My old Friend

My faithful old friend is back.

He has returned so strong and full of courage.

Not the kind of courage one needs to face a fear

But the kind that lays bare the heart and reveals old wounds

That tramples and rides rough shod over ground long forgotten.

My old friend rejection is back

To rule and swagger as he likes.

He laughs and jeers as he roams.

Who can stand when rejection comes around?

He knows just where to prod and push

Deep inside where old wounds lie buried.

He digs them up and waters them so

Fresh growth sprouts and sadness grows;

Here he has some rich soil to toil and play.

My old friend rejection has come knocking

Once again he calls me out

So that he can play.

The rules of this game are oh so familiar

He roams freely, gathering a memory here and an old hurt there.

My old friend rejection is here again

How long will he stay this time?

And when will he return?

He was carried along when words of “love”

And “kindness” and “this is for your good” – we love you so

Found place in hearts and hands that scribed them down

And rushed them on like a speed train destined for nowhere in particular.

Yet the “love” and “kindness” brought no love or any kindness

but rather, left their mark or deep despair and great heartache

where rejection stands tall and powerful

and laughs out loud for all to hear.

The Invisible - anon

When I opened my mail today, a friend had sent me this beautiful story as an encouragement and a blessing. Here it is.......


It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the
way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask
me a question.

Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'

Obviously, not.

No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or
even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands,
nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer,
'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around
5:30,
please.'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes
that studied history and the mind that graduated suma cum laude - but now
they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's
going; she's going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a
friend from England ..

Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and
on about the hotel she stayed in.

I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so
well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a
beautifullywrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe .

I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her
inscription:

'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building
when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book.
And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths,
after which I could pattern my work:

No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their
names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see
finished.

They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of
God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the
cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny
bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are
you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be
covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied,
'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I
see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does.
No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake
you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are
building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will
become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a
disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own
self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one
of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to
work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever
be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to
sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's
bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the
morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for
three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd
built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come
home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add,
'you're gonna love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're
doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at
what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by
the sacrifices of invisible women.

The Homeless Man.

He is ordered
and neat
and squirrels away useful items,
useful to him , at least.
He finds them in the piles of things thrown out with the rubbish on rubbish day.
He packs and unpacks and packs again all his belongings,
into his trolley taken from some or other supermarket.
Perhaps he needed it more than the busy shoppers
gaily filling it up with this and that,
things that they might need or want...
useful to them..
He wraps himself up like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon of silk
but not with silk and softness but with thick plastic.
A barrier of protection from the pelting rain.
He sleeps, soundly, as the rain streams down the window pane,
my face pressed up firmly to the glass, gazing out into the night.
I am warmed by food and clothing and heath and wealth,
while he lies asleep on the pavement outside, warm and cosy in his plastic cocoon.
As if he had not a care in the world.

What were the things in his life that fashioned him to be homeless and sleep out on the hard , cold and unfriendly pavement?
Where people shout
and shove
and call him names
and where danger lurks as the sun closes shop .
In the dark night he is alone.
He is alone...
Yet I feel scared.
How strange!

What happened to him?
What wrong choices did he make and what choices does he have?
I ponder the answers to these and other questions as The man sleeps soundlessly on the pavement.
My soul wrestles yet again with shame and pity and sadness and anger.
A boy prays " please Lord can Brian find a place where he is welcome" and inwardly I cringe with guilt and sadness.

Two Poems

This is the story behind the writing of these two poems...

I was chatting to a friend a few days ago about living life as a Christian. We were talking about the trends in modern life. Some are good and some are fun and some are, well just plain evil. After this conversation, I realised that I had been feeling a longing for the simplicity of childhood. Of course, not all have this privileged, but I found myself really straining under the responsibility to be , well, adult. The real difficulties of making "grown up decisions" was weighing heavily and I felt really bogged down.

The first poem flows from this longing and the second is the very real answer I have to that longing, as a Christian woman. It is all found in Christ alone.

Words , words, words.

My head is full of words this day.

As I sit and sew.

I am sewing a bag : a strong bag for books

That other bearer of words of a different kind.

My mind races here and there full, full of words.

Not the kind I like to have but the kind I must.

I let them flow like a river.

Words , words , words .

Full of life’s longings.

I long for what has been.

For the days when life was full of colour and innocence and fun.

A peaceful meandering of time,

A strong sense of certainty and a real belief in dreams.

What has become of those times?

My mind races back to my family home

The fresh smell of horses and outdoor things

The power of the highveld sun pouring in through the window

The sound of silence and gentleness

The clip clop of hooves and the bark of dogs.

The kindness of time gone is recalled as my mind travels back, before, before

All this…….

Before the present descended and pierced my soul.

I long with an urgent and deep, deep longing. My soul cries for that time but the time is now.

When things are adult and real.

The now of time is full. Yes it is full, full of many things.

It is seldom full of the kinds of things I longed for way back then. Those dreams have been trampled and have long taken flight. I am left rummaging in the sale of my life. Looking for a bargain; a gem of sorts. Longing and hoping for what I am not even sure anymore. Perhaps, perhaps it is the past I long for? Those childish things of days forgotten or perhaps it is the future I hold on to. It would seem that even that I have forgotten.

I press on with the task, sew, sew , sew . Finish the bag that will hold the words that stir younger hearts!

My mind a swirl of words, words, words.

My soul cries out.

Perhaps!

The Answer to Longing.

That longing I spoke of.

What is it?

It is real and present.

It bursts with the sunshine and hides in the shadows of days gone by.

How can it be satisfied?

How can it be helped?

This longing.

If I ponder, even for a moment or a lifetime and think about what could have been?

If I toss and turn in my mind and wrestle with longing and if I come out with any kind of answer it is this…..

Long ago and before time began.

Before the world was pushed and shoved and talked into being.

Long, long ago when the earth was new and fresh and

He walked here. Here I say.

His footsteps were kind and his hand was called friendship.

Longing had no place here.

Yet I, the creature began to long

and hope

and wish for that which was not mine to grasp at.

And the seed of longing and its friend discontentment began to roam freely.

Oh How I tried in vain to shove them back.

Yet He was there, still, kind and loving.

Full of fairness and hope.

He had the answer. He was the answer. I did not see it.

Yet!

“Have it; want it; need it; reach for IT!

IT will quench the longing in your heart and you will be like Him and you will rule with wisdom.

And that lie still flourishes in this age.

It lives on in me and dwells with mankind.

That we the creatures would usurp the throne where sadness, fear, greed and selfishness now rein.

So, that longing I spoke of has its roots in the age before when time was new and the world was fresh.

What can be done?

Who can plug the hole where the dreams of men leak out like the water through the hole into nothingness?

Here, down here, where broken lives have battered bodies and bruised souls

And hide behind masked smiles

I fear it is not I.

In the quite moments when I focus my thoughts on Him, these words soak up my mind like the sponge it is.

Trust

Peace

Joy

Kindness

the treasure at the very centre, holding them all together

Love.

He is love you see.

Everything about him is loving and kind.

Two rare qualities we see very little of these days.

Yet He will not give up and he will seek those who belong to him.

He longs for them with such an urgent kind of longing.

A death, crying longing that pierced the dark sky on a day not so long ago.

That longing and cry still ring out today and rush here and there drawing in any who are able to hear it.

You are mine! Come to me he whispers.

Whispers I say because he is loving and kind and will never force or break.

Yet he never gives up.

His longing drives him on until every creature that every lived will on that day see Him in Glory and splendor.

His longing will be quenched on that day

And so to will mine.

April fools are not fools at all.

Doug and I have been married for 16 years . I am so grateful for all the good time we have shared. God has been very good to us!

One of the things Doug loves to do is read the newspaper. This is a photo of my brother Alan and Doug.

This photo was taken at Lynette's 50 party in JHB.

This photo was taken at a friends 40 a few weekends ago. A hot day at Fairveiw Estate and a good breakfast. Fun with friends.

This is a family affair.

This is one taken at Samuel's 7th party a few weeks ago. Some of the highlights of the last 16 years. 1. Living in Melville in an old, character filled home. Our first home together and I loved that spot. 2. Doug's first fish room at the bottom of that garden 3.Reading in bed together until late into the morning 4.Rosebank Union Church 5.Working full time as a teacher in Down Town JHB 6. Doug working at Magus 7.Our citi Golfs 8.Dinners with friends in Melville 9. Listening to live music 10.moving to London 11.Living and working in Oxford 12. Living and working in London 13.Backpacking around South America 14.Having very few possessions on that trip 15.adventure 16. Christ Church Bromley 17. new friends in the UK - Just lovley 18. Having our first little boy - James 20.joy joy joy - sleepless nights and tired 21.Doug working in the City 22. Pregnant with Thomas 23.Coming home 24. Living in Sea Point 25. Moving to Kennelworth 26. St James Church 27. Meeting old friends 28. meeting in the park with little children 29. coffee morning 30 new friends 31 Doug working from home 32 Thomas is born - lovely 33. buying our home 34. samuel comes along 35. constantiaberg preschool 36. sweet valley primary - the journey begins 37. Jethro is born 38.Doug moves to work away from home 39.life begins again - adventure 40. sewing ; wriggle and rhyme ; fish ; dogs and more pets; friends and lots more These are the fun times in list form. Many have been left off. Of course life is not just good times but sad and bad times too. But we serve a mighty God who is at work in our lives and in our marriage and so we look back and say Thank You Father for your kindness and love towards us. Thank you for our marriage and the work you have done.

For Doug You are more than a husband to me. You are my best friend I am so blessed to be married to you Through the fun times and through the storms through the laughter and through the tears you are...... my Dougie Your willingness to be found in God and him in you is a beautiful thing ; a dependable quality. May Our Great and Mighty Lord continue the work he has begun in us .... Happy Anniversary.

The Sausage Machine

I have not written for quite some time now. Life gets a little hectic with 4 boys at times. This week is the last of the first term and we can take a step back and breath a bit. This week has also been Parent/Teacher interview week. With term one under our belts I set off to meet the teacher of 3 of our children.

Lets start with Samuel in grade one. He has had a tough term. Although he can do all the work and is more than capable in the class , he is a little boy who lacks self- confidence. Having walked the road we have with Sam , both Doug am I are not at all surprised at how he is managing with life in grade one. What is a surprise though, is the care and kindness; wisdom and insight his teacher has shown towards him. To put it mildly I was totally blown away by her perception and her analysis and her solution. She is a gem and we are grateful to God for providing Samuel with her.

Thomas' teacher is a fairly new teacher with great ideas and a fresh look at teaching. Her positive attitude towards Tom and her interest in him was very impressive indeed. I was also very impressed with her willingness and desire to know about ADD . She was interested and helpful and keen. Another good experience.

And for the finale, I visited James' teacher today. James has our first experience of a male teacher and I was a little daunted by the prospect of chatting to him. BUT .... what a great experience. This is a teacher who is on the ball. He was insightful and caring and full of good ideas and character analysis. I was really very impressed indeed. He was easy to chat to about our concerns and all in all it was a grand and very encouraging experience....

I end with this.....

A growing sadness had begun to develop and take root in me. I had begun to feel as if this sausage machine of education was ... well ... just that - a giant sausage machine. A nasty machine that was simply not able to recognize and nurture the child as an individual with his or her gifts and talents. And in part it is that but this week I had my faith renewed in the individuals we call teachers who work and care for our children each day. I was reminded that teaching children well is indeed a calling and we have many who are called and who are doing a fine job. This blog is written to salute you and to say thank you. I am grateful to our heavenly father for each of you who are partners with us in helping our children to be who God has made them to be. I know that it is not an easy job and nor are you perfect but I am so encouraged that you do see the individual and you do see their gifts and talents and weaknesses. You see them for who they are and you work for their good. The sausage machine has a few kinks in it....

James Turns 11

11 Years ago in Farnborough Hospital in Bromely, South East London, a little baby boy was born to us. He was and is our first son, James. We are so thrilled to celebrate his 11th birthday with him and are enormously grateful to God for his life.

James is a delightful boy. Serious and yet funny; Clever and yet not boastful. He is both involved in sporting things at school and cultural things too. He is a keen footballer and a gifted swimmer as well as playing the recorder beautifully.

This is a very small post about a very big boy. God bless you special kid to continue to know Jesus and grow in the knowledge of him and love of him as you learn to serve him and live for him.