand Adventure and is living with us for a time. I have become used to spending my days with very small people and I notice that there are some differences between Heather Leigh Burton and wee little girls.

Heather does not have a temper tantrum if I give her a carrot
Heather wears a ring, with a promise (Wherever you go, I will follow). She is tempted to neither swallow nor loose it.
Heather can go to the toilet by herself. Without any coaxing or cajoling.
Heather does not cry when it is bedtime or when her hair needs washed.

Somehow, I had forgotten such qualities existed in the world. Is it any wonder that I love her?

One day Heather Leigh Burton tells me that it is her ambition to “raise a Godly family”. I don’t really know what that means…but it sounds a tad more heroic than my current ambition: to preserve a modicum of sanity.

I am inspired for the first time in days, months maybe even years.

Lift up your head. Look at the big picture. Aim higher.

And for pity's sake,

...Brush Your Hair (!).

This is a very delicious soup which I invented.

Especially comforting on a cold day!!!


Delicious Fish Soup

I medium onion, chopped,
3 medium carrots, chopped,
3 medium potatoes, cubed (or 1/4 cup of rice if you prefer),
I can of chopped tomatoes,
2 pints of chicken stock,
4 frozen Cod in Butter Sauce portions,
A pinch of sugar,
15 large prawns (optional),
Black pepper to taste,
Chopped parsley to finish,

Saute the onions, carrots and potatoes in a little butter or oil,

Add in everything else and simmer for around 20 mins,

Serve with parsley, crusty bread and black pepper.

Yum!!

Long, long ago and far, far away there lived a young King and Queen whose kingdom sat like a jewel in a luscious green valley.

This noble young king had a poetic soul, and he liked nothing more than to gaze through the window that overlooked his favourite lake to watch ducklings and signets and swans. He wrote beautiful songs for the lute, which he sang to his wife by the fire in the evening. However, I am sad to report that even although the good King always ruled wisely, his land was infested with gangs of bad-tempered gnomes, and capricious giants, and malevolent elves. Maintaining order in the kingdom became difficult and demanding and more and more of the King’s time was spent away from court. The great hall was no longer filled with song and laughter; instead, it lay quiet and still, and little by little, the poor peace-loving Queen faded, her brightness grew dim, till fearing for her very life the King appointed a steward to rule in his stead for a season, and whisked his young wife away.

They travelled in disguise to a far distant country, and as they journeyed together, the fair Queen revived. They danced with exotic strangers, swam in the setting sun, and flew to the stars on the back of the gentle south wind.

All was well until one day the Queen noticed a strange thing...her heart had expanded; she felt growing within herself a large space, a new room. So, she asked her good husband if they could send up to Heaven for a little piece of starlight; and that is how the courageous little Princess Emilie came to live there. They came back to their kingdom in the green valley and loved to take walks in the parkland with their beautiful new daughter, chase bubbles, play playdoh, and the King and Queen would listen quietly on the stairs as the funny little child sang happily to herself, hour after hour.

And all the while the King worked hard to bring order among his unruly subjects.

All was well until one day the Queen noticed a strange thing... that her heart had expanded; she felt growing within herself another large space, another new room. So, she asked her good husband if they could send up to Heaven for a new piece of starlight; and that is how the creative little Princess Melissa came to live there. They read books together, went beautiful picnics – sometimes sadly spoiled by bees-, and the King and Queen would watch quietly from the window as the two little girls played and danced on the lawn.

And all the while the King worked hard to bring order among his unruly subjects.

All was well until the the Queen noticed a strange thing...that her heart had expanded for a third time; she felt growing within herself another large space, another new room. So, she asked her good husband if they could send up to Heaven for yet another piece of starlight; and that is how the joyful little Prince Evan came to live there. He loved gurgling and bringing spiders to tea parties, crashing many lions throughout the length and breadth of the dolls house, and the King and Queen would listen happily as the charming little Prince spread laughter to every room in their palace.

And all the while the King worked hard to bring order among his unruly subjects.

Then the Queen’s heart was full, so she was content; and the King’s carriage was full, so he was relieved. And they all lived…

read on to find out more…

The Way It Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn’t change.

People wonder about what you are pursuing.

You have to explain about the thread.

But it is hard for others to see.

While you hold it you can’t get lost.

Tragedies happen; people get hurt

or die; and you suffer and get old.

Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.

You don’t ever let go of the thread.

~ William Stafford ~


(The Way It Is)

“Our lives are made of stories: stories handed down from our parents, stories we have created out of our experience, stories about our loves, our work, our explorations, our joys, our disappointments, our learnings – the soul’s story.”

-Susan Wittig Albert

I am beginning to write now because something is ending.

Although I always acknowledged the inevitability and impermanence of our little world - like a haze on the horizon - the passage of time has somewhat inconspicuously crept in. The seasons, move and change seamlessly one to the next. There is continuity; and each is part of the whole, but winter does not look like spring, nor summer like autumn. The old way that I have lived life is slipping through my fingers; almost gone, and the new is almost upon me.

And so, I want to reflect. And I want to remember. And I want to record our journey together thus far.

These are our stories as pulled up from my memory…the way that I perceive events…the way that I recall them. Your own stories of these times may not be the same, but that does not matter. They are still true.

Throughout our days, I have been conscious of a golden thread; a thread which continues to weave in and out our lives, creating a beautiful tapestry. “Love is as strong as death,” writes the biblical author. “its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love, rivers cannot wash it away.” (Song of Songs 8: 6-7). Through the good, the bad and the ugly I stand firm on the conviction that God loves us; and because we have lived so closely with each other we have learned how to live a life punctuated by love; now it is my prayer that all we have known and experienced of love will freely flow from this "French Fancy" home, into every nook and cranny of our crazy, mixed up, beautiful world.

I trust that these stories will serve to remind you of a sure foundation, and give you hope and courage to navigate the onward journey.