A Long Walk in London

Posted by anneethompson

I love London, it is my favourite city in the world. I love the mix of old and new, the history that’s hidden in every corner, the millions of lives that have been so intensely lived during such different circumstances.

I have always disliked the London Underground but it’s convenient and safe, so I often used it. Then, one day I caught a train from Monument to Bank, got lost in the tunnels trying to find the exit and came back up the steps at….. Monument. I realised that the stations were somewhat nearer than I had thought. In fact, central London is quite small, you can walk to most of it.

This is a walk that I do fairly regularly. It is long (I walk fast and it takes me two hours) but hugely interesting. Wear comfortable shoes, don’t carry anything heavy and leave teenaged boys at home (they walk very slowly and moan a lot.)

The walk starts at Victoria station, named after the road it’s on, which is in turn named after the Queen. When you leave via the main exit, you will see the Shakespeare pub. If you ever get a taxi to Victoria, ask them to drop you at The Shakespeare – it’s much quicker (and therefore cheaper) than being taken to the taxi rank at the station.

Walk along Buckingham Palace road. You will pass the wall that encloses the Queen’s house, then some entrances, including the entrance to her gallery. The gallery is nice if you like that sort of thing.

You’ll pass wonderfully touristy gift shops and the Buckingham Palace gift shop.

You then arrive at the junction with Birdcage walk and The Mall. My tip here is : use the pedestrian lights. Most of London has pedestrian lights but they are slow and if you know which direction the traffic is coming from, you can cross much quicker on your own. However, at this junction, the traffic moves very fast, from multiple directions. When you are half way across a multi-lane road, it is a bit scary to see a fast approaching car. Have a quick look at Buckingham Palace and St James’s Park, then walk along The Mall.

You could walk through the park, which is nice (it has ducks and a pelican that we once saw eat a pigeon. Yes, really.) But it is slower and The Mall is nice and wide and you can look at the posh houses on the other side of the road.

One of these is St James’s Palace, where Prince Charles lives some of the time. He seems to be having his roof fixed at the moment poor chap, never nice having the builders in.

If you look across the park, you can see the London Eye and Big Ben in Westminster (which reminds you again how small London actually is.)

You will then arrive at Admiralty Arch. I have told lots of tourist friends/relatives that this is Marble Arch. It isn’t, though it is an arch and it does appear to be made of marble. It used to house government buildings but has now been sold to be a hotel.

Through the arch, you will see Trafalgar Square with Nelson’s column and fountains and giant lions.

The lions are harder to climb than you might think.

Across the square is the National Gallery. This is a wonderful place, with free entrance and fantastic paintings (and toilets and coffee shops.) Walk diagonally across the square, heading for the large white church you can see on the right. This is St Martin’s. You will now be in Charing Cross Road.

Charing Cross Road is my favourite road. It has really interesting shops: old books, posh clothes that nobody wears and weird stuff. As you walk up the road, on the right is Covent Garden, on the left is China Town. I always think of Little Newport Street as the entrance to China Town (because they used to have a good Chinese bookshop there.) You will see lots of Chinese script as you walk up Charing Cross Road.

Turn right when you get to Shaftesbury Avenue, then cross High Holborn onto Bloomsbury Way. There are theatres here. There are less people and the buildings are a mix of offices and old churches. There are a few enticing lanes with nice cafes, the shop that always has bowls of fruit outside and some cheap grocery shops. There is also the hat stall (which always seems to be there.) Useful, one never knows when one might need a bowler hat.

You will pass Bloomsbury Square (good place for a sit down in the summer) which is just in front of the British Museum. You will then arrive at Southampton Row. Turn left and walk up about 300 yards, past just about every chain of coffee shop and a Pizza Express. You will then arrive at a little lane, Cosmo Place. Walk along here to Queen’s Square. This is a small garden full of benches dedicated to people who I assume were treated in the surrounding hospitals. You are now next to Great Ormond Street children’s hospital and the Neurological Hospital (should you wish to pop in for a quick MRI.)

Walk down Old Gloucester to Theobald’s Road, then straight down Proctor Street to High Holborn. You are now in the legal part of the city. Turn left. As you walk along High Holborn you will pass lots of alleyways leading to the Inns. If you have read any of C J Sansom’s historical novels, you will love this place. My favourite is Lincoln’s Inn Fields. You can wander through the gardens, looking at the buildings, knowing they are pretty much unchanged since the days of Henry VIII. There are signs saying “No Public Right of Way” but I tell myself this refers to cars and just walk in and no one has ever stopped me.

As you continue along High Holborn, you get a real feel for London. Really old stuff next to really modern stuff with new stuff being built. The fingerprints of history. Holborn Viaduct is a tangle of old and new. It is also near to Smithfield Market (slightly North) and St Paul’s cathedral (slightly South) if you want to make detours.

You will pass a dragon boundary mark. These mark the original gates into the City of London, which is also called The Square Mile. It can be quite confusing for visitors – the City of London is a small area within London, not the sprawling mass of the whole city, which is also called London…..

You will pass the end of the Old Bailey, the Central Criminal Court built in 1673. Before they had gas lights, they used mirrors to reflect the light onto the faces of the accused so they could watch their expressions. They also placed sound boxes above them to amplify their voices. There is a viewing gallery where you can watch cases being tried (it is nothing like ‘Judge Judy’ on television. No laughing and very tense. Real people in real trouble.) It was built next to Newgate prison, which was demolished over a hundred years ago (but still appears in historical books and films.)

Turn left up King Edward’s Street to Gresham Street. You could nip up to London Wall. Here you will pass stretches of the original London wall, built by the Romans.

You will also pass Wood Street, where you can see Rapunzel’s tower. This is where she let down her hair so the handsome prince could climb up and rescue her. It has stood here since the days when this was covered in forest. (Actually, it is the remains of St Alban’s church, which was rebuilt after the great fire in 1666. It was designed by Sir Christopher Wren and then destroyed by a bomb during WW2.)

You will pass Guildhall, which is used for ceremonial rites. I went to a ceremony here once and the Lord Mayor of London came, escorted by Pikemen and Musketeers (which was somewhat unexpected but quite interesting.)

Turn right down Princes, past the bank of England (a lot of gold in there) and onto King William Street.

You will pass the Royal Exchange, which has posh shops and coffee places. I once went in there to try on expensive shoes (which I didn’t intend to buy) and I saw Brad Pitt when I came out. He held the door open for me. I expect it meant a lot to him. Opposite is Mansion House which is where the Lord Mayor of London lives (but I didn’t see any musketeers on guard. Perhaps they were in disguise.)

At the bottom of King William Street is Monument. This was designed by Sir Christopher Wren (busy chap) to commemorate the Great Fire of London. You can go up it, if you like heights, but you have to pay.

Walk across London Bridge and finish your walk at London Bridge Station. On the bridge you can look down the river to Tower Bridge, see HMS Belfast and the Tower of London.

So much history, all waiting to be explored. It’s a long walk, but there is so much to see you could easily add some cafes and take a whole day.

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This is the spike, just outside London Bridge Station,
used for catching parachutists in the last war.
(My children never believe me when I tell them that.)

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Letters to a Sister : 32

Posted by anneethompson

I’ve been reading through my old diaries. Found this entry from 1997. It’s during the time I looked after my nephew (aged 18 months) while his Mum worked, so everyone thought I had twins in the double buggy.

“A Day in November
Husband’s cousin is coming for the weekend. Hope he enjoys it. It’s always worrying having people to stay who don’t have children. They don’t really understand why we have shoes in the bathroom and towels in the hall.

J was awful Tues night and kept crying – every twenty minutes (ears or teeth or both.) I took him downstairs at 11:30, then husband took over at 3am. We were really tired the next day. Husband phoned from work to say he’d gone with no cuff-links or watch, not combed his hair and his flies had been down all morning.

Last week, J bit nephew’s finger (they were arguing over a toy.) Usually they play really well together, though they take off each other’s slippers a hundred times a day. They also both love watching Teletubies (I love them watching Teletubbies – it gives me 20 minutes peace.) I have had to unplug the television because they keep going in the lounge and turning it on to watch – they don’t believe me that it isn’t always on!

Today was ‘Dilip Day’ at R’s school – a fete thing full of smelly second-hand toys. M bought a plastic crocodile which he’s named ‘Tina’ (no idea why.) I’ve already confiscated it twice, once because it was being used as a bashing stick and once because it ‘ate’ all R’s felt-pen lids.

I gave everyone straws at tea-time. Bad idea, they all blew milk over each other.

J is being very naughty at the moment. Yesterday he splashed toilet water all over the bathroom, then took my best china plates out of the dishwasher and threw them on the floor (only one broke).
He also opened the fridge and left a trail of orange juice across the kitchen to where he poured it into two plastic saucepans. He can now climb/fall out of his cot, so I have put a big mattress on the floor.

Went to the shops – always a struggle with the double buggy. It’s too wide for the aisles so I have to block the whole shop while I quickly grab what I need, pay and leave. Today the boys were swinging their legs and J realised he could kick off his red wellie. It sailed straight up and hit someone on the head, which sent him and nephew into peals of giggles. Embarrassing. I did apologize but it’s hard to sound sorry with two toddlers in fits of giggles behind you.

We went for a cycle ride after tea, with J strapped onto the seat on my bike. R went very slowly and carefully and screamed when she banged her shins. M went very fast, couldn’t work the brake, ran into me 50 times, fell off twice and thought it was wonderful. They are very different……

A Day in December
All the Christmas activities have started. R was an inn-keeper’s wife and M was a king in their respective Nativity plays.

R’s ballet show was hard work – lots of rehearsals at inconvenient times. I did try staying to watch one rehearsal but the boys moved two thousand times in the half hour, culminating with J’s chair folding up with him stuck inside it. Not sure we were suitably still and quiet enough to watch again.

R now busy reenacting the Nativity. She’s having a hard time. J wont wear his crown and M is objecting to wearing a pink dressing gown.

It snowed yesterday. M told J, ‘God opened his arms in the night and made snow as a surprise for us.’ They loved it. Every single pair of trousers is now soaked.

My birthday was nice. Husband let me have a lie in, then they all gave me gifts. A mug from M, a plate (to replace the one he smashed) from J and chocolates from R.
Husband invited the family round for tea. He bought a black spider cake, which was hideous.”

Reading the memories made me smile. It seems so weird that there was a day that was the last time I ever picked them up and I didn’t even realise. They are grown up now, but I still love them to bits. Am so glad they grew out of the biting phase.
Take care,
Anne xx

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Who do you trust?

Posted by anneethompson

What do you trust? As in, really trust, not the ‘wearing my lucky socks for an interview’ kind of trust but the kind of trust we had when we were tiny. I’ve been thinking about it recently.

When we were little, Mum and Dad always took us on those camping holidays didn’t they. We never had any input into where we went or what we did, we just trusted that we would be safe and have a nice time. I remember we used to load the car with all our stuff and sit on heaps of blankets, driving for hours through the country to a windy campsite where we would all help to put up the tent and unload the car. I think, when I was small, I looked forward to them. When I was bigger, I longed for a caravan. (I have now promised myself that I will never have to camp again. Ever.) But when we were tiny, we loved it. We also had complete, unquestioning trust in Mum and Dad. That’s the kind of trust I’m thinking about.

I started thinking about it because I was reading the bit in the Bible about Jesus in Gethsemane, just before he is arrested and then killed, the bit where he is praying. He prays, “….not as I will but as you will.” That is complete trust. He has told God that he does not want to die, to go through all the suffering. Then he says that what he wants more than anything is that God’s will be done. He knows that ultimately, that is for the best. Have you ever felt that? Ever had complete trust in God or someone else? Since we were tiny I mean (little children are good at trust. Perhaps because they don’t see the dangers or perhaps because they have no choice.)

The only time I’ve come even slightly close was just before I had brain surgery. I was sitting in the rocking chair on the landing, praying about it. All the doctors had talked to me about the possibility of dying or waking up disabled – not in a ‘worst case scenario, not likely to happen’ sort of way but in a ‘this is possible (but you’ll die if we don’t do it, so there is no option but to take the risk)’ sort of way. It was a real possibility and that REALLY helps you to focus on God and praying and asking for his help.

Anyway, there I was, praying, asking God to make sure I didn’t die and I felt him talking to me. That doesn’t happen very often, but I guess he knew this was important. He told me I needed to trust him. Not trust him that I wouldn’t die, but trust him that whatever his will was, it was for the best. I felt he was asking me what I would choose. If my dying meant that my children would be saved, would I choose that? Of course I would, any mother would. Then I realised that I don’t see the whole picture, only God does. Maybe my dying or being left paralysed would be what was best – not in the short term for me, but in the long term, in the eternal picture sort of way. I had to trust not that God would let me live but that God’s will, whatever that was, would be done.

Just as I was having these thoughts/prayers, the phone rang. It was a friend phoning to say he would be praying that I would have a successful operation. I told him that instead he should pray that God’s will should be done. I find that happens sometimes, God never forgets that we are human, physical beings, sometimes we need to say and do things to make them definite, real, so we don’t forget them.

As you know, I didn’t die. But I think the trust bit was important.

When we have a crisis of health, or someone we love dies or when awful things happen, like the terrorists actions in Paris, it makes us realise that trusting ourselves isn’t enough, we need someone bigger to rely on. It is important that we place our trust wisely. Bad things happen. Do we trust God to bring some good out of it? That his plan is bigger than all the nasty stuff that we see in life?

It was fairly recent, but I have already lost that ability to completely trust. I am thinking about my book, my hope to be an author. I am praying that God will help me get published. But what if that isn’t his will? Do I trust him that his way is better? That’s pretty hard in normal everyday life. Plus, how do we know what his will is? I guess sometimes (usually in my case) we don’t. I didn’t know what his will was when I had the operation, I had to take the advice of people who knew better than me about physical things (the surgeons) and trust that God would be in control of the outcome.

Sometimes we have to walk along the route that seems to be laid out and just trust and pray that God’s will be done.

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Letters to a Sister : 31

Posted by anneethompson

We had a Christmas Fair at church last week. A bit early perhaps but I guess it avoids clashing with every other Christmas Fair/Fayre/Event that the whole world feels obligated to host.

I am actually not a great lover of Christmas Fairs (in case you didn’t guess that already.) I’m not sure if it’s my general dislike of shopping or some long buried forgotten experiences. I equate Christmas Fairs with over-crowded stuffy rooms, knitted peg-bags that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, cakes that have been thoroughly breathed on by every flu infected attendee and homemade Christmas decorations.

I could write at length about homemade Christmas decorations. They are not something I value. Not even the sticky offerings my own children produced (they tell me they are scarred by this. I can cope.) I like decorations that are pretty and sparkly and preferably made of glass. Like the baubles our parents owned that we weren’t allowed to touch, that our brother broke with a football one year and then was NOT locked in his bedroom for a week over. Which was grossly unfair.

Anyway, this Christmas fair was rather lovely. It served mull wine at the entrance, which helped. It also had a Rock Choir in the car park. They had to be in the car park because there were millions of them. Not sure if they were invited to boost numbers or for their music. Also not sure how they managed to sing – it was freezing cold and someone had helpfully positioned them down-wind of the fire pit (for roasting marshmallows) so when they took a breath it would be smoke filled. They did make for a cheery atmosphere though.

There was a bouncy castle and face painting for the children. Now, face painting is a weird idea. The child sits there, having chosen a design, while the adult attempts to copy the picture onto their face. The child cannot actually see the paint on their face, it could be anything. They just have to remember to not wipe their nose or scratch their face for the rest of the day. It does unfortunately tend to be children with nasty colds who have their faces painted. Perhaps the lines of snot could be incorporated into the design somehow – it never looks good on the tiger/flower/lion designs that are generally chosen. I know one of the ladies who was doing the face painting. I did offer to face paint her face, thought it would be good advertising. There was a part of me that was longing to paint a huge willy or rude slogan on her cheek – she wouldn’t have known until she went home and looked in the mirror and it would be hugely funny. But she refused to let me. Clearly doesn’t trust me. Seemed harsh.

There were the usual range of other stalls : soaps and candles, a range of knitted and crocheted items, which I would never be patient enough to make. Actually, I can knit. I am half way through a cardigan for my daughter. It is for a child aged 5 years and she is now 23, so I have been knitting it for a little while now. I am sure she wont even appreciate it when I do finally finish it. Maybe I should make a special effort for this Christmas. Or give it to a Fayre to sell. Though none of the other children’s cardigans were quite as asymmetrical as mine.

Do you remember when brother made some bath-salts? I think he got the recipe from Blue Peter (does that programme still exist? It was an intrinsic part of our childhood.) Anyway, these bath-salts were made from soda crystals and you then added perfume and colour. He used some second-hand lavender perfume that he had bought at a jumble sale. Lots of it. I think it had gone off. He then coloured them with food colouring. Blue food colouring. Lots of it. Food colouring stains things. Both me and the bath were blue tinged for weeks after that bath. It is one of the few times growing up that I heard Mum swear. I still feel ill when I smell lavender.

The church had made a huge effort for this fair. There was a nativity scene in the foyer – with a baby Jesus who looked like he was dressed as a spaceman, which was unusual. There were balloons everywhere – even hanging from the cross at the front of the church (which I feel might be a talking point at the next church meeting.) Loads of people came, which I think was the point, to let people in the area know that the church is there and actually exists today. Not something that should be assumed in the UK in 2015. I’m not sure if any of those people will ever come back, but I guess at least they now know the location – and that we aren’t overly precious about our icons.

Hope you have a good week.
Take care,
Anne x
PS, I have bought your Christmas gift, you will love it. It is to hang on your tree. And is knitted.

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Hate Came to Stay

Posted by anneethompson

Hate Came to Stay
by Anne E Thompson

Yesterday, Hate came to stay. Uninvited, he knocked on the door and when I opened it, to see who was calling, he burst in, pushing past me. I knew he had visited other houses, had caused damage and hurt and anger. But he had never visited me before. He came yesterday.

He went into the kitchen and smashed all my plates. He over-turned chairs and tore my cushions. He punched my children and spat at my dog. When I went near he scratched me and made me bleed. The house was dark, he closed all the curtains. I was hurt, frightened and angry.

But worse, worse than the pain and fear and broken china, was the slime. Every time I tried to stop him, to catch him, hurt him, trap him, he produced more slime. It came off him in silver trails, sticking to everything he touched, dirty, germ filled, slime. It made me change. I began to be like him. I wanted to punch him, cut him, hurt him.

Others came to my door, friends and family and people needing help. I bolted it shut, refused to let them in. I glared at the world and felt dark thoughts from my hiding place under the bed. I too wanted to scratch and bite and smash.

So I went to the window and I looked at the sun. I let the light brighten my mind, sear my eyes, burn off the slime.

Then I turned to Hate. I made him tea but he threw it on the carpet. I gave him bandages for his wounds but he used them to tie up the cat. I made him a cake but he trampled it into the rug. I noticed the slime was disappearing, there was less of it. I read him stories but he put his fingers in his ears. I sang him songs but he swore at me. I danced for him but he threw stones at me. Hate would not accept love. But Love stopped the slime.

Love made a cage. At last, when I was so tired I thought I would fall, Hate was trapped. The bright cage of Love enclosed Hate. There was no more slime. He couldn’t escape. I pushed the cage out of the door. Hate was gone.

I began to sweep up the broken glass.

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Letters to a Sister : 30

Posted by anneethompson

Bruges

We went to Bruges. It smells of sweet waffles and warm Gluhwein. It has the metallic sound of horses hooves on cobble stones and the babble of mixed languages. It feels cold. Always. And sometimes wet. It tastes of blonde beer, chocolate and waffles. We saw Christmas lights, a skating rink, red brick buildings with staggered roofs. It was a good day.

It was also a cold wet day, but that can’t be helped.

We booked to travel with Oakhall Holidays because we’ve been with them before, it only costs about £30 and it’s really easy – you go to Sevenoaks and then sit on a coach. http://www.oakhall.co.uk

Following the attacks in Paris, I was slightly worried that there might be trouble or that security would be very tight. There was no trouble. There was also no security. None. Not until we came to re-enter England. Somewhat surprised. No one at all asked for photo i d or looked at our passports. If the Prime Minister is reading this (which I’m sure he does each week) then this is an area of security that you should perhaps look into. The tunnel seems a likely target to me.

When you arrive in Bruges, the coach parks a short walk from town and you are then free to wander where you want. Now, when we have been previously, we have had trouble finding a restaurant with free tables. (This time it was fine – the waiter told us that in the last week they have had 1500 cancellations due to the trouble in Paris. Mainly Japanese tour groups apparently.)

Anyway, IF you are with other people who really want to look around the Christmas markets and enjoy Bruges, then I would suggest booking a table. We went to Vivaldi, which is not far from the center. It had a lovely fireplace, nice food and clean toilets. I had the goats cheese and honey salad which was very good. Husband had fish and chips and mussels (also good.) The email is : vivaldibrugge@skynet.be

HOWEVER, if you are with the kind of people who are only there because you asked them to come, the kind of people who actually dislike Christmas markets and cold, wet weather, the kind of people who will get very comfortable next to the fire, drink several large beers and then have to be dragged from the restaurant and will spend the rest of the trip looking for somewhere dry to sit down, then DO NOT go there first. It will make the rest of the day much harder. (No further comment.)

There are a few things in Bruges that you really must do. You have to see the Christmas markets, which are small and a bit naff but you should see them anyway, the atmosphere is nice. You should drink beer (not too much).You should have a hot chocolate (which is served as a mug of hot milk. They then either give you a stick of solid chocolate to melt into it or a jug of melted chocolate to add. Delicious.) You should eat a waffle. You should visit a lace shop, even if just to admire the craft work. If you are of a robust disposition, you should go to the back of a chocolate shop. Here you will find chocolate moulded into every imaginable shape, much of it related to sexual organs. It is unusual and I cannot imagine how one eats it. I was going to take a photo for the blog but actually it was too rude, even for me.

If you have time, there are also horse and carriage rides, boat trips, windmills and museums. Many, many museums. I am not really a museum sort of person, so I cannot give any opinion at all, but there are lots.

We have been to Bruges in the Winter a few times. I always have a lovely time. A few blurry photos below…..

Great beer…..

Great waffles….

Great Gluhwein…..

Great hot chocolate….

Christmas Market :

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If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

The US link is here:

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The India link is here:

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The UK link is here:

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Prayer doesn’t work

Posted by anneethompson

I have to agree when people say, “Prayer doesn’t work.” It doesn’t. At least, not in the way that they usually mean it. When people pray, they are usually asking for something. They usually want God to change something. I’m not sure that this is what prayer is all about. At least, not entirely, not in the way that we are often told.

I can think of two examples of when I prayed very earnestly for something (I have prayed more than twice, in case you are wondering. I often pray. But these are good examples of what I mean.)

Prayer one was a few years ago when someone who I had grown up with, someone who I cared about, had a horrible accident and his son was killed. I knew that I should attend the funeral, I wanted to show my support for him, but I also knew it would be very hard. It would be hard seeing those who I loved, feeling hurt. It would also be hard because my son was the same age. The coffin would be the same size as my son. So I prayed. I asked my church group to pray too. I prayed that even in this nasty situation, I would feel the peace of God, that I would know his presence with me. It was an earnest, heartfelt prayer.

If I am honest (and there is no point writing this unless I AM honest, there are enough people who ‘say the right words’ already) God did not answer my prayer. I have never felt so alone, so abandoned, as I did at that funeral. I felt no peace, no comfort of God’s presence. I felt totally alone. Full of sorrow for the family but no peace. None. I don’t know if my church group had prayed for me – I suspect they forgot (it’s very easy to forget other people’s needs in the busyness of life.) In this instance, I can honestly say, prayer didn’t work. But we should still pray.

In many parts of the world, people are ill or starving and have no access to help. Many of them pray, call out to God for help. They are not bad people, they pray very earnestly. But their babies still die. There is still not enough food or health care or water. Prayer doesn’t work. But we should still pray.

So, what does it mean? Are we getting it wrong? Is prayer a waste of time? Well, our best way of knowing God is to explore the Bible a little. In the Bible, people prayed. Even Jesus prayed. Think of the famous prayer of Jesus before he died. He prayed asking God to, “…remove this cup from me.” He absolutely didn’t want to die. So, did God save him? Did he escape a horrible death nailed to a cross? Well, no actually. Both Bible accounts and secular historical records show that Jesus was crucified and died. His prayer didn’t work, not if we are measuring prayer by ‘getting what we want’.

In the Old Testament, we read that King David gave up food and sleep to pray that his son might live. But his son didn’t, he died. David’s pray didn’t work. You might not believe the Bible, you might not like what you read, but you have to admit it is honest. It hasn’t fancied things up at all. People prayed for things and God DIDN’T act. Not always. Often not in the way they intended. Prayer doesn’t work. But we are told to pray.

The Bible has many examples where people prayed and things changed. Today, people today tell me that they lost their car keys and prayed and God helped them find them. So what does it all mean? Are they lying?

Well, the more I examine it, the more I test it, the more convinced I am that prayer doesn’t work. At least, if we think that we can change God’s plan by praying. If we could, then God would be no more than a genie in a bottle, a lucky charm, a magic crystal. Of course, some people do ‘pray’ to those things, to lucky charms and sometimes their prayers are ‘answered’. Sometimes they find their car keys or their nephew gets well or the weather is sunny. But I think that is co-incidence. I personally don’t think a lucky charm can change anything. Do I think that praying for lost car keys helps us find them? Perhaps, but that too might be coincidence. And I don’t think our prayers change God. God is bigger than that. God is God.

Do you ever change your mind? I do (my husband would say too often.) What do we mean when we say that? We mean that we thought something in the past, then we decided that it was wrong, now we think something different. If you look at that sentence again, you will see there are lots of time-related words. That’s because we are on a timeline – we have a past, a present and a future. But God doesn’t, we read he is ‘omnipresent’ which means he is outside of time. Therefore God, simply because he is God, cannot change his mind. Not in the way that we mean when we say it anyway.

I believe that God created the world (this needs some explanation because yes, I do also believe that dinosaurs were real, things evolved. At some point I hope to write an article about creation. But for now, just accept that I believe God created the world.) When he did, he put certain rules in place, certain scientific principles. Like gravity. Now, God is God, God CAN break those rules (because he created them) but he doesn’t (except on very rare occasions. We call those miracles.) The world works best if the rules are in place.

So, if I drive my car as fast as I can, straight at a brick wall and pray really hard that God will save me, I doubt that he will. The laws of physics (which God put in place) show that both I and my car, will be smashed to bits.

A child may pray completely earnestly that Mt Everest might move to Germany, because that’s what he wrote in his test paper. But we wouldn’t expect God to move Everest. He could, he is God. But actually we would prefer that he didn’t, that our world remained stable.

Yet we frequently pray asking him, in our grown up way, to change the laws of physics/science. If I eat lots of junk food and rarely exercise, then however much I pray, it is likely that my heart will be trashed and I will die when I’m young. If we pollute the atmosphere, then global warming WILL happen. There will be floods in certain countries, crops will fail, people will die. If we choose to organise our societies so that we don’t pay a fair price for certain commodities, then some countries will be poor, there will be famine and disease.

We know what the ‘rules’ are, if we choose to flout them, then God doesn’t always intervene. Even tiny things, like germs, follow the rules of science. If water is contaminated, people get sick. If cells are subject to whatever causes cancer, then cancer will develop. It is like driving the car at a wall, perhaps without even knowing it but the conclusion will be the same.

So, is there any point to prayer? Well actually, I think yes, there is. Prayer doesn’t ‘work’ in that we cannot manipulate God by praying. But it is still effective. Since writing this I have worried about publishing it, that it might stop someone praying. Don’t stop. I know that prayer is important, I just want people to understand a little more about what it is not. It is important because of this: Prayer changes us. God wants us to pray because that is how we connect with him, that is how we include him in our lives and that is important.

When my children were tiny, I used to love when they sat on my knee and told me things. I remember my daughter sitting on my lap, swinging her legs and telling what she wanted for Christmas. It involved a lot of chocolate. That much chocolate would have made her ill, so I didn’t give it to her. But I loved that she told me, that she shared her hopes with me. My son wanted a crocodile – a real one. He didn’t get that either. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care, it was because I did. I knew things that they didn’t. But I wanted them to tell me, it helped to form a relationship, one that we still have now. They are grown up now but I still love when they tell me things and because they did when they were small, they continue to now they are grown. (My daughter still wants chocolate…)

God loves us like that. He wants us to bring ourselves to him. Not in the hope we can manipulate him, not for what we can ‘get’, but because he wants to share in our lives. Plus, as I said, praying changes us. We start to hear God, to change what we want so it is in line with his will. Praying changes us, it can also change others. Sometimes he does want us to pray for something physical to change, sometimes even a miracle, something that breaks those laws of science. If we aren’t used to talking to him, listening to him, we will never be changed to pray how he wants us to.

The issue is rather confused by the verses in the Bible that say things like, “Ask and you will receive,” and “whatever you ask in prayer you will receive.” Some people have used them to encourage people to pray for money, comfort, health. But they must be read in context. They are part of the whole and the whole says that God will only give us good things. Unlike us, God is outside of time, God sees the eternal picture. We might long for good health, but perhaps there are things that we can only learn if we are in pain. We might pray for a parking space but perhaps walking in the rain means we will meet and speak to someone who needs to be spoken to. We might pray for a life to be saved but God knows that that life will be safer with him, it is time for them to leave their body, to die. We might pray to be free from an addiction but perhaps God knows that constantly fighting that will help us to depend on him.

It is all about trust. Yes, we should ask, take all our desires to God. But to teach that God gives us what we ask for is misleading. Sometimes that is not what is best and God only gives what is best. I don’t write this lightly, I have lost people who I love, I know what it means to have constant pain. Trust is not easy. Life is not easy. Prayer makes it better.

Sometimes, God does act as we ask. As King David said, “Who knows whether the Lord will be gracious?” Whether this is because God, who is not restricted by time, knows from the beginning of time what our prayers will be or because he directs us to pray for what he intends to give, or because he listens and acts, I don’t know. I don’t need to know. We are just told to pray and to trust that God’s way is best. So much easier to write than to do…..

Of course, asking for things is only one kind of prayer. It’s easy to forget about the others. They take a bit of effort and we prefer to pretend that we don’t have time. Perhaps because we don’t really believe they will do any good, alter us in a meaningful way. Or perhaps because we’re just lazy (I know I am.)

We should thank God for things. Not because he needs to hear our thanks but because (again) it is good for us, reminds us that God is good and he made good things.

There is also praise – this one we ignore mostly. Praise isn’t saying thank you, it is saying what, who, God is. It forces us to recognise his God-ness. Again, God doesn’t need us to praise him – he already knows who he is, but it helps us to remember, heightens our awareness of the different aspects of God. It helps us to know God.

Then there is saying we are sorry, actually voicing the things we have done wrong. Bit awkward that one, we would so much rather just ignore all our misdemeanors, move on quickly when we realise we’ve been bitchy or nasty or jealous. But that’s not good for us. What is good for us is to recognise those things, to actually say them aloud and to ask God to forgive us. Then we can move on, hurry away and not look back. But the confessing is important.

I think there is also listening involved. Being still and thinking about God but not speaking. Pausing for a minute. I find it’s better if I actually physically kneel down for this one. Otherwise I start planning meals and writing shopping lists. It would be embarrassing if someone spotted me, so I try to avoid being near a window, have to pretend I’ve dropped something if someone comes into the room, but I find it helpful. It is not very British but maybe we should do it more often. God never forgets that we are physical, I don’t know why we behave like our bodies don’t affect what we are doing spiritually.

In the Bible, when Jesus’ friends asked him how to pray, he gave them the Lord’s prayer (the ‘Our Father who is in Heaven’ prayer – the one you probably learnt as a child.) It is very simple. I used to find that frustrating, I felt Jesus hadn’t really answered their question, he had just given a very simple example. But maybe that is what we need. All this ‘understanding how prayer works’ stuff is very complicated. It is too big for me. Perhaps it is beyond what we can hope to understand, perhaps we have to just trust and come to God with the simplicity of a child going to a parent, to just say what we feel, whether that’s anger, confusion or happiness.

The second example of when I prayed earnestly for something (you thought I had forgotten, didn’t you!) was when I had to have surgery. I was terrified and I wanted God to be with me. I asked other friends to pray. I know that they did because they told me they did. When I walked into that operating room, God was so near that I could have reached out and touched him. The whole time I was in hospital, I was aware of God like I never have been before. His presence was tangible, solid, real. Was he there because I prayed and if I hadn’t prayed I would have been lonely? Or would he have come anyway? I don’t know. I can only tell you that I prayed and God was there. God knows that we are better, happier, more complete, if we depend on him. Prayer is the beginning of learning how to do that.

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Letters to a Sister : 29

Posted by anneethompson

Do you think this is healthy? Every day when he gets home from work, Husband drinks a mug of tea (300ml) and adds 6 teaspoonfuls of sugar.

Now, I am not a dietician but this seems to me to be an unhealthy amount of sugar to be drinking every day. What do you think? Actually, I have mislead you slightly – he actually drinks the same sized glass of orange juice and doesn’t add any extra sugar. That much juice contains all that sugar as it is. I was REALLY surprised when he pointed this out to me. It doesn’t seem to matter if it’s the cheap ‘store own’ brand or something you actually enjoy drinking, like Tropicana. That is a lot of sugar. For someone who doesn’t use up a lot of energy doing physical work or a sport, I think it’s too much. Not sure I was popular when I told him this. Discussions continue……

Another discussion point was his annual stressful event at work. No, not a performance appraisal but his need to bake something for the ‘Team Baking Competition’. The competition has rounds, so it’s quite a knack to find something that meets both his competitive need to not fail miserably but also not good enough to win and go through to the next round.

I absolutely refuse to do the cooking for him (I tell him it wouldn’t be morally right but actually I just don’t want to get lumbered with it every year.) This year he made flapjacks. I wrote out a ‘fool-proof’ recipe, the sort of thing I used to write for the children when they were very small. It was almost foolproof.

Small children (who I have trained) know things like “do not hold the cat when cooking, however much he mews for attention it is unhygienic.” Or, “if you weigh the syrup on one work surface and then carry the spoon to the saucepan on the cooker, you will leave a sticky trail on the floor.” Even the basics, like “wash your hands before you start” seemed to be a new idea. Though of course, if cooking while holding a cat there does seem very little point.

However, kitchen survived and I am hoping that cooking the flapjack will have killed all the germs (plus I will never meet the people who devised this activity in the first place) so I am hoping it’s all good. Husband informs me that ‘international business executives’ do not need to know how to bake flapjacks. Except clearly they do.

It is actually quite hard for husband to be careful about what he eats. His job often involves dinners : dinners with clients to improve relations, dinners with staff to show that he cares, dinners with partners from overseas to be a good host, etc. Last week he told me that he had four dinners arranged. I was disappointed, thinking that was four evenings when I would eat alone. Then he checked and told me that they were all scheduled for the same night. That’s good, I thought, he’ll only have to go to one of them. But no. Apparently it is possible to attend four dinners on the same night – starter at one, main course at the other. Reminded me of the ‘Vicar of Dibley’. Not quite sure which character he would be………

Take care,
Anne xx

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The Retelling of Tigers and Strawberries

Posted by anneethompson

Once upon a time, as all good stories begin, there was a man. The man was running. He ran and ran, his breath coming in fast gasps, his legs aching, his back sweaty. Every few seconds he glanced behind him. Behind him was a tiger.

The tiger was hungry. The tiger wanted to eat the man. So the man ran and ran and the tiger ran and ran. But the tiger was faster. Every time the man glanced behind, the tiger was a little nearer. He knew the tiger was hungry, he knew the tiger wanted to eat him, so he ran as fast as he could.

Suddenly, he stopped. There was nowhere to go.

The man had reached the edge of a cliff. He peered down. The cliff was very steep, down, down, down it fell. At the bottom, the man could see water. The water bubbled and splashed and boiled. The water was full of crocodiles, squirming and rolling. They were hungry.

The man glanced behind and saw the tiger was nearly upon him. He could see great white teeth glinting in the sunlight, a red tongue lolling, evil eyes gleaming with intent. The man had no place to go. He shut his eyes and jumped.

Down, down, down fell the man. Then he stopped.

Half way down the cliff, there was a bush. A bush with thorns. The man’s shirt had caught on the thorns and now he hung there, suspended against the cliff. The man looked up. Above him was the tiger, greedily looking down. The man looked down. Below him were the crocodiles, waiting to devour him. Next to him was the bush. He heard a sound.

There was a mouse, a tiny brown mouse. The mouse was hungry. The mouse was nibbling at the roots of the bush. The mouse’s teeth were sharp and white, they were biting through the roots of the bush and soon the bush would fall from the cliff, taking the man with it.

In his terror, the man looked around. The cliff was sheer, he could not climb up, he could not climb down. When the bush fell, the man would fall too, down to where the crocodiles waited.

Next to the bush, growing on the tiny ledge of the cliff, was a wild strawberry plant. There were a few leaves and one, ripe, red strawberry. The man looked up, the tiger was waiting. The man looked down, the crocodiles were watching. The man looked at the bush, it would fall any second. So he reached out his hand and picked the strawberry and popped it into his mouth.

It was absolutely delicious.

xxx

I love this story. It is sometimes so hard to notice the strawberries in life.

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Letters to a Sister : 28

Posted by anneethompson

Did you do anything exciting for Bonfire Night? We didn’t on the 5th, although we did go to a parade on the Saturday. Edenbridge in Kent has an evening parade with flaming torches and small children wearing flammable costumes on floats. I watched with a mix of horrible fascination and fear. No one got hurt. It is actually very atmospheric, you stand in the dark High Street and watch as the flaming torches come nearer, the marching bands drumming, the children all waving frantically at everyone they know, the crowd shouting abuse when Guy Fawkes passes. (Bleary photos below. I am no photographer….)

They also each year burn an effigy of a generally disliked person, which I’m not quite sure about. One year it was Jimmy Savile, complete with ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ badge. This year it was Sepp Blatter (I am slightly unsure of the spelling here. On UK social media it’s spelt Seb, on foreign sites it’s Sepp. Apologies if it’s wrong. Though frankly, that seems less bad than burning him.)

When you think about it, it’s a rather bizarre festival. I didn’t give it much thought until we were living in the US and I explained to a friend how we commemorate the near blowing-up of Parliament in 1606 by Guy Fawkes by exploding fireworks and burning effigies of him. She just sort of looked at me, clearly wondering if I belonged to a sect similar to the KKK.

Do you remember when we were children and dressed up A, (younger cousin) as a guy and wheeled him to the shops? Actually, I think I wheeled him in your very special doll’s push-chair that I wasn’t allowed to touch, so possibly you didn’t know at the time. Anyway, he wore Dad’s old clothes and a wig and looked exactly like a real Guy and then every so often he would move and give old ladies a shock. Hugely funny and thankfully no one had a heart attack. Husband assures me that Disney probably didn’t copy our idea for all the ‘human statues’ that you now see in cities around the world, but I feel we were ahead of our time.

Had a pretty ordinary week this week. Saturday we went to the supermarket, which is always bit of an adventure. Especially now they have stopped giving away free bags. I love watching all the men (it is always men) trying to carry twenty-seven individual items without a bag. I think clothes with massive pockets are soon to make a come-back.

Animals all pretty stable. Hens are now kept in until midday, so I do actually get some eggs in their nesting boxes. They are then free to roam the garden until they take themselves back to their perch at dusk. It is the only good thing about changing the clocks – the chickens go to bed nice and early and I can shut the door to keep out the fox before I go out for the evening.
Mungo, the inside cat, escaped a few times. I found him having fun with the outside cats and felt too mean to keep him inside. So now he’s allowed out the cat-flap at night, when we have hardly any cars in the lane. He must party all night because he’s completely exhausted now in the daytime and mews very crossly if I disturb him by picking him up. Makes for a nice peaceful house. Kia, the GSD, is certainly grateful that the ‘chase a noisy plastic egg for hours non stop’ game seems to have ended.
I haven’t seen a rat at the pond for ages now. Not sure if they’ve moved on due to all the cats or if they hibernate. Will need to do a google search.
Still no duck eggs but they’re all getting a bit old now, plus ducks are moody and wont lay if the weather’s wrong.

I am enjoying some long evenings reading next to the fire before the whole Christmas rush starts.

Take care,
Anne xxx

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Anne E Thompson

Author

Author: anneethompson

A Long Walk in London

Letters to a Sister : 32

Who do you trust?

Letters to a Sister : 31

Hate Came to Stay

Letters to a Sister : 30

Prayer doesn’t work

Letters to a Sister : 29

The Retelling of Tigers and Strawberries

Letters to a Sister : 28

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