Author: anneethompson

Jehosh-….Who? (Bible Blog 11)

Posted by

3


Jehosh-….Who?
Another Strong Woman Who We Never Hear About.

Do you know the story of Jehosheba? She’s another strong woman, whose story is included in the Bible, but who we rarely hear about. I discovered her as part of my read-through the Bible, and she pops up in 2 Kings and 2 Chronicles. She is considered to be so important, the writers couldn’t even get her name right!

The story is as follows: The Jews are basically split into two nations – Israel and Judah. This is after King David, and both nations have their own kings, some of whom follow God and some who decide to include other gods too, as a way of keeping their options open. One of the kings in Jerusalem, Ahaziah, has just been killed. (The names make this story very confusing, as they all – to Western minds – seem very similar. But try to keep track.) His mother, Athalia (see what I mean?) decides that she will now rule Judah, so she starts to kill the whole royal family.

Whilst they are being killed, Jehosheba* hears what’s happening, and goes to where her baby nephew Joash is. (He’s a son of the recently dead king.) She whisks away Joash and his nurse, and hides them in a bedroom, so they aren’t slaughtered with everyone else. (I’m not sure why no one noticed he was missing. Perhaps in the frenzy, no one was keeping track of corpses. Or maybe they did realise he wasn’t there, but couldn’t find him, and he remained a mystery, like the princes in the tower at The Tower of London.)

Now, although Jehosheba’s actions only manage one verse in Chronicles, if you think about what she did, it was amazingly brave. Imagine the scene. There was a powerful person, killing anyone who might challenge her ability to rule, and Jehosheba defies her, to do what is right. She wouldn’t have had much time, she must have acted fairly instinctively, risking her own life to do what she believed was right. Even today, nations have leaders who are blatantly doing the wrong thing. It’s not easy to decide to risk all and continue to behave correctly.

So who is Jehosheba? We’re not even sure of her name, as sometimes she’s called Jehoshabeath. She was the daughter of a king, and sister to Ahaziah. She was also married to a priest, which is interesting, because after he was rescued, Joash lived secretly in the temple, guarded by the priests. Did Jehosheba suggest to her husband that he should arrange this? We aren’t told – but in those days, the man was the ruler of his wife, so it’s unlikely they would record that, even if it happened. Women of every era are usually very good at persuading their husbands, so I suspect she did.

The story continues with Joash being kept safe until he was about 7, when he was made king. He was then a good king, and ruled well – until he was older, and went bad. But it wouldn’t have happened unless Jehosheba had acted when she did. Another strong woman.

***

*As I’m sure you know, the Bible is a collection of ancient manuscripts. They’re not arranged chronologically, and so it can be a little confusing if you start at the beginning and read through. The books of Kings were written to give an historical account, and show the order of events for that period. The books of Chronicles were written at the same time, and record the same events, but add some commentary. (There were other books written at the same time, which are about the prophets of the time.) In Chronicles, she is called Jehoshabeath. In Kings, Jehosheba. No idea why.

xxx
anneethompson.com

These are a few of my favourite things….in case we have a thunder storm.

Posted by

2


Christmas tends to involve a lot of stuff. Some of which is fun, and helps the general mood of celebration, and some just gets in the way. Sometimes I think we have too much stuff, and life would be much simpler without it. But there are some things which I really like, for a whole variety of reasons. Sometimes because of who or what it reminds me of, and sometimes just because it works really well. So, I thought I would share with you some of my favourite things (even though some are perhaps a bit odd.)

I shall begin with my iron. People have been very rude about my iron over the years, but I think it’s perfect. It’s small and heavy and doesn’t hiss steam in a scary manner. My brother gave it to me in 1988, and it still works just fine. I expect you are jealous.

Next is a more recent gift, a mug from my mum. It is chipped now (no one admitted responsibility, one of those mysterious damages that happen in families). It is now a pencil pot. During its brief life as a mug, it was a nice curvy shape to hold, with a thin rim, so nice to drink from, and it held more coffee than our other mugs.  It was my morning coffee mug. Once chipped, it lost its attraction, but I can’t quite bring myself to throw it away, so it sits on my desk, reminding me of peaceful mornings and the joys of living in a family.

Next is my garden. I chose our house on the strength of our garden, and I still love it. It’s not very manicured, but it’s full of little corners and living things. You will find chickens wandering through the trees, and cats waiting to pounce on you, and ducks being noisy on the pond. Two of my best gifts from Husband were a large cage for a birthday (which he managed to put together with himself shut inside, but we won’t talk about that!) and some toadstools. The toadstools are surrounded by snowdrops in the spring, and they sit near the lawn where we buried my labrador, so it’s rather a special corner.

Next is my knife (these are not in any sort of order, in case you’re wondering). Okay, so it’s just a knife, but it’s red, so easy to see when I forget where I’ve left it (happens a lot) plus it works. I don’t particularly like cooking dinners, but I can whiz through a sack of potatoes with this knife in no time. It was bought from John Lewis, but when I tried to buy another one, they were gone, and they only had serrated ones. If you ever see them lurking in a shop, let me know. (Made by Kuhn.)

I can’t choose a favourite book, so I’ll have them as a bookshelf. Hours of learning and listening and being whisked into other lives.

My wellies have to be on the list, because I live in them, and they symbolise hours of pleasure, stomping across fields and hills and footpaths. My life would be less nice without wellies.

I will finish with some jewellery (just to prove I am a girl!) Actually, specifically my engagement ring, which is the most exciting piece of jewellery I own. It isn’t huge (we had no money) but we bought it soon after we were engaged, when we were still students. It was from a shop in London, and when it was fitted to the correct size, I had to collect it and take it to Bristol, where Husband was a student, so he could keep it until we were ‘officially’ engaged. I remember sitting on the National Express coach from Victoria, and staring at it on my finger, holding it in the light so the sapphire shone blue. Then Husband kept it, for ages, until we finally told everyone that we planned to get married. It was all wonderfully exciting.

I could go on, but you might lose interest if I go through my favourite shoes, and pen, and chair. So I’ll stop. What is your favourite thing?

Thanks for reading. Have a good week.
Take care,
Anne x

xxxxxx

If you enjoyed this, why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

Happy New Year! (Survived 2017 okay?)

Posted by

0


Well, I did it, I made it to the end of the year. Christmas was lovely, but busy, then straight into visiting family, family parties, and preparing for New Year Eve’s party. I can now collapse in a heap somewhere.

The family parties especially are good to survive. They are fun, but somewhat different to the parties we had when I was little. In those days, we all went to my granny’s house, where she had a huge room that stretched across the shop below, and we played games. The games were things like musical statues, and postman’s knock – where no one ever wanted to have to kiss Uncle George because he didn’t have many teeth. He’s dead now. Today, it would probably be classed as child abuse.

These days, I go to my in-laws houses for family games. These range from the impossible (Eg, trying to match words my mother might think of – I opted out this year and let my brother partner her) to the not so impossible (trying to stay awake during ‘Mafia’). My father-in-law brought a game this year: we had to order a list of animals according to the neurones found in their cerebral cortex. Which is a test for intelligence (the number of neurones, not the game. Though actually, now I come to think of it…) Like I said, I survived, and it was fun.

Then we began to prepare for our own party. The low point every year is lunch time on the day of the party, when the family wants food, but I am trying to clear up the kitchen and I don’t want to start cooking. Then there are always left-overs, which do not fit into the fridge, but I don’t like to waste them. Actually, the fridge is a major tension point, as I try to coat strawberries in chocolate and prepare vegetables for dips, and there is nowhere, absolutely nowhere, to put them. Why does no one ever eat the last piece of quiche/pudding/pie? And I can’t even put them in plastic bags anymore because Son who works for a conservation charity tells me it’s unethical. The dog walks around shedding hairs on my freshly vacuumed floors, and someone used the last bit of loo roll and flung the cardboard bit on the floor.

The party this year had an “Around the World’ theme. I went to church Sunday morning, mainly to avoid the annual tense discussion, when I try to keep my house undisturbed and Husband is in major ‘change everything for a party’ mode. I returned to a lot of flags, and tried to avoid going into rooms where I knew my furniture would be moved around.

Son 1 asked what he could wear, as he planned to come as ‘the international space station’. (If you have a young child who tends to announce on the way to school that today is Book Day, and everyone is dressing up, and if your friends tell you, “Don’t worry, they grow out of that,” – Don’t believe them. They don’t.)

By the time guests arrived, all was lovely, and I had a marvellous time.

Anyhow, I hope you too made it to this side of the new year. Have a rest now as you slip back into the easy routine of work and weekends. Have a great week.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

 

Thank you for reading.

Why not start the new year by signing up to follow my blog?

I usually write a post every week.

anneethompson.com

*********

How was your Christmas?

Posted by

1


Hello, and how was your Christmas? Or, more to the point, how are you? Full of food and love and happy thoughts I hope.

I find the work for Christmas begins several days before, when I start making lists. Then I have to rewrite the lists, because I’ve lost the originals. This year I decided to also make a time-plan, like we used to make in Domestic Science lessons at school: 11:40 boil potatoes and parsnips, 11:55 potatoes into oven, 12:00 parsnips into oven…you get the idea. I hoped it might solve the “finding the chestnuts for the sprouts in the fridge, when I put the remains of the turkey in there” problem, which tends to happen every year. It didn’t work of course, but at least I had evidence that I had tried.

Another pre-Christmas job is laundry – washing everything that’s in the dirty washing basket. This was partly because I didn’t want to have to do washing during the Christmas period, and partly because I knew Son 2 would arrive with a suitcase of dirty washing, and I prefer not to have to queue for the washing machine. Husband then made helpful comments about, “Gosh, we must’ve been burgled, and they stole all that stuff you’ve been storing in the washing basket for months.” But I ignored him.

Actually, understanding Husband is sometimes difficult. He often embarks on a major DIY project just as my workload feels over-whelming. Like the year he decided it would be helpful to re-floor the kitchen on Christmas Eve. Yep, Christmas Eve. This year he mended the extractor fan in the bathroom. At least, that’s what he told me he was doing, it looked awfully like he was playing Candy-Crush whilst sitting on the sofa, but who am I to know?

To be fair, Husband mainly helps to stop me spiralling into despair. When I woke him at 3:30am on the morning of the 23rd, to tell him in panic I was completely out of control, the time had slipped away from me and it was already Christmas and I wasn’t ready, and I still haven’t managed to proofread Clara, he was very calm. He just sort of absorbs all my worries and tells me it will be fine. Which it was. Perhaps that’s why I married him.

There were a few low points. I had decided this year to avoid the ‘pull the crackers and then leave all the stuff on the table’ activity which happens every year. I decided to buy those make your own crackers and buy a gift people would actually want, which in my family is alcohol. The trouble was, the crackers did not arrive in pieces, as I had expected, they were already formed but with one end open. So inserting miniature bottles of drink was a struggle, and adding the hat and joke was impossible. I basically had to screw them up and stuff them inside. Which did, I admit, look less than professional when they were opened, but everyone merrily wore scrumpled hats. I guess the alcohol helped.

Another unexpected moment was when the food order arrived on 23rd. Who knew you could buy such tiny packets of stuffing?

The absolute low point however, was our family trip to the cinema to see Pitch Perfect 3. Husband’s choice. I knew it would be bad, but I hadn’t realised quite how bad. Words cannot adequately express my feelings towards such drivel. But everything else about our Christmas was brilliant. Next is New Year’s Eve party – not so much potential for disaster there. Is there?

Take care,

Love, Anne x

xxx
anneethompson.com

 

******************************************************

 

Pre-Christmas Jobs

Posted by

0


Christmas is an excellent time to sell books, so when a local bookshop owner suggested I might have a book-signing event in his shop, I was keen to accept. Off I toddled, laden with posters and books, and hoping for an easy place to park. (Sometimes, the most stressful thing about events is trying to park.)

I was given a little table in the coffee shop area of the bookshop, and set up my stuff, then sat back and hoped for customers. Book-signing events are unpredictable. Everyone in the shop is there because they read, which is excellent. However, they do tend to be there because they have come to make a specific purchase, so it can be hard to entice them to try something different. (This is different to general Christmas Fairs, when people are there to buy “something” and a book is as good as anything else.)

Mostly, things went well, and I sold 22 books. It’s not always very efficient, as some people just want to chat. I have found that trying to ‘sell’ my books doesn’t work, so now I simply explain what they’re about as interestingly as possible, then sit back and let people decide whether or not they want to buy one.

My mum was hugely helpful. She caught the bus to the bookshop town (because I had an early start) and then stood outside, enticing people into the shop. I don’t think a single person managed to pass the shop without popping inside. The bookshop owner wants to employ her. If you were one of the many people who arrived inside looking rather bemused, then apologies and thanks. Some of you bought a book, some avoided looking at me and hurried to the opposite corner of the shop; though most people ended up buying something, even if it was a calendar or different book – so I can see why the shop owner was delighted to have Mum there. He did suggest she should dress up as Mrs Christmas, as he had a costume upstairs and Father Christmas was also there – but she declined. Which was a shame, as she’d have looked wonderful with her white curls and sparkly eyes. Maybe next year.

Anyway, it was a fun, if exhausting day. Now I need to prepare for Christmas, and try to fit in checking the proofs that have come from the type-setter ready for printing Clara. But that might have to wait until the new year now. I have just written a list of everything I need to do before the 25th. This was a bad idea, as the list is very long, and there are very few days left. Not sure the animals are going to get much love this week. (There’s an extra one now, as a pheasant has decided our garden is a good place to live. I guess, as the dog keeps the foxes out, he’s probably safer here than in the lane, as long as he doesn’t get into a fight with the cockerels. Not sure how long he plans to stay, but he’s very noisy in the mornings.)

I usually post a blog piece every Monday – but next Monday will be busy. I have lots of people coming for Christmas lunch – including my in-laws, and a range of meat lovers and vegetarians, so what could possibly go wrong? I’ll write afterwards and let you know how things go. But whatever your time zone or religion, I hope your Monday goes well and you have a great day.

Take care,
Love, Anne x

(It’s always thrilling to see my books in a ‘real’ bookshop! Even if my name forces them onto the very bottom shelf. Did you know ‘Lee Child’ made up his name, just so his books would be placed on the bookshelf next to Agatha Christie?)

 

 

 

 

********
Thank you for reading.

I usually post a blog article every Monday. Why not sign up to follow my blog, then you won’t miss it?
anneethompson.com

*****

When You Don’t Know What to Do…….Bible Blog 10

Posted by

2


I found another little gem in 2 Chronicles. There I was, ploughing through Chronicles, which is mostly a repeat of everything I’ve already read in Kings, when I came upon this in chapter 21. I’m not sure if I missed it in Kings, or if it isn’t included there.

The story concerns King Jehoshaphat – who has already been told off by Jehu (a seer) but is now trying to do the right thing. His problem is that a whole ton of enemies are approaching, including his so-called allies, and he’s heading for a brutal defeat. So, he prays. He basically comes to God, and says, “We don’t know what to do, but we’re looking to you to solve the problem.” Ever felt like that? I know I have.

In fact, the whole nation comes to God – it says they came with their babies, and children, and wives (the men would be expected to be there anyway in those days). They came, and prayed to God, because they didn’t know what to do. Not because they had a clever plan they wanted God to carry out for them (so, not like the prayers we often pray). They came because they were stuck.

God answers, and tells them not to worry, He will be with them. Even though they have ignored God multiple times in the past. Even though they have sometimes worshipped other gods. Even though they do not have a great history. God says, because they have honestly come to him in their time of need, he will be with them.

Then – and this is interesting – they worshipped him. They didn’t actually know what the plan was. And all the enemies were still marching towards them. But they chose that moment to worship, simply because they believed God was with them, and they trusted him to somehow sort it out.

The next day, they go to the place God told them to go, and then (this made me laugh) they tell the choir to stand in front of the army and sing praises to God. (I can just imagine that, the church is being attacked, and we tell the music group to stand at the front!)

Anyhow, the story ends with all the enemies basically killing each other, so Judah is safe. But isn’t that a great story? Hidden amongst reams of boring lists. I’ll let you know what else I discover on my read through the Bible.

Thanks for reading. Have a nice day.

Anne x

You can find my other Bible Blogs at: https://anneethompson.com/christian-tearfund-materials-and-poems/

Which Blog? – Comparing Blogspot and WordPress

Posted by

10


Which is the best blog to use? I have been blogging for three years now, and although my IT skills are fairly basic, I manage to navigate the blogging world quite well. So, if you are thinking of starting or switching your own blog, which is the best platform to use?

I began blogging with a WordPress site. It was beyond my abilities to set up, so I had help. I knew what I wanted though – a website where people could access links easily. I wanted to write articles, rather than simply a weekly blog. I was therefore advised to use WordPress, and to find a format that allowed me to add pages. Pages are the links that are static – they appear on your blog when someone clicks on it. They are different to posts. Posts are added in chronological order, so follow, one after the other. If, therefore, I post a brilliant article about self-publishing, after a few weeks it is buried below all the posts I have added since. Pages, however, sit there, in the same place, allowing for easy access. People can find them when they click on the menu.

WordPress offer a variety of themes. I wanted a free one, and one that displayed lots of pages on the home screen. I found one with that option, rearranged a few things and changed the photos, then I was ready. Everything is changed via the Dashboard, which is found by clicking the WP Admin option in the menu. I can then add posts, or pages, very easily. I wanted a website address, so pay an annual fee for the domain name anneethompson.com. Everything else was free. I spent, and earned, nothing. It was lots of fun.

The thing I especially like about WordPress is that people can sign up to follow my blog. When they choose this option, they submit their email details, and then everything I post is emailed to them automatically by WordPress. It helps me to have some idea of how many people actually read my blog. Some are clearly people who sign up simply because they hope I will follow them in return. They opt out again after a few weeks. A few followers are linked to me – family, or people who knew me years ago, or friends. Most of my followers are complete strangers. It is always exciting when a new follower signs up, and it is very motivating.

WordPress show you how many people have read posts each week. They only show ‘visitors’, so followers of my blog don’t show up (they are in a separate list). Nor do my own views, when I click on my site to check it. The stats show me what has been read, in which countries, and the link that was used to access it. So, if I put a link onto Twitter, I can see whether that has been effective or not.

After two and a half years, I was unable to add any new photographs. WordPress informed me I had used my media allocation. I could delete photos, but they were then deleted from the whole site, so if people clicked on past posts or pages, there were gaps. To add more data, I had to pay for a premium theme. This allowed me more data capacity, and also meant I could opt in to have adverts added to my posts. I am paid for this service. Each month, depending on how many people have viewed my posts, I receive credit into a paypal account. It does not include the posts emailed out to followers (so I am assuming they escape the adverts). I wasn’t sure how much I would receive. For the first month, in which it had 5,000 views of posts, I received 13p! Am thinking that unless I have a post that ‘goes viral’, I am not going to paying for dinner any time soon, especially as they only pay out when you are owed at least £100.

I knew of other bloggers, who seemed to have more views than me. They used Blogspot, so I decided to start another blog there too. Setting up was very easy, and I managed to do it, without help, in a few minutes. I didn’t find a pages option, so everything I write appears chronologically, as posts. Like WordPress, you can add ‘tags’ or ‘labels’ – key words which help to direct people to your blog. A little like Hashtags on Facebook, Twitter, and Google Plus. When people do a search using key words, the computer finds those hashtags and directs them to your writing.

I began to post all the same posts and articles on the Blogspot blog, as it’s read by a different audience. There is no option for people to follow my blog, so reaching readers seems to be less predictable. One interesting feature is that many more people seem to read Blogspot. Which makes me suspicious. Are there really more views, or are the stats unreliable? I can post the same post, at the same time, on both blogs, and put links onto Google Plus and Twitter. Within minutes – literally minutes, 20 people will have viewed the Blogspot post. By the end of the day, I will have maybe 30 viewers on WordPress (because followers don’t show on stats) and over a hundred on Blogspot. It starts almost immediately. I can post something, refresh the page and already, bam, 9 views. Apparently.

There are three possible for reasons for this. Possibly, Blogspot is a bigger company, with more bloggers, so when something is posted, there are more people surfing for blogs to read, hence the higher number of viewers. Possibly the stats are recording something different, so they show the people who glimpsed my Twitter link or saw the title of my post, even though they did not actually click on it and read it. Or, possibly the stats are inflated, Blogspot know that bloggers want to have readers, so they increase the numbers of views. Certainly I find that if I view my own site, it increases my stats (even though I have my settings so my own views shouldn’t be recorded). If you have info, let me know. I will continue to copy my WordPress posts onto to Blogspot, simply because it takes seconds, and possibly increases my readership. But my main blog, the one I care about and trust, is the WordPress one.

The main issue with a blog seems to be getting traffic to your site. You might write something fabulous, witty, insightful, but if no one reads it, what’s the point? To begin with, I told everyone who I knew about my blog, hoping they would log on when they got home and read something. I became very boring, conversations were geared to when I could mention what I’d written. My friends were understanding, acquaintances started to avoid me. The thing is, my blog really mattered to me. It was where I was investing my time and energy. But for other people, it was insignificant, and by the time they had opportunity to have a look, they had forgotten.

I realised that the best source of traffic is via social media. Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, etc, all give a platform to advertise what you’ve written, and an easy place to add links so people can be directed straight to your blog. The trouble with social media, is that it can be very time-consuming. I am an author, I write books. Spending hours (literally) every day, on social media, is not what I choose to invest time in. For it to be effective, you need to interact with others, it’s not just about posting your own stuff. You have to read what others have written, follow other blogs, comment and share. This can become very superficial – I know that some people will comment on posts I have shared on Twitter, and retweet them, even though they have not actually followed the link and read them! If you look at Twitter, some people follow tens of thousands of people. They cannot possibly be interested in that many people. It becomes a game, and you need to choose whether or not you want to play it. It is a little like book reviews on places like Amazon – sometimes they are more a reflection of how much time someone spends on social media, rather than the quality of writing. There is nothing wrong with that (even presidents can find it fulfilling apparently) but be realistic about what social media is, and what it isn’t. Then decide how you want to find your audience.

Sometimes, I read other blogs, and they are badly written and boring. At the bottom, they have been ‘liked’ and ‘shared’ by hundreds of people. Other blogs are clever and interesting, and will have 4 ‘likes’. I think you need to decide what is important. Receiving feedback is lovely, but sometimes it’s delayed, and sometimes it’s private. I receive emails from people who tell me something made them laugh, or meet a friend who tells me they took an article to a hospice and all the patients chuckled at it, or I hear that an article was helpful for someone. That is very precious, and motivates me to continue. But, to be honest, my blog is not going to be paying for dinner any time soon. Or even a cup of tea.

***

Thank you for reading, hope it was helpful. You can follow my blog at: anneethompson.com – oh, and if you feel like sharing a link, that would be wonderful!

 Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her books in bookshops and Amazon. She writes a weekly blog.

Christmas Meal with the Family

Posted by

0


For the last few years, we’ve tried to go up to London, to see the Christmas lights and have dinner together. Not anywhere particularly posh, but just to be together, somewhere different, where I don’t have to do the cooking. Last weekend was the 2017 family meal.

I wasn’t sure if we’d manage it this year, as only Husband and I were at home, and everyone else would be travelling from different parts of the country, but they all seemed willing, so I booked a table and hoped it wouldn’t snow. It didn’t, but it did rain, which made the event damper than planned, but it was still nice to see everyone.

We arranged to meet at 5:30pm at The National Gallery. I chose this time because it was an hour before our restaurant reservation, and my family, whilst wonderful, are somewhat unpredictable when it comes to times and trains and going in the right direction. Well, actually, it would be more accurate to say they are very predictable, and I knew it would be best if we met ahead of time. As I guessed, one child arrived on time, with partner, in arranged place. One child texted to say they were at a station in Hertfordshire, the other was silent, so we assumed they might be on a train to Edinburgh. Nothing unexpected there.

To be fair, we were all together, in the restaurant, at the correct time. We had a lovely time together, lots of good conversation and teasing and general family bonding stuff which goes to make up the best memories. We then wandered around Covent Garden, and through Leicester Square Christmas Market. They did have security on the gate, checking bags, and one person had with him several large bags, hauled down from uni; but when he mentioned they were full of dirty washing, the security were surprisingly unkeen to search them.

We then had a quick look at China Town, before deciding the weather was too awful, so went and camped in the bar of the Curzon Theatre for more chat and cups of hot chocolate.

My family does best when it’s contained in a restaurant or bar, as wandering around places never works. This might be due to the general unsuitedness of Husband and I, who are both bossy leader types that dislike following others. (A matchmaking site would never have put us together, even though we do actually have lots of fun together. Sometimes I think God just wanted to spare two other weaker people, who would have been squashed by our dominant personalities!) The problem is, our children are also not, in any respect, ‘followers’. So when the family tries to walk anywhere, we have many different opinions about where to go and the best route, which means everyone tends to disperse in different directions.

As you can imagine, raising strong personalities was fun, but challenging. Whenever I took them out, I would have back-up plans, just in case. Such as, “If you get on a train before me and the doors shut before I’m on it, get off at the very next station and wait for me.” Or, “If you realise you have lost me, just stand still and shout; and only ask for help from a woman with children.” (I figured that a woman who had children of her own would realise how awful they generally are, and would never want to steal someone else’s!) However, one son informed me that these strategies no longer work, and now he’s a  very tall man, if he approached a woman with children and told her he was lost, she would probably have him arrested.

It was a lovely evening, and stress free, which such evenings have not always been. I remember the year when there had to be a line drawn across the table, so one son’s feet did not extend into my daughter’s foot-territory. And the year when one teenager arrived in the car ready to drive to the station moments before our train was due, wearing a shirt and jeans. Just a shirt – no jumper, no coat. And it was snowing. But apparently teenaged boys do not feel the cold or ever get ill, so it would have been unreasonable of me to comment.

But not this year. This year, they all arrived, from their various places of residence, and we ate dinner together and chatted. A special time. So, if your children are younger, and perhaps not always easy, hold that image in mind. In time, they will be the people who you most want to be with. They will be the provider of your most special memories, the accompaniment to precious moments, and the people who lighten your heart. If they manage to arrive in the right city on time….

xxx

Thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this, why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

 

******************************************

An Extract From Hidden Faces

Posted by

2


As it’s nearly Christmas, and Hidden Faces begins as the staff prepare for the Nativity play, I thought I would share an extract with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One

Cynthia Mott was late. She slotted her key into the solid front door and pushed it open, stepped into the front room, brushed her feet on the mat and hurried under the low beam into her kitchen. She dumped her bag in the corner, keys on top of the fridge and bent to retrieve her forgotten lunch.

There was a thump. She froze, all her attention focused on listening. It came again. A dull, low thump. Wood on wood. It came from the cottage garden, which should have been empty.

She glanced at the clock, irritable, there was no time for this, had not really been time to even collect her sandwiches. Another thump. That decided her. She dropped the lunch box into her bag, kicked off her shoes, struggled into the wellingtons by the back door and marched across the lawn.

The grass was still frozen, glistening from the hard frost which had hardened the sprinkling of snow into icy tufts. She crunched as she walked, hurrying towards the shed. The door should have been fastened but a slight breeze was blowing, stirring it. It swung open, paused for a moment as though holding its breath, then thumped shut. As she approached, Cynthia could see the outline of a man through the cobwebbed window. She frowned, began composing caustic sentences, flung open the shed door. She too paused, held her breath.

He was dead. There could be no doubt about that. His face, already tinged with blue, had one eye open, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling. He sat on her abandoned rocking chair in the corner, trousers stained and mouth drooping. His grey hair poked thinly from beneath a brown cap and his feet, strangely angled, were clad in muddy boots. There was a newspaper on the floor, she supposed it had fallen when he drifted from consciousness.

Suddenly suffused with anger, Cynthia glanced once more at her watch. 12:40. The tension rose within her like an icy bubble, overwhelming her ability to think.

‘I do not have time for this,’ she announced, ‘not today.’

Decisively she reached out, shut the door, fastened it with a large bolt. She turned and hurried back to the cottage, slipped back into her sensible low heeled shoes, retrieved her bag and slammed the front door behind her.

***

The road was slippery as Cynthia joined the long line of cars edging their way into town. It was a week before Christmas and lights hung from trees that swayed tiredly in the breeze. The lights did not appear to have any shape at all and one felt they had been sneezed across the branches rather than designed. Shoppers hurried from rare parking spaces, ever aware of the nearing deadline, carrying immense lists, failing to look jolly.

Chewing her lunch as she drove, Cynthia avoided careless pedestrians as she navigated the High Street. Marksbridge was a small market town built alongside the river. It had a collection of small shops clustered along a single road with facades dating back to the 1800s. One of the large supermarket chains had recently arrived on former scrubland at the bottom of the High Street but other than that it seemed that the outside world had failed to notice the town.

The school was on a car lined side road leading from the top of the High Street. As she navigated the parked vehicles, she hoped her parking space would be free. It was not, of course, it was that kind of a day…

xxxxxxxx

Hidden Faces by Anne E. Thompson is an easy-read, feel-good novel, perfect for reading next to a fire at Christmas. Available from bookshops and Amazon. UK link below.

 

Mary’s Story continued…

Posted by

2


“… After eight days, Joseph came and circumcised the baby. We were in the main part of the house by then, and when Joseph appeared with the sharpened knife, I knew what he was going to do. How the baby wailed! It felt cruel, though I knew it was the right thing to do, even in this strange place we must obey the Jewish laws. We also formally gave him the name Yeshua, the name we had been told to give him by the angel, all those months ago. I wondered if Joseph minded, people would know it wasn’t a family name. (I also had no one called Yeshua in my own family, though I did know a boy from my childhood with the name.)

After forty days, we had to travel to Jerusalem, to pay for redemption at the temple. As Joseph was from the tribe of Judah, we had to pay five shekels of silver. We couldn’t afford a lamb, so bought two pigeons to sacrifice. It was nice to leave Bethlehem and to have some exercise at last, to see people and to take my baby into the world. I felt quite excited as I approached the temple, our holy place. I didn’t recognise anyone, but everyone could see we had a new baby and lots of the women came over to see him. I felt so happy! It almost made up for my mum not being there, it was nice to show my baby.

We walked through the Beautiful Gate and up to the Gate of Nicanor. A timeless place, even the stones seem holy somehow, and permanent, like they will always stand there. The house of God.

Then something strange happened. As Joseph and I walked through the temple, a man approached us. He came to look at Yeshua, and indicated that he wanted to hold him. That was a little unusual but there was something about him, something that made you sure he was a good man, someone you could trust. When he looked at the baby, he got all emotional and prayed, thanking God and saying that now he could die in peace. He blessed me and Joseph too, and then he leant towards me and said something which was very strange. He said Yeshua would cause “the fall and rising of many in Israel” and would be “a sign that would be opposed so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

What does that mean? I know that he is God’s own son, and that he is part of the plan to establish God’s reign on earth. Will he be opposed? Surely everyone will accept God’s annointed one. We have waited so long for him.

Then he said something that made me afraid. His face was very near, I could smell his breath. He spoke in a low voice – with all the bustle and noise of the temple, I’m not sure that anyone else heard. He stared into my eyes, and said that a sword would pierce my soul.

It made me very frightened, I practically snatched Yeshua away from him. I want my son to grow strong and be happy, will I suffer for this? I knew I was tired, not getting enough sleep, and it was hard to care for a new baby in a strange place without my mother to help me. I didn’t want to hear the man’s words, even if they were true. Who was he anyway?

The man left us, and almost at once an old lady approached. She was ancient, her white hair showed under her mitpahath, and she leant heavily on a stick. But what I noticed most were her eyes. They almost sparkled! You could tell at once that she was a holy woman, but also one who loved to laugh.

As soon as she saw Yeshua she started to pray loudly, thanking God, and telling people nearby that if they wanted Jerusalem to be redeemed, they should look to the baby. I was glad that no Romans were allowed in the temple, we would have been in trouble. Several people stopped when they heard her, and stared at the baby. But no one else approached, and I kept tight hold of him. How strange it all was. I felt that I had had enough of strangeness now, I needed a bit of ‘normal’.

We finished making the offerings, and then went back to Bethlehem. I didn’t know whether to tell Joseph what the old man told me. I kept thinking about his words, worrying about what they might mean. I was so tired, I decided I would wait and maybe tell him later.

***

The months passed, and we settled into life in Bethlehem. We moved into a little house and Joseph worked on the many building projects that the Romans have introduced. It’s a good time to be a carpenter, there’s lots of work to be had.

Yeshua continued to thrive. He grew into a sturdy toddler and would walk around the room, holding onto the stools and baskets. I loved to feel his solid weight when I carried him on my hip, the snuffle of his breath on my neck when he slept against me. He started to sleep much better at night, and Joseph and I were thinking about having another child.

Then everything changed.

It was one evening, still quite early, but we had filled the lamp with olive oil and lit the linen wick. Joseph put it on a bushel basket, so the room was well lit and we could talk about the day. Suddenly, there was a banging at the door.

Joseph went at once and there, in the road, was a group of Persian travellers. They had dismounted from their horses and were peering intently into the house. They told Joseph they had seen a star, and had come to worship the king. I was so glad I hadn’t gone to bed yet, they were terribly grand.

We let them into the house, and I went to get Yeshua. He was damp from sleep, and his tired eyes looked blearily around him. I wondered if he would cry, but he seemed fascinated by our strange visitors. They wore their hair in long curls, one had a band of gold on his head. It glinted in the lamp light, I could see Yeshua watching it intently, watching the reflections from the lamps. Their clothes were patterned with birds and flowers.

We offered them wine, it was clear they were tired from their journey. I was embarrassed that we only had two stools to offer them, but they didn’t seem to mind, and in fact insisted that I should sit on one with Yeshua, they were happy to sit on the rush mat. They didn’t really sit anyway, they wanted to kneel before Yeshua.

Then they gave him gifts. They were beautiful to look at. They gave him gold, signifying that he is a king. They gave him frankincense – the strong aroma filling the house. I wondered if Yeshua was to be a priest, even though he is not descended from Levi. They also gave him myrrh. Myrrh is costly – but is for embalming a dead body. It was a strange gift for a baby, and I wondered what it meant.

They told us their story before they left. In their Persian home, they were magi, watching the stars and foretelling the future. Many months ago, at the time of Yeshua’s birth, they had seen a special star, which they knew meant a powerful new king had been born. They determined they would find and worship him. Unfortunately, following the star caused them to go to Jerusalem first (I always knew that star gazing was a misleading activity!) They went to Herod’s palace, and asked where the new king was. (This was scary, Herod had shown he was not a king to be trusted, and his cruelty was well known. I would not have wanted to visit his palace.)

However, it sounded as though he had decided to be helpful. He asked the scribes to research the early scriptures, and they discovered that the promised king was to be born in Bethlehem. The king told the Easterners and asked them to find the king and then return and tell him the exact location, so that he too could worship.

I wondered what would happen next. Would Herod himself come to visit my precious baby, or would we be summoned to the palace? This was not a comfortable thought.

I also wondered why the palace scribes had not come to visit us. Did they not believe the scriptures that they studied so diligently? Surely if they were truly expecting a redeemer they would also have come?

The men left. They planned to sleep in an inn, returning to Jerusalem the next day. We could not offer them lodging in our tiny house, and they seemed content to leave now they had seen Yeshua.

I returned Yeshua to bed, and soon after, Joseph and I also went to sleep.

I had not been asleep for long when Joseph woke me. He shook me awake, then went to light the lamp. I could see his face was tense, and instantly turned to check Yeshua was well. He was sleeping soundly.

Joseph told me I needed to get up at once, we needed to leave. He said that he had had a dream, like the dream when the angel told him that the baby inside me was God’s son. It was so intense and real, he could not ignore it. He said he had been told we must leave Israel, Yeshua was in danger, Herod planned to kill him. While he was talking he was flinging things into sacks, packing up our few possessions, rushing to leave.

I didn’t move at first, and sat wondering why I too had not be warned. And then I realised – God had told Joseph to take care of me and Yeshua. That was a hard task for a man, to care for a son that was not his own. So God was now telling Joseph alone what we needed to do, underlining his role, establishing him as head of our family. It was a kind act, it’s so important for the men to feel in charge, so they have the respect of those around them.

I began to help pack our things but Joseph was hurrying me, telling me to only take what was essential. We were to go to Egypt. Egypt! Could this be right? Was Yeshua not to be king of the Jews? I packed hurriedly and we left that very night.

As I carried Yeshua to the cart, I wondered, what would the future hold? Would we ever return to our home town? The future was uncertain, but I knew that something bigger than us was happening. Whatever happened, God had a plan and no one could alter the course of that.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————–

This account necessarily involves some imagination but I believe it is also as historically correct as possible (and a lot more correct than some of our Christmas carols!)
If you are aware of any historical errors, please tell me and I will modify it.
I used a variety of sources including:
The gospels of Matthew and Luke
Geoffrey Bromily (1995)
William Hendriksen
William Barclay
Joseph P Amar (university of Notre Dame)
Michael Marlowe
Tessa Afshar

Thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy Hidden Faces by Anne E. Thompson. Available from bookshops and Amazon:

hidden-faces-final-cover-6-july-2016

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

anneethompson.com

xxx