Star Wars Review by An Uninitiated…

I’ve never watched a Star Wars film. Ever. Until yesterday, when I went to see Episode 7, The Force Awakens. As none of my family have been particularly besotted by it, I actually knew nothing of the story either. So, would I understand the plot? Would I be captivated by the story? Wowed by the special effects? Here’s how my Star Wars initiation went:

I watched the film at the cinema with friends who had all seen at least some other Episodes. I instructed them to not explain the story to me, I wanted to see how much I understood on my own. (Risky strategy as asking for explanations during films is pretty standard for me at the best of times.) Being at the cinema was an important element – I guessed from sighs and general audience reaction when a character was well known.

The film began with a written explanation. We were introduced to a character, Luke Skywalker. Not, I felt, the most original of names. If I was writing a film and suggested the space man was to be called Ben Moonhopper or Peter Starjumper, I think it would be rejected. Husband was not receptive to this pearl of wisdom.

We then saw what appeared to be giant Playmobil men in a spaceship. I always enjoyed my children playing with Playmobil, so could relate to the decision to include them in a film. They were all white and all identical, which was somewhat confusing until one helpfully put a bloody handprint on his head, thus differentiating himself from the others.

Another character was a giant marble with a sliding head who made squeaky farting noises. The audience seemed to warm to him.

There were lots of people in tatty clothes. I did feel there was a mismatch between the technology needed to produce spaceships and intelligent robots and the technology used in clothing manufacturing. Perhaps it was a fashion statement.

We then met an actor who I didn’t recognise, who had Rufus Sewell eyes (good for acting tension, fear and discomfort during torture scenes. Not someone you would leave to care for small children.)

One of the Playmobil white men removed his helmet, which was a surprise. There was a man inside. He was rather sweaty so I’m thinking the design of Playmobil suits was perhaps not a good one for general use. Also not sure how one would launder them. Husband told me this was irrelevant and would I please be quiet and just watch film. In fact, all the Playmobil men had real people inside them. I am not sure why they wanted to look identical. It would be good to wear on the school run when you had just rolled out of bed.

The next character we met was a girl (dressed in bandages – I really did not get the costume ideas.) She bought a powder that she could add to water and heat and it bubbled up into something that looked like bread. This was intensely interesting. I would LOVE cooking dinners to be that easy.

Although the clothes were rubbish, all the hairstyles were very complicated. Maybe costume budget got used up on hairspray. And sand – there was a lot of sand.

The girl who was the clever cook could also speak lots of languages, including ‘machine’. As well as American and Scottish (particularly tricky one I find.)

The film had lots of machines. Lots of loud wind instrument music (actually, the music throughout was excellent. Well done Mr Williams.) There was lots of sand. Lots of explosions. Lots of props that I recognised from toyshops and fast-food giveaways over the last forty years. There was some good dry humour, some impressive chase scenes and a lot of hair spray.

I was then completely confused when Indiana Jones turned up. Very unexpected. He still has very good hair (which is essential for a Star Wars actor.) No hat or whip but still wore a leather jacket. Another actor also pointed out the jacket. He is a very good actor, I warmed to his character immediately (perhaps because he was the only one I recognised.) Actually, connecting with the characters was something I found difficult. I never felt like I knew them, so didn’t really care if they got blown up. He arrived with a giant teddy/extremely hairy man who had a speech disorder. I never really understood if he came from a planet of hairy beings, was a pet or they were just being inventive with costume ideas.

For most of the film the scenery was fairly stark. There were plants in one bit, when they turned up at a futuristic Hogwarts but mostly it was machines and sand. It didn’t look a very comfortable place to live.

There was enough explanation for me to mostly follow what was happening, though some of the story only made sense if you have seen previous episodes. I knew when a character from a previous film had popped up by the audience reaction and I could tell when something important was happening because the music changed from wind instruments to strings, but there weren’t many clues for the uninitiated in the script. I also got confused by what was spaceship and what was planet. I would see a character enter what was clearly a spacecraft, then when they left it they were in a snow covered forest on a planet.

The plot followed the same basic theme of most other films : Good fighting Evil. There was an added element of The Force, which I never quite got to grips with. For most of the film I thought this was some kind of power that the evil chaps had but then later the good characters said, “May the force be with you.” I have heard this phrase quoted on television so I knew it was famous – I still have absolutely no idea what it means.

The film was well made, had some good special effects, lots of action, some clearly sad bits and happy bits. However, if you have not seen other episodes, there was no real connection and the emotion passed you by. I would say, if you are the other person in the world who has never seen a Star Wars film, watch some of the others first. This one did not really stand alone. You kind of HAVE to watch it because everyone else will but I don’t think it was ever intended to be watched in isolation. Either that or take a book to read……

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Another article by Anne E Thompson:

The World was Dark

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The World was Dark

Posted by anneethompson

The world was dark. Nations fought each other with weapons and cruelty and military power. Politicians sought to conquer, individuals worked subversively causing upheaval and bloodshed and fear. Few felt peace, all were aware of black terror in various corners of the world.

The society was dark. Rich men ruled with might, there was little regard for the poor, the ill, the weak. People were trapped in the role to which they were born. Life was cheap, with a market for slaves, the ownership of another human, the trampling of rights.

Religion was dark. A myriad of beliefs, many advocating bloodshed and cruelty, most leaving people bewildered and confused. People chose their gods with care, hoping to gain protection or wealth. Some became their own god, others looked to the stars.

The night was dark. A young couple, displaced, needing shelter, a place for her to give birth. Workers fought the coldness of night on hills beyond the town as they protected their flocks.

In the night of a dark society in a black world, a light was born. A light to guide, marked by a star, heralded by angels, sought by seekers of truth. A light to pierce the darkness.

Today, our world is dark. We watch nations fight each other, hear tales of oppression. There is fear of terrorism, a half ignored knowledge of atrocities in foreign lands, a sense of hopelessness. Inequalities threaten our stability so we try to forget the poor, the disadvantaged, those suffering from problems too big for us to solve. Easier to blame their governments for unrest, hunger, climate change. It is too big for us.

Our society is dark. Overwhelmed by economic uncertainties, the distrust of politicians, the struggling poverty of the refugee, the unemployed, the disabled. The fear of instability that makes us cling to our wealth and families and careers. The knowledge that people are trafficked, trapped within our society and abused, hurt. Invisible suffering. A media that distorts and dominates and influences. Few are at peace.

Beliefs today are dark. People are emptily sliding towards addictions to alcohol, gambling and drugs. A confusion of religion that causes a distrust of all exclusive belief. The fascination with the occult, the selfishness of humanism and the pursuit of pleasure.

So where is that light, that promise from long ago? Not extinguished. Still shining. Still waiting. A continued promise. A light that will extinguish darkness.

A light with many names: An advisor to guide you – don’t you long for some good advice? A God worth worshipping – don’t you wish you knew the truth? A father who will never die – don’t you ache to be cared for? Someone who brings real peace, stability, safety. His government will exclude no one, will last forever, be truly fair.

The light continues to shine, waiting for people to open their eyes and see. Waiting to set them free.

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Modified from Isaiah chapter 9.

Thank you for reading.

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Letters to a Sister

Posted by anneethompson

Thinking about new year resolutions…

Do you swear very often? I try not to but I swear more than Mum and Dad used to. I’m not sure I ever heard Dad swear in anger. I heard Mum about three times throughout our whole childhood, which is pretty impressive really. Each of those three times was at me for something I had done. I do remember one particular incident when she swore at me and Dad came into the hall behind her and I felt positively elated because I knew that he would tell her off. I still got sent to my room, I can’t even remember what I had said or done, but whatever it was, I felt that Mum had been worse because she had sworn. It was such a big deal.

Do you remember at Infant School when if you were heard swearing you had to go to the staff room and rinse out your mouth with soap and water? Tasted foul. (The reason that I know this was your fault – you had told me to put two fingers in my mouth and say “bucket” and I was showing other children on the playground when the teacher caught me!) Not sure you would be allowed to soap children’s mouths today, though I don’t think it hurt us. It also didn’t really stop us swearing, we just made sure that there weren’t any teachers around.

As I said, I can’t remember Dad swearing. I do remember him smoking though. He told me that it was good for his health when he was working late because it kept him warm but that I shouldn’t tell Mum. I was young enough to believe him. It wasn’t until later that I realised that what he was telling me was untrue, we always just accepted what we were told. I sometimes start to explain something to my own children (like that the moon is made of cheese) and I’ll suddenly think, “Oh no, that is rubbish actually.”

I did try to not swear when the children were small and I must have been fairly successful. Someone (stupidly) gave them magnetic letters to go on the fridge and the boys used to write swear words on there because they thought I didn’t know any so wouldn’t realise what they had written. Most of them were spelt wrong. Very disappointing as a teacher.

I don’t think swearing is a good trait, it shows a certain lack of control. I also think it reflects more who you are used to being with, we tend to assimilate speech patterns without noticing. I tell off my children for swearing but it’s not the worst thing they could do.

When we lived in the US, the swear words were different. I was shocked to hear the pastor ‘swearing’ from the pulpit. They were shocked when I ‘swore’ during Sunday School. My children tell me that a lot of the words I think are swear words are now acceptable. I tend to not believe them.

Actually, we did get told off quite a lot growing up, I think perhaps children did in those days. Not just by Mum and Dad either, I remember at the Girl’s Group we went to at church, being told off for giggling. Do you remember that quiz we made up, where we read a Psalm and then read it again with mistakes in it and people had to stand up if they heard a mistake? It was very long and repetitive and we started giggling and the leader told us off, said we should show more respect for God’s word. She was, I suppose, sort of right but now I’m older, I don’t think actually God would have minded two teenaged girls giggling over something that sounded strange. It was the strangeness of the words that made us giggle, nothing really about God.

That’s often the trouble with the Bible, the words sound very strange. It’s easy to forget that they were real conversations, real letters and poems and stories written for real people. Much of it was written by rough manual workers – I bet they swore sometimes.

I have been reading the Psalms again lately. We have just finished studying ‘Emotionally Healthy Spirituality’ at church – a study book written by someone whose name sounds like a fungal infection. Anyway, it had some interesting bits but isn’t really my sort of thing. I like to read the Bible alongside some kind of commentary, something that explains the weird phraseology and the context in which it was written. I am using a book by Michael Wilcock, who I don’t think I would like if I met him (a bit bossy and ‘preachy’) but his writing is interesting.

He begins with the first Psalm/poem/song (whatever you want to call it) and he explains the odd word ‘blessed’. When we say “bless” today we either mean it like a pat on the head – “Aw, bless” or because someone has sneezed – “Bless you!” – a throw back to when the plague in 1600’s started with a sneeze, a sort of quick blessing before the person dies. Though sneezing today is unlikely to lead to a quick death. However, Mr Wilcock, the preachy one, defines “Blessed” as : a ‘life of delight and fruitfulness, with a sense of worth’. I like that, I want that sort of life.

I hope your new year is blessed.

Take care,
Anne xxxx

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Thank you for reading.

This is a reply to my sister’s letter, which you can read at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2015/12/next-year-im-going-to-hawaii-for.html

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Things to Avoid at Christmas…..

Posted by anneethompson

I love Christmas but I must admit to a certain amount of stress each year. Especially when I start watching those super organised women on television preparing their own decorations, or I visit that gifted friend who secretly should have been an interior designer or, worst of all, I open one of those “all you need to know for Christmas” recipe books. So, in the belief that I might not be the only human that feels somewhat inadequate at this time of year, I thought I would share some of the knowledge that I have gleaned over the last few years. Here is a tried and tested list of things that you should NOT do.

The Tree
Everyone loves a Christmas tree. Here are some things to beware of:
If you take a man with you to buy a real tree, he will lose all sense of proportion. This is true. Crude jokes aside, it seems to be some strange male trait that they ALWAYS want to buy a tree that is much too big for the space in your home. They always forget the bucket and top decoration add extra height, they always forget that you might want to live in the room where they plan to put it and if it’s too wide everyone will have to scrabble through the branches to communicate. So my advice, do NOT involve a male of any age in choosing the tree.

You cannot however, avoid them being present for the annual family discussion on where the tree should go. Now, we have lived in our present house for eight years and EVERY Christmas we discuss (heatedly) where the tree should be placed. Every year it always goes in exactly the same place that it always has.

If you buy a tree in late December, your family will constantly tell you everyone else has theirs already. If you buy a tree in early December, it will probably be bald by New Year.

If you decide to ‘plant’ your tree in soil, over time, as it is watered, the soil becomes unstable and the tree will gradually fall over. If you follow the shop’s instructions and “treat your tree like the living plant that it is” and stand it in water, then after a while, the warmth of your house will have turned the water stagnant and everyone will be asking you what the funny smell is. If, on realising this, you then add a drop of bleach to the water, the tree first gets very pale looking and then dies very quickly. A dead tree will droop and all the ornaments slide off the branches. Your lounge also smells a little like a public lavatory. (Trust me, I know this.)

If you ever want a tasteful tree, you must NEVER allow the children to put on their home made ornaments. Every year I produce those faded photos in plastic frames, the robin that sheds paint, I even have the clay angels that my sister made one year which look like they slept in a puddle after an especially hard night out. It is true, they bring back lots of special memories, but I can now never NOT put them on the tree, so my tree, whilst precious, is also incredibly tacky.

If you do not water your tree, do NOT leave the lights on it and go out for the evening or it might burn down your house. (This did not happen to us, but it did happen to a neighbour in the US. A dried pine is incredibly flammable.)

If you have an artificial tree, you can spend hours sorting out branches and colour codes. My advice is tell someone else that they are in charge of putting up the tree because it is too hard for you (this works well if you have males in the family, who will actually believe that you are incapable of matching colours.) They will also be keen to supervise the taking down of the tree because they will know how impossible it is to put up if not stored carefully.

Decorations

Do NOT believe that everyone who helps decorate the house will also help tidy up after Christmas. Every year I say, “Only put out the ornaments that you will put away afterwards”. I may as well not bother. I know this is true because last year I was ill and we have had a nativity scene on one window sill all year. I find family members are very keen to decorate all sorts of random places and not at all keen to tidy them afterwards.

Gifts

Do NOT buy gifts too early and if you do, do not forget where you have hidden them. It is annoying to find winter nightclothes for your daughter in June.

If posting gifts, do NOT forget to name each gift so the recipient knows who they are for (you would be surprised at what has happened in our family…..)

Do NOT assume you will know when your child stops believing in Father Christmas (sorry if this is a spoiler.) When I asked one of my sons on his eighteenth birthday (okay, so he wasn’t quite that old) if he really still believed in Santa, he informed me that he had not believed for years but hadn’t liked to disappoint me by letting me know. This was a huge relief for the whole family as we could now stop worrying he was completely thick and it also meant that I could give the children their ‘stocking gifts’ the evening before Christmas which meant that we all slept much better Christmas Eve.

Do NOT forget to check that either your husband has bought his mother a gift or you have bought one for her yourself. Really, I cannot stress enough how important this one is……

Food

Unless you are a very organised person, do NOT buy a large frozen turkey. They take DAYS to defrost and where will you put it during that time? If you leave it in the utility room, the cat eats it. If you put it in the garage, the mice eat it. If you leave it in the oven to defrost, you are sure to forget and turn on the oven to preheat – melting plastic over poultry is not a good smell, trust me. If you place it in a bucket of brine, as was suggested one year, what are you going to do with the salmonella infected brine afterwards and how will you stop the dog licking it? If you put it in the fridge, you cannot fit in any of the shelves, let alone other food. Trust me, big frozen turkeys are a bad idea.

Do NOT forget that supermarkets ARE open other than on the bank holidays. I always do this, I try to buy enough food for the whole holiday period which is a military operation in an over flowing supermarket with insufficient parking and queues the length of the Nile to pay. Then, soon after boxing day we always run out of something essential, like milk and I go to a beautifully empty supermarket which is now selling all the same food that is decomposing in my fridge for half the price. Being overly prepared is always a mistake I feel. Just buy enough for the Christmas day dinner.

If, like me, you have a problem with chocolates, when you buy the family tub of chocolates, do NOT forget to also buy tape. Then, if by mistake you open them and eat lots before Christmas, you can buy a replacement, add the ones you don’t much like and reseal the tub. Your family will never know. Honestly, every year my husband tells me that there are a surprisingly large number of green triangles in our chocolate tin.

Important Things

Do NOT forget to go to a carol service. Actually, I do not especially like carols unless they are sung by a choir. They are mostly really really long. A lot of them also have things in them that are very European and nothing to do with the actual account in the Bible. But I do like carol services, full of excited children and people in thick coats that they don’t have anywhere to hang. One year at our church we even managed to set someone on fire. (It was an accident, I should add. She leant against a candle and she wasn’t at all hurt, just ruined her coat. The following year as a safety precaution the candles were suspended above us. Unfortunately they weren’t the non drip variety and we all made polite conversation afterwards with white wax in our hair.)

Do not forget to build some family traditions of your own. On Christmas eve, if my children are in the house, awake before noon and sober (I assume nothing these days) then they still like to help prepare the vegetables. We all sit round peeling sprouts and remembering how we did it every year while watching the ‘Lost Toys’ and the year that the youngest removed every leaf from his sprout and then declared, “Mine’s empty!”

Most importantly, do NOT forget what is important. Christmas is not about family or tradition or nice food. Actually, it’s about a God who thought you were special enough that he came to this dirty smelly earth as a baby. Even if you don’t believe in him, he believes in you and he cared enough to come so that you can have a chance to change your mind if you want to. So spend a little time trying to remember what it’s all about. Read my Mary story or better still, look in Luke’s bit of the bible and read the account of what actually happened – no donkeys, no inn keepers with tea-towels on their heads, no fairies or snow. Just a simple story of something special.

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Thank you for reading – and Happy Christmas.
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Letters to a Sister : 34

Posted by anneethompson

This is a reply to my sister’s letter, which you can read at:
http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2015/12/next-year-im-going-to-hawaii-for.html

Glad you have noticed that it’s nearly Christmas (I never like to assume.) Though I’m not sure Christmas Eve is a great time to do all your shopping. I was relatively organised this year – not working helps a lot with that. Then I had a few days with a nasty cold, so was glad I had got ahead.

Colds are the worst illness I think, you become very aware of everything physical (like not being able to breathe or swallow.) I’m reading The Martian, which son gave me for my birthday. Have you read it? I will have to see the film now, the book is brilliant, though some of the science was a little beyond me. He (the main character, not son) also had trouble breathing (due to low oxygen on Mars) so I felt we had something in common. Good book – perhaps I’ll send you a copy.

It’s hard to be too sympathetic about your dog’s tail swooshing the tree. I am writing a photo-book entitled, “207 places a cat can hide up a tree.” Perhaps you can help with the sequel : “Symmetry is for Cowards”.

Buying gifts for everyone is always bit of a challenge – it’s the deciding bit that’s difficult isn’t it. Our relatives seem to fit into several categories. There are the ones who give you copious ‘hints’ about what they would like from about August onwards, love receiving gifts and would be happy with an old shoe box really as long as it was wrapped up. (That’s Mum.) Then there are the very organised ones who send a list, often with computer links to the shops that sell things. Makes gift buying very easy. (That’s daughter.) Then there are the people who mainly just want food and alcohol or money. They are harder to buy a ‘real’ gift for (that’s the boys.) Then there are the people who don’t really want anything. They are mostly men.

Do you remember how Dad used to tell us what he didn’t want each year? We clearly got it wrong too many times. I can hear him now saying,
“Not pear-drops or barley-sugars or extra strong mints. And I’ve got enough socks.” Not very helpful of him.

Do you remember that year when I collected all those different sized boxes to wrap his gift in? I think the actual present was socks (it usually was.) I wrapped them in paper, then put them into increasingly bigger boxes. The last box was a big box that I had filched from the back of the supermarket. I was so excited! I remember not sleeping the night before, imagining him opening the first box, only to find another box inside, then opening that one to find an even smaller one. He would have have been good at opening it too, would have made a big deal about being surprised that it was another box, being disappointed that the gift was getting smaller, sharing the joke until, surprise, he reached socks. However, I never saw him open it. I had left the big box next to the dustbin so he wouldn’t find it. The dustbin men did and took it away. Was a low point.

Husband is another difficult person to buy for. This year I wondered about buying him an air-rifle, so he could join the cats in exterminating the rats. So I went to a gun shop. I have never been to a gun shop before. It was very interesting and a lot like buying a magic wand in the Harry Potter films (so you would enjoy it.) The shop was in a nearby town, but it could have been in Diagon Alley, was very dark and foreboding with grills at the windows and a bell to ask for access. Inside were all kinds of guns displayed on the walls. And men. It was a very masculine shop, lots of hunter types. It even had a magic wardrobe – well, a very tall gun safe, but probably it could transport you to other places. The shopkeeper came to help. He didn’t actually look like a character from Harry Potter, disappointingly. To be honest, even if he had, I wouldn’t say, he owned a lot of lethal weapons. Apparently you have to hold a rifle, try it out for size to see if it suits you (like a magic wand.) You have to bond with it. Then I was given a safety talk, about how every gun, even an airgun, must be used properly or it can be dangerous, that there are limits to where and how you are allowed to use them (like magic wands.) I didn’t buy one. It was all too difficult. Plus am not too comfortable with the killing aspect (which I also didn’t mention in the shop. Felt they didn’t want to hear that.)

Any ideas for what I can buy him? Otherwise it will be socks and extra strong mints.

Take care,
Anne xx

PS. Your idea of going to Hawaii next year is tempting. However, I rather like being in England for Christmas, it feels right. I do though think my whole extended family would just love to join you. I will suggest it to them.

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Mary’s Story

Posted by anneethompson

I am reposting this because it’s Christmas….

I travelled to Bethlehem in a small cart. Every bump (and there were many) was agony. As I was jolted along, I was wracked with pain. The baby’s time was near, you see, and the pain was almost unbearable. Later, they would sing songs about a cute donkey carrying me. Nice thought! I don’t think there’s any way you could have got me on a donkey.

As each contraction cramped every muscle in my torso, I huddled up like an animal and prayed for it to be over. I could see Joseph, watching me as he walked alongside. He really didn’t have the first idea what to do. Oh, how I wanted my mother. I yearned for her to be there, holding my hand, telling me everything was alright and would be over soon.

When we arrived at Joseph’s uncle’s house, the women folk came and helped me inside. The room was crowded. All Joseph’s male relatives from miles around had come to the house for shelter and food, responding to the summons from the Romans. The women were busy cooking supper and the men were drinking wine and comparing stories. They all told Joseph how much he resembled his grandfather Matthan and laughed at old stories from years ago. The smell of fish and fresh bread was nauseating. I was so tired and so uncomfortable.

Joseph knew I was suffering and asked if there was somewhere quiet that I could go. There was no chance that we would get a place in the inn, they had filled up days ago. Somewhere quiet, in a little house packed with relatives? There were some fraught discussions and then his aunt suggested that the animal cave, below the living quarters, might be best. It wasn’t terribly clean, but it would be quiet and private and at least it wouldn’t smell of fish!

Joseph helped me go down, and a couple of the women came too. One of them examined me and told me the baby was a long way off yet, first babies always take their time in coming. This was not great news but I felt better having her there. I felt that she knew what was happening, had seen this before and it took some of the fear away. I was frightened you see. I was horribly afraid that somehow I would damage my baby. My baby and God’s.

I knew he was going to be special, I knew I had a great task ahead of me but it all seemed to be going horribly wrong. I trusted that God was still in control but He felt so far away. Could the baby not have been born in a palace, surrounded by comfort? Would these poor beginnings really be part of a plan? Could they really make this king accessible to the people? I had no idea. I was a mere girl, I had no education and my memory of scriptures was often fuzzy. To be honest, at this present moment, I didn’t even care. I just wanted this baby OUT!

Special or not, my body was tired of carrying him, tired of being stretched and pushed, of fitting something inside that was now too big to be there. I needed this baby to be born and I was too exhausted to wait much longer. How I longed for sleep. The pain in my back was terrible. Great waves of cramp that seared through my body, making me oblivious to everything else. I was vaguely aware that someone was sweeping the floor and moving the animals to a far corner. They had laid out a mattress and blankets for me to rest on but I couldn’t lie still for long. I felt better standing, rocking in time with the pain, trying to remember to breathe, in out, in out. Some one offered me water but I couldn’t drink. I wasn’t thirsty, I just wanted this baby to be born.

I could see Joseph with his big anxious eyes watching me. He didn’t know what to do. Someone suggested he should go into the house to eat and I nodded in agreement. There was nothing he could do and the poor man must have been tired too. He had endured such an emotional time lately. First there was his fear and anger when he first heard about the baby (now that was a difficult conversation.) Then he had to endure the smirks of his friends when the pregnancy became public knowledge. He never complained, but I know he felt embarrassed, wished that God could have chosen a different girl.

We had been travelling for five days, with hardly any rest and the last couple of days had been more chilly. I know he felt the burden of caring for me, watching for bandits on the roads and wondering if we would make it to Bethlehem in time. If the baby had come early I don’t know what he’d have done – left me with strangers on the road somewhere I guess and come to register on his own. One didn’t mess with a Roman decree…..

The pain eventually became almost constant. Joseph had eaten and rested but I continued to sway in discomfort in the little cave of animals. Every so often one of them would poop and although the women with me cleaned it up quickly the smell pervaded the atmosphere.

I could hear the musicians gathering outside, someone must have told them the birth would be soon. That gave me hope, maybe soon the baby would arrive.

Then at last, in a final searing pain, the baby was born. I looked down at his blue waxy body as he wriggled on the blanket and I knew that he was mine. One of the women wiped him down with oil and salt and I held him in my arms while they looked for the swaddling bands in our luggage. How beautiful he was. His indigo eyes would soon turn brown and they gazed at me trustingly. I loved him with my whole being.

Outside, there was the sound of music and singing as the musicians heralded the arrival of a boy. Joseph came and took him from me. He held the tiny baby in his giant carpenter’s hands, hands that spoke of hard work and safety. Then the baby started to mouth for food and Joseph passed him back. The women showed me how to feed him, but he was soon asleep. Then we gently wrapped him in the swaddling bands, securing his tiny limbs so he would feel snug and secure and his bones would grow straight and true. He was so beautiful.

It was hard to remember what the angel had told me, that this was God’s son too. I began to wonder if I had imagined it, if it were all a dream. This baby did not look like God, he was a baby. My baby.
“If it’s true God,” I thought, “Let there be another sign. He is so little and I love him so much. Remind me again…”

I too needed to sleep. Joseph fetched fresh hay and put it in the animal’s manger, covering it with a soft blanket. I didn’t want him to put the baby there, I wanted to keep him on the bed next to me, but Joseph was worried I might roll on him in my sleep. Then he laid the baby down and told me to sleep. He looked deep into my eyes and brushed my collar bone lightly with his fingers.

“Soon you’ll be truly mine,” he whispered. I knew what he meant and felt myself blush.

I was so tired, I thought I would sleep for a week. I actually slept for about two hours. I was abruptly woken by loud voices and a draft of cold air as the door was flung open. There, standing uncertainly in the doorway was a group of youths. Their clothes were dirty and exuded the strong smell of sheep. Joseph was with them.

“Mary? Are you awake?” he asked.

It would be hard not to be with all the noise from outside.

“These shepherds want to see the baby. They were told by angels where they could find him and they have come to look at him.”

I nodded and they trouped into the room.

They seemed so big and clumsy in such a small space, I was worried they might hurt the baby. But they didn’t try to touch him, they just stared for a while and then one of them knelt and they all followed suit, kneeling before the manger, staring at the baby.

Then they told me their story, how they had been in the fields and an angel had appeared. They had thought they were going to die, to be struck down right where they were. The angel had reassured them, told them that a saviour had been born, the Christ who we’ve all been waiting for. They would find him lying in a manger. Then suddenly there were lots of angels, all praising God and saying he was pleased with people on earth. After the angels had gone, finding they were still alive after all, the shepherds decided to come at once and see for themselves. It was as though they couldn’t quite believe what they had seen and heard, they needed to actually see the baby with their own eyes.

I felt so humbled and so cared for. God had heard my thoughts, He was reassuring me. It was all His plan, not some terrible mistake. We were meant to be here. He even knew about the manger. I listened and smiled and treasured my thoughts.

The shepherds left as noisily as they came. I could hear them in the streets, shouting their news, telling everyone what had happened. They were so excited. They had of course woken the baby who was now crying with a thin wail that jarred my nerves and was impossible to ignore. So I fed him some more and then we both slept. A tired, contented sleep borne from exhaustion and wonder.

After eight days, Joseph came and circumcised the baby. How he 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 Nazareth 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!

We walked through the Beautiful Gate and up to the Gate of Nicanor. Then something strange happened.

On display in the V&A Museum in London, is a decorated box, showing a scene from this story. It is supposed to have held Simeon’s remains.

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 anointed 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 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 felt that I did not want to hear the man’s words, even if they were true.

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. What I noticed most were her eyes. They almost sparkled. You could tell at once that she was a holy woman, also one who loved to laugh. As soon as she saw Yeshua she started to pray loudly, thanking God, 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.

We finished making the offerings and then went back to Bethlehem. I didn’t know whether to tell Joseph what the old man had 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. 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. 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. 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 and one had a band of gold on his head. It glinted in the lamp light and I could see Yeshua watching it intently. 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 and 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 filled the house and 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 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 and they determined they would find him 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 and return 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 that he could not ignore it. He said he had been told we must leave Israel, Yeshua was in danger, Herod planned to kill him.

I wondered 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.

I began to 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.

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.

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This account obviously involves a lot of imagination. However, I believe it is also historically and Biblically accurate (somewhat more accurate than some of our christmas carols!)

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

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Then you will receive all my posts by email – usually two per week.

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Letters to a Sister 33

Posted by anneethompson

I took Mum Christmas shopping in Crawley. It started as expected with many laps of the car park looking for a space. We could, of course, have avoided this by following the signs that a dodgy bloke was holding up outside the car park, directing us to a £2 car parking place. I think he had written it on an old cardboard box. He looked like he eats small children for breakfast, wasn’t sure I entirely trusted that his ‘car park’ would be legal. Or near the shops. Or safe. But perhaps I’m just cynical.

Next adventure was trying to reach shop level. We were parked on level three. There was a lift but it didn’t seem to prioritise going to the top floor. So we would watch it leave ground floor, rise to level one, then level two, then pause (while we held our breath) then drop to level one. We joined two women who looked annoyed. They had been waiting four days already. I decided to go down the stairs. I left Mum, promising I would return by tea time with food and water (I could have done with those Jaffa cakes you took back to Canada) and walked down.

There were stairs down to level two. Then the staircase ended. Unexpected design flaw I felt, when designing a shopping centre one should assume the people parking want to access the shops. I had to go back into the car park and walk to the end to find stairs that took me to the shops. A sign would have been a kind thought. Then, on level two, there were escalators, which made me quite hopeful of reaching shops. Unfortunately, all the escalators from floor one to ground were broken, except for one in the far corner. Considered sliding down bannister, felt it would be undignified. Spotted Mum emerging from lift. Finally reached her. Felt maybe mass-murderer car park might have been good option.

There were decorations in the shopping centre. Somewhat naff ones, it looked like half were missing. I am guessing the person sent to find the box of decorations in the loft who was not a great lover of Christmas decorations, had told them, “this is the only box I could find.” I have the same problem in my own house. The decorations were silver shapes and were hung from the high ceilings. At an angle. At least, some were, some were straight. Hard to tell if there was a plan. Maybe they ran out of time, they are clearly not entering any shopping centre decoration competitions this year, if such things exist. Perhaps they had trouble getting from top floor. Am sympathetic.

The problem with shops (well, one of the problems – there are many actually) is that they are too hot. Especially Debenhams. I worked for Debenhams once, before I went to college. We were given blue and white spotty blouses to wear that tied in a bow at the neck and we had to wear navy skirts. I didn’t have a navy skirt so wore a vaguely blue one but no one seemed to mind. It was always too hot even then. I do not find being hot, especially when wearing a heavy winter coat, encourages me to shop. If Mr Debenham is reading this, he might like to take note and turn down the thermostat in his shops.

Anyway, despite being a shopping trip, it was relatively successful. I bought gifts for my nieces and even remembered that one has a birthday right before Christmas. Usually this catches me out and I have to rewrap her Christmas present in birthday paper and then buy something else.

I like Christmas presents actually. Maybe not so much the actual gift, but I love seeing them all wrapped up, lumpy and mysterious. My children still have a stocking, a heap of smaller gifts that they open Christmas eve. Every year now I suggest that they might be too old for this but they tell me it is the “funnest part of Christmas.” Clearly I should buy them some grammar books.

Last Christmas was especially good. I was just a few months post op, so had no idea what I had wrapped, it was an exciting surprise for me too to see them open their presents. It was nearly not so fun for daughter. A couple of days before Christmas, husband asked to check which gifts I had bought (he likes to help each year.) I proudly showed him the stack of wrapped gifts. He asked which one was for daughter, as it wasn’t there. I knew I had bought her a coat but couldn’t actually find it. He enquired if it was the coat I had bought and given her the year before, which would explain why I couldn’t find it – she was probably wearing it. We did a hasty trip to the shops and all was well.

Hope you haven’t frozen yet. Mainly rain here.

Take care,
Anne xxx

PS. I was somewhat perturbed by your postscript. I am assuming that the most precious ornaments go on the back of your tree to ensure they’re safe. I have this year NOT put the Angels you made for me on my tree (because people kept asking why I had ghosts hanging on my tree.) But they took pride of place for many years. Just saying.

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This letter is written in reply to one from my sister. You can read her reply (to an earlier letter, number 32) at :

http://ruthdalyauthor.blogspot.ca/2015/12/sisters-should-live-on-same-continent.html

Thank you for reading

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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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Anne E Thompson

Author

Author: anneethompson

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Who do you trust?

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