Blessed with . . .

I was going to call this post Blessed with Boredom.  But then, that doesn't exactly fit, because I've actually been working quite a bit on my laptop, finishing grades for my online course, working on my thesis chapter, writing an essay for publication, etc.

And in the midst of all that boredom-forestalling work, I've also been able to enjoy the celebration of Christmas with Big Man and Little Man (featured as the most adorable shepherd ever in his school Nativity play the week before Christmas, on the right there), and the delightful addition of Momma and Daddy, who've come to stay for a month from the other side of The Pond.  We've had a truly lovely visit so far, except for this stupid chest/sinus infection, which has taken out Daddy as well as me, and left me weak and in bed quite a bit!.  (I can't wait to move to a different climate.  I love Manchester, but have been ill here much more frequently and much more intensely than ever before in my life.)

The week before Christmas, we had a fantastic 3 days in front of a toasty, roaring fire in an idyllic cottage in Hay-on-Wye, Wales, a booklovers' paradise (40+ bookshops full of goodies!!!).   That's the cottage kitchen on the left.

We had a delicious Christmas dinner, with all the traditional English trimmings, courtesy of Chef Big Man, with our dear friends the Ermakovs and fellow PhD-expat Mr. Stark.  We had a beautiful Service of Carols and Lessons at church on Christmas Eve, and I was honoured to bring the homily, and terribly thankful to make it through without a major coughing fit.  We even managed to stretch our present-opening over Christmas and Boxing Day!  This is Little Man's new quilt made with love by Grammy - the Poky Little Puppy fabric is adorable, and it came just in time, as his toes have started peeping out from under his baby quilt now.  STOP GROWING!!!

Despite all this activity, I am resting.  Resting by sleeping in.  Resting by observing the cooking by Little Man and Momma (this was taken during the pumpkin pie production) - too ill to join in myself, unfortunately.  Resting even whilst working on the laptop, curled under a blanket with a hot cuppa in my PJs.




So maybe I'm not blessed with boredom, but blessed with time.  For this little while, time to manage as I choose, not dictated by meetings and services and seminars.  Time to rest.  I couldn't ask for a better Christmas present this year!

How can it be so?

How can it be so, that we might have so much sorrow and joy in the same day? In my 'day job' I have the privilege of walking with people through some incredibly difficult life circumstances, in which I can do nothing to solve their problems. Most of the time, as they're crying and talking, I'm praying as I listen.  One of the great mysteries of serving people is that some of their sorrow gets transferred to me. It is a beautiful thing, in a Gethsemane kind of way. So painful, so beautiful, such a privilege.

And then, not even 15 minutes later, I'm running the daily obstacle course with Little Man on the way home from his school: follow the paint squiggles on the sidewalk, walk along the wall, slide down the signpost, climb up and over the tree stump, and back up onto another wall, then piggyback him the rest of the way home. Now we're snuggled on the couch with Little Man, and he literally couldn't be any closer to me without sitting right on my lap. He's pouring over a comic book that he can't quite read (Tiny Titans - a kids version of DC comics, GREAT for getting reluctant readers interested!).  Soft Christmas music is playing, and I have a whole evening with my son ahead of me.  Delight. 

How can such sorrow and joy coexist in one person?  I wonder, as we follow Christ, who knows both to the fullest, does our capacity for this sorrow-and-joy cocktail expand?  What do you think?

'Just Do It'

Growing up in Portland, Oregon, where Nike is headquartered, I knew their slogan "Just Do It" before it ever became a national campaign.  To be perfectly honest, this tagline never really connected with me, because I always, always, always stop and think.  To excess.  I have never been one to jump in without thinking, no matter how much I wanted to be like that.  So, "Just Do It?"  Ah, no thanks, but thanks anyway!

Howwwwever . . .

I follow a blog called The Pioneer Woman.  Many, many, many others do as well.  Ree Drummond, the ranchwoman extraordinaire behind this wonderful site, logs 20 million hits per month!!!  I'll never get there.  I'm just telling you now.  But Ree?  Ree is fascinating and engaging.  In the last two years, her blogging enterprise has resulted in a bestselling cookbook, a book tour, a couple of other book deals, movie rights, and TV appearances on everything from The View to Throwdown with Bobby Flay!  The woman is awesome.  Now, not living in the States means I have to watch these appearances on good 'ol YouTube.  :)

And wouldn't you just know it?  A clip from Ree's Q&A at the 2010 National Book Festival in Washington, D.C. smacked my overthinking, hesitating self right in the kisser!  Three different questions came up along the lines of 'How did you learn...'  (How did you learn to blog every day/take such great pictures/cook so well, if you're curious.)  And Ree's answer to all those questions was basically a paraphrase of Nike's slogan, "You just have to do it."  She went on to say that after you've done it for a while, regularly, it gets easier and easier, and less and less of a chore.

Now, I know that doesn't sound profound.  But it reminds me once again of something I blogged about in my very first blog post (over a year ago now!), from a slightly different angle this time, the fact that we must actually practice faith.  We don't try be a Christian, we practice being a Christian.  That is, we put our faith into practice.  If I want to grow in my faith, I must 'Just Do It'.  I'll try to explain what I mean and what I don't mean.

I don't mean that in matters of faith, it's all on us.  I don't mean that going through the motions is enough to produce a strong faith.  I don't mean that we shouldn't count the cost of following Christ (Jesus himself tells us to do that in Luke 14:25ff).

I do mean that faith requires action, and that most of the time, the balm to our agonizing, the solution to our fretting, the best answer to all our self-centered self-analyzing, is to get off our duff and "Just Do It".  The epistle reading we had in morning prayers yesterday speaks to this, too!  (Isn't it groovy how God uses so many different and unrelated sources to drive home a point to us?  But that's for another post!)  Anyway, we read James 2:14-26, in which the main point is, "Faith without works is dead."

Ree said she took a lot of really bad photos when she was first learning.  And she thinks her early blog posts were pretty unsophisticated, and sometimes she couldn't think of anything to write, so she just posted something she'd written for something else.  And her cooking is not the fruit of formal culinary training, but it sure struck a nerve with the American public.  Ree's point is, you will probably be bad when you first start something, but you will get better, and it will get easier.

This same principle applies to our spiritual life and practices, too.  I was really bad at practicing silence when I first started over 8 years ago.  I was fidgety and unfocused, and my body couldn't handle any one posture for more than five minutes.  My first sermons were nothing more than vague pep talks.  When I first started reading the Bible seriously, I interpreted every single verse to be about Little 'Ol Me.  :)

The point is, if I ever want something to come naturally to me, there will come a time when, motivated or not, skilled or not, ready or not, I gotta "Just Do It".  And do it again.  And again.  It's called discipline.

Domestic Goddess I Am Not...

but a girl can keep trying!  So Saturday, we spent the day doing a top-to-bottom cleaning of the house.  I won't say it was a deep clean, because we had to get it done all in one day, and I always seem to miss a spot somewhere.  (This time it was the window sills.  Yipes!)   So anyway, yesterday afternoon, my domestic streak continued.  The only 'pile' left after all our cleaning was a Giant One of clothes that needed mending/hemming/otherwise adjusting.

Now, I have been taught to sew by my dear Momma.  She sewed a great many of my childhood clothes, my favourites being some of the fancy dresses for Easter and Christmas.  Oh, but then there was the Little Red Riding Hood costume that I wore for Halloween about four years in a row.  Or the Christmas plaid dress with crisp white pinafore, and matching outfit for my Cabbage Patch.  Or the prom dress that made me feel like a princess.  Momma is a gifted seamstress.  

This does not mean, however, that I have made the most of her faithful teaching.  I have sewn, in my lifetime, exactly four projects, and all of them with Momma at hand to remind me how to thread the machine and to help me with the pattern cutting and fabric choosing:

1. A pair of shorts in Sewing for Kids class in the community education programme when I was about 8.  They were pink, with white teddy bears on them.  I don't know if I ever wore them.
   
2. A few pairs of curtains for our first house.  They were blue and red plaid for the living room, yellow prairie print for the bathroom, and blue and yellowish plaid for the bedroom (if I remember correctly).  Can anyone say "Country!"  Thankfully, my tastes have evolved (though I still seem to have some plaid chair cushions at the moment, but we'll ignore that since I'm living in England on a student budget and have to take whatever I can get at the cheapest cost!).
   
3. Little Man's nursery set, with major contributions from Momma.  We made matching curtains, bed linens for the crib, pillows, and even a changing table pad cover!  In the sweetest little retro cowboy print you could ever find!
   
4. An unfinished quilt, which Momma and I cut the squares for, and then laid out on the floor and began to sew together in looooooong strips (in her defense, this was before Momma became the quilt mistress that she is today).  We have since ripped the seams from those long strips and pieced them into more sensible 9-blocks.  But they still aren't joined into an actual quilt.

Given this less-than-stellar sewing career, I have been too intimidated to break out the borrowed sewing machine on my own.  It has sat in my dining room for months, while The Pile of mending grew and grew and grew.  I bought a dress in June that would have been perfect for summer, but it needed one little tweak before it was presentable.  I'm wearing it today for the first time because it sat in The Pile all summer long.  Little Man is down to one pair of school uniform trousers that fit him - six other pairs inhabited The Pile, waiting to be hemmed.  The last pair was in the laundry and not going to be ready for school today, so I finally broke down and faced my fears.

I set up the machine, got out all my sewing 'gear', and took a quick browse through the machine's owner's manual to be sure I remembered how to thread the machine and bobbin.  Over the course of Sunday late afternoon and evening, I worked my way through The Whole Pile (almost).  In the process, I broke and replaced the needle, took the machine apart a couple of times and put it back together successfully, and even taught myself a new stitch, the blind hem stitch!  And all without one, single phone call to Momma!!!!  :)

There are still three more pairs of Little Man's trousers in The Pile, but I think we'll just let him grow into them, as we don't really need that many pairs in rotation.  A beastly stack of drapes still needs hemming, but they are lined and I didn't have the strength to face them at 10:30 last night.  Same with Big Man's work trousers, which need 12 buttons sewn on so he can start using braces (suspenders).  TWELVE buttons.  Big Man might have to do them himself.  :)

Nevertheless I am beaming with pride.  I conquered my fear!  I faced The Machine all by myself, and worked it into submission.  I own that machine.  Except it's borrowed, but you know what I mean.  :)

Hot Cocoa Bliss

So, I've had a couple requests for the hot cocoa recipe I blogged about.  It's really very, very simple.  I'll post it here for your use.  I've no idea of its origin, and I will not vouch for its nutritional value.  But it sure is goooo-oood!  The ingredients are in U.S. measurements, but online measurement converters abound.

Momma's Hot Cocoa (ala Charlotte Coleson)

• 1 32-oz. box hot chocolate mix (e.g. Nestlé’s Quick)
• 1 lb. confectioner’s sugar
• 10 2/3 c. powdered milk (enough for 8 qts.)

Sift all ingredients into a LARGE bowl, then stir together (slowly to avoid choking on dust!).  Stored in an airtight container, this will last for months.

To enjoy: add ¼ c. mix to mug; mix with 8-10 oz. boiling water.

Meant to Be

In a previous post, I mentioned that I was meant to have started my rotation of library shifts last Monday night.  But I didn't share why that didn't happen.  It's been a ca-raaaaa-zy week since then, and sitting in the British Airways Business Lounge  at Heathrow, as I am now (more on that in an upcoming post), I'm taking the chance to catch up.

Last Monday night, I'd been home from work for about half an hour, when Boss Man called me.  He is very, very good in this regard, and even though being the college chaplain sometimes means I am sort of 'on call', Boss Man is extremely protective of my time and my 'off-time'.  That is, he doesn't call me at home except in dire emergencies.  Which this turned out to be.

We all meet strangers every day.  Sometimes, like my last 24 hours of hoofing it through four airports, we intersect with thousands of them in a single day.  But rarely do those strangers break down in tears, collapse in our arms, eat at our table, pray with us, and then go on their way.  This time, she did.

Ruth arrived at the college to stay a couple of nights while she did some literary research in the Manchester area.  When Ruth arrived on campus, she found a message waiting to call home  immediately, only to be told that her husband had been killed when his small private jet crashed.  Enter the phone call from Boss Man.

I went back to college to be with Ruth, whom I'd never met before.   I accompanied her to the airport to change her flights so she could get home ASAP.  Then we went back to college to call her son with flight info.  Then I took her to my house, for some dinner and talking and internet access.

It's amazing to me how much strangers can learn of each others' stories in the crucible of crisis.  In the space of a mere 5 hours, we learned about each others' marriages, careers, ministry experiences, children, family history and dynamics, etc.  Of course, Ruth did most of the talking, but she did ask me questions about all of that, I think as a way of trying to gauge the initial effects of the tragedy on her own life.

No one reacts to tragic death in the normal way.  That is to say, there is no 'normal' way of reacting to that kind of news.  Thankfully, Dr. Judi Schwanz had done a phenomenal job of preparing me for this in my seminary's Counselling for Grief and Loss class.  As a result of her good teaching, I was able to be with Ruth in those hours, in what I hope were helpful ways, without feeling I had to be responsible for directing her grief into 'healthy' avenues.  Ruth was mad, and that was ok.

That evening last week was just one of a litany of occurrences since I became a chaplain wherein I was conscious of my own inadequacy, and God's dear abundance.  I don't know for sure if Ruth even remembers my name.  She is now in the throws of picking up the pieces of her life after his death.  But I will always remember Ruth, and give thanks for the privilege of walking with her for a few hours.

I was 'meant to be' in the library that night, but didn't make it.  Ruth's husband did not die because it was 'meant to be.'  But I, and she, and you were 'meant to be' companioned by God, and He was with us on Monday.

Grace and peace.

Autumn = Hot Cocoa

More than anything else for me, hot cocoa is the symbol of autumn.  Maybe because as a child I lived in Portland, Oregon, surrounded by evergreens that didn't turn color with the crisp autumn air.  More likely, it's because of Momma's special recipe.  Each autumn, Momma would get out her huge, industrial size mixing bowl, and stir together a batch of her wonderful hot cocoa mix.  The powdered ingredients would puff up into the air in great clouds, and the smell of cocoa and milk and sugar would fill the kitchen.

Then the great bowl of bliss would be divvied out into containers of all sizes, and they would be stacked on the pantry shelves, ready for autumn/winter escapes over a steaming mug.

The whole back-to-school thing is also an obvious harbinger of autumn for me, coming as I do from a family of teachers.  And I do love a new set of school supplies, probably unnaturally so.  :)  But after the school year started, and the excitement of the new teacher and new clothes and new classes had worn off, Momma would break out her mixing bowl, and there would be a delicious sense of hunkering down for the season, steaming cocoa in hand, surrounded by warmth, cocoa dust, and Momma's love.

I broke out my way-too-small mixing bowl yesterday with Little Man, after school.  The clouds of cocoa dust rose, we giggled and mixed, and tonight, we drink!!

Bits and Pieces

A few random thoughts of late, but I'll just share one per post.  First, last night was meant to be my first shift of the academic year in the library at college.  As a post-grad on a bursary, I have to give a 3-hour shift every other week.  I should say I get to do that, though, because I truly love it.  It harkens back to my job through seminary, at the circulation desk of the seminary library.  Quiet, peaceful, rarely an upset person in a library.  And it fed the OCD corner of my brain to spend an hour each night reading the shelf marks to make sure books are in order, and another hour straightening the shelves.  I know, I know, it's crazy of me.

And now, in another library, in another country, at another theological school, I get a dose every couple of weeks.  Silly as it seems, those are some of my most productive PhD moments, thinking through my research as I reshelve books in the calm of an autumn evening.  And I enjoy it so much sometimes, that I wonder if I've missed a turn somewhere?  Probably not, really, but given another life, I would become a librarian in a heartbeat.

What would you be if you could choose again?

Tears, and the Light of Morning

I can't say that I ever would have thought of Facebook as a means of grace.  But last night, I was totally overwhelmed by Little Man's situation.  I sat on our bed attending him with cuddles, rocking and singing, new dressings, cold cloths, etc., for almost an hour while he literally writhed in misery from the burning and itching of the blisters and spots.  The Benadryl wasn't strong enough, and the pharmacies were closed, and the doctors forgot to include the overnight-strength antihistamine on the prescription sheet.

After Little Man finally fell asleep, I succumbed to some tears.  I also succumbed to some venting on Facebook.  I then fell into an exhausted sleep, full of vivid and tense dreams.  My darling husband let me sleep late, and I woke feeling rested and actually a bit better about things.

Checking in on Facebook with my morning cuppa, I was immediately encouraged, and reminded of how much we are loved and cared for by God, through his people.  Friends and family far and wide had responded immediately.  Almost 20 messages of support, with prayers, love, and offers of help with everything from rides to the emergency room, to groceries and meals, to writing a prescription, poured in.

In the wee hours of the night, one can feel alone and extremely helpless.  When morning breaks, though, I realise again that God was right there with me, holding me with my husband's arms, and rocking Little Man in my own lap, and preparing my encouragement for the morning.  And I am blessed.

‎"The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases, 

his mercies never come to an end; 

they are new every morning." 

Lamentations 3:22-24

Frustration

A week ago today, we went in for the follow-up exam to hear about Little Man's biopsy and bloodwork results.  His skin was completely clear.  All over the body, free from spots and blisters.  No itching, no scratching.  All better.  We were given a follow-up appointment for three months away, and we went away smiling.  Hip, hip, hooray!

Today he's covered in spots and blisters, and in pain.  The spots have been creeping back in for several days, and yesterday Little Man's ankles erupted in blisters again.  A late-night call to the doctor, a visit to the derm clinic this morning, during which no less than FOUR doctors examined him, and still we're no closer to an answer.  The lab tests were inconclusive for Linear IGA, and now they think the blisters don't fit the profile for that condition.

Now they're wondering if he's having some extreme reaction to repeated bug bites.  BUG BITES?  For SIX months??!!  I just want to scream!  

The thing is, the docs he's seeing are experts in their field.  They're the ones training other doctors.  We're at a teaching hospital, and our case is being handled by the head of the dept. and another doc who's a specialist in pediatric dermatology.  So I'm not questioning their knowledge, their thoroughness, or the approach they're taking.  And I really appreciate that they haven't rushed to diagnosis and put him immediately on the drug therapy they initially planned, because it apparently has some side effects we'd like to avoid if possible.  And they've been very helpful in treating the symptoms and making Little Man comfortable.

But at the end of the day, it's very frustrating to not have answers.  So that's where I am today. 

Frustrated

Out of the mouths of babes...

This week, Little Man and I were having a conversation.  He was upset because his cousin Maddi has THREE grandpas, and he only has TWO grandpas.  I tried to comfort him by telling him that Daddy and I each only had ONE grandpa left, and he is blessed to have both his grandpas around to love him.  He came back with, "Mommy, this isn't about you and Daddy, this is about me and Maddi!!"

Well, I laughed so hard I barely managed to remain upright, which of course didn't help me convince Little Man of his blessings.  :)  In fact, I began this post simply to share this amusing little anecdote.  But as I began typing, I was reminded of another, somewhat connected anecdote.

Several months ago at cell group, we were talking about listening, and about how sometimes we're so busy thinking of what to say about our own perspective on someone's problem, that we don't even really listen to what the other person is saying.  We coined the phrase that night, "Let me help you with my problem."  What we meant is that so often, we seem to think sharing our own situation is supposed to contribute to the solution to someone else's problem.  Really, we just like talking about ourselves, don't we?  We like hearing our own voices, and we want others to know our own stories, even at the expense of true listening.

So, from the mouth of Little Man, I was reminded once again NOT to try helping others with my problems.  :)  Silence is the first requirement of listening well.

Little Man and his oft-inspired Momma

on a recent ferry trip in the Lake District

Random Amazement

In recent days I've been amazed at how . . .

. . . The death of someone you don't know can still affect you profoundly.  Today we learned that one of the medical aid workers killed in the ambush in Afghanistan last week, Cheryl Beckett, graduated from IWU with Josh in 2001.  Here is part of the story.  Neither of us knew Cheryl personally, but I have been thinking about her and her family all day long with sorrow, and praying for the Lord's presence with them.

-------------------

. . . Sometimes people click so well.  We had dear friends living with us for almost two weeks while they wait for their new flat to be ready.  We're better friends than ever, even after sharing a house, and all four grownups working at the same college every day, and our children being together 24/7, and sharing groceries and all our meals, and one shower and one toilet for 6 people.  Good friends are a true gift from God.  Arseny and Elena have embraced us from the moment we met them, our first week in England, and we survived living together!

-------------------

. . . My birthday still makes me so happy.  :)  And even though I had to make my own cake this year, I had success with my new lemon buttercream frosting recipe, and the yummy final product made me extremely happy.  All in all, a great day!

-------------------

. . . Resilient children are.  Little Man's skin is literally cracking off of his stomach, but he's still full of smiles.

Quick Update

Just a quick update to say that Little Man's testing appointment went very well this afternoon. They took two biopsies, one from his bum, and one from the base of his skull. The first was a sample of 'normal' skin, and the second, a sample of affected skin. That's why they had to take it in such a weird place just under his hair, because all the rest of his wounds have healed too much to yield reliable results in the lab. And then they drew blood for a bunch of different tests.

So now we wait for the results! And in the meantime, we don't have to use the steroid cream nearly as much. He does still have to wear the special clothes, but we're getting some better ones that are made of silk, so they should be much more comfortable for him.

We should have a follow-up appointment next week, and hopefully get some definite answers. Thanks for all your prayers. We really feel supported and loved.

Little Man's been published :)

Many months ago, I was asked to write up a story about Little Man for an article on children's prayers in Holiness Today, our denomination's magazine.  Well, it finally got published!  Here it is, if you're interested.  Ours is the very last story in the article, so keep reading until the end, and enjoy a few chuckles along the way!

Answers, at last!

Little Man has developed a rare disease, which has required multiple visits to doctors, hospitals, the ER, and home nurse visits over the last three months.  A scratch on the tummy during our trip to Italy in April just never healed correctly, so that was our first clue that something was going on.  Eventually he developed a horrible rash all over, which over the months was variously diagnosed as eczema, chicken pox, impetigo, and 'non-descript viral rash.'  And every time he'd get the teensiest of scrapes on the playground, it would turn angry red and blistery, instead of healing in a few days like normal.  None of the multiple prescription treatments have done a thing, not the 4 different courses of antibiotics, or the 5 different creams, or steroids, antiseptic baths, nothing.  Then, the rash attacked with a vengeance two weekends ago, sending us to the ER with huge open sores and blisters on a very swollen ankle.

From the ER, eventually we ended up being seen by the head of dermatology at the university teaching hospital, who diagnosed him with Linear IgA.  Nope, I've never heard of it either, and neither have any of the EIGHT other doctors who've examined Little Man since April.  In fact, try googling it.  All you'll get are technical pathologies and reports of medical studies, written for medical professional and practically unintelligible to us commoners.  It doesn't even have an entry in the WebMD or MayoClinic websites!  They see about 2-3 cases a year in Britain.  If we're understanding our doctor correctly, it's an autoimmune disease in which his immune system attacks the antibodies that would normally heal the skin, and creates blisters on the bottom layer of the epidermis, which then bubble up to the surface of the skin in little itchy spots, which then get infected quite easily and turn into big sores.  And when a small scratch or abrasion occurs, instead of the antibodies healing the scratch, they actually get attacked themselves, and make it worse.  Humph.

Thankfully, it's very treatable; already in the week since the diagnosis and new meds, Little Man's ankle is mostly healed and the rash is fading all over his body.  He has to go in next week for more testing.  Please pray for him and for me, as this will include biopsies and bloodwork, and you know I'm not good with that stuff.  In the meantime, it's quite a regimen we've got going on at our house - changing dressings twice a day, antiseptic baths, and a set of tight underclothes made of medical gauze that he has to wear under his clothes 24/7 to keep his skin from being irritated and the cream from rubbing off before it absorbs.  Thankfully, he loves the underclothes, which he calls his superhero suit.  We've decided to encourage that attitude, and bought a Superman patch to stitch onto the shirts, and a friend is making him a cape.  :)

This disease usually goes into remission in kids with the right treatment, but takes an average of 2 years to do so.  So we're in for a long haul, and would really appreciate your prayers for our family, that we all adjust to it well, and that Little Man doesn't get a complex from having to wear special clothes and having spots all over his skin.  That's my biggest worry, really, that he'll be miserable at school from teasing if the kids are insensitive about it.

On the other hand, as I've always said, God doesn't waste any experience.  And my own experience of dealing with childhood epilepsy until I was 12ish seems to be geting put to good use now for the sake of my child.  I know what it's like to have a long-term condition as a kid, and to have to take medicine every day, and get poked and prodded and tested by strangers in white lab coats.  Hospitals are familiar places to me, so they don't stress me out, which goes a long way toward keeping Little Man calm (and Big Man  too, for that matter!).  And, I've learned firsthand how to push the system, gracefully but firmly, to get the most thorough care for my kid.

And, not wanting to open a debate about health care funding, I will just say this: we're SO thankful that this is happening here in England, where we don't have to worry about the cost of trips to the ER and multiple doctor's visits, and batteries of tests that might top out our insurance premiums, and literally dozens of prescriptions now, which have all been absolutely free.  The bottom line: we're counting our blessings!

A few more things to be thankful for?

1. It's not contagious!  
2. The itching has subsided.
3. With the right meds to stop the itch, we're all sleeping through the night again!
4. Little Man is SO good at being examined.
5. It seems to be a relatively mild case, so far.
6. Our jobs give us plenty of flexibility for appointments and staying home with a miserable kiddo.
7. We have the most cheerful child anyone could ask for, in spite of the pain and intense itching.

What are YOU thankful for today?

New Life of Another Kind

A few weeks ago, Little Man did something life-changing, but it's been crazy enough around our house that I haven't had time to post about it until now.  One Saturday morning, we were getting ready to go to church for a family fun day.  Big Man had gone ahead early to set up, so I was doing my level best to get us out the door unaided by Daddy, who excels at that.  Sitting at my mirror, doing my makeup, I heard Little Man say, "This reminds me of Jesus on the cross."

I looked over and he was holding my prayer beads, and referring to the crucifix at the end.  (These are beads I made long ago in Sunday School class at Trinity, and they hang on my closet door handle.)  Not wanting to waste an opportunity to reinforce his basic understanding of Christ, I asked Little Man, "Do you remember why Jesus died on the cross?"  He said, "Yes, because people were mad at him, so they killed him."  I responded with, "True, but did he stay dead?"  He said, "Of course not, Mommy!  He is God, after all."  :)

We talked a little bit more, and I made a point of saying that Jesus had died for him, as well as for everyone else in the world.  Then I reminded him that a couple weeks earlier, his cousin had prayed to ask Jesus into her heart.  I told him that meant Jesus lived with Cousin now, and would help her to love Him more and more, and that she would always be Jesus' friend now, and that He had forgiven her for all the naughty things she had ever done, and would help her not to be naughty.  He seemed to get it, with the sharp insight of a child.

Finally, I told him that he could think about it for a little while, and that if he ever wanted to do the same thing as Cousin, and ask Jesus into his heart, then Mommy or Daddy would love to help him pray.  I thought that would be the end of it for now, as Little Man thinks about things and remembers them, and holds on to them for weeks and weeks at a time, sometime.  And I could see the wheels turning in his little mind as we talked through all of that.  I honestly thought we'd reached the end of his attention span, and was prepared to come back to it at a later opportunity.

But, like a lightning bolt of blessing, the next words out of his mouth were, "Now, Mommy, I want to pray right now!"  Of course, I got all tingly, and right there in our bedroom, I led Little Man in prayer.  After we were done praying, we left the house to go to church, where he ran to tell Daddy right away, and then Auntie Lena and Pastor Trevor and his friends Masha and James.

It was one of the greatest moments of my motherhood so far, the culmination of his baptism as an infant. I had prayed and prayed that Little Man would accept the saving grace of Jesus early on in life.  Now begins the joy of learning with each other how to live into this new life!

"Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; 

for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs."

New Life

I had an amazing privilege this week.  One of our MA students here at NTC is a woman from Swaziland.  She left behind 2 toddlers and her husband to travel 6,000 miles to begin her journey toward a PhD.  A couple of months after arriving in Manchester last Autumn, she discovered she was pregnant.  Can you imagine what her year has been like??!!!  I might just have packed up and gone home, but Momma is some kinda strong, let me tell you!  Well, we've tried to do all we can through the year to support her, most of us fretting over her, while she remained serene and calm, and completely trusting in God's plans and timing.  It's been humbling to say the least.

And this week, Baby Girl arrived.  She was born at 5:05 p.m. on the 5th of the 5th month (truth IS stranger than fiction!).  She is beautiful, peaceful (hardly cries at all), and, are you ready for this?  I was there when she was born!!!!  Momma asked me to be one of her birth partners, along with one of her roommates.  I was so thrilled to be with her, literally holding her in my arms as she pushed the baby out.  I am so in awe of her childbirthing ability--Momma could give lessons, let me tell you!!  I've been so blessed by the experience, and thank God for the gift.

Though he's not too impressed that Baby Girl can't even play with toys, Little Man thinks we need a baby of our own.  Ahem.  :)  The morning after Baby Girl was born, Big Man and I were getting dressed, when we realised Little Man had been very, very quiet downstairs for a long time, which usually means trouble.  It usually means he's gotten into the kitchen cupboard and found the candy.  :)  We called him upstairs (rather too sternly, as it turned out), and he came in with something hidden behind his back.  According to the pattern of previous behaviour, it should have been the illicit candy.  Instead, it was a construction paper card, made with love for Baby Girl.  We melted.

A sweet-smelling newborn, an endearing son, and a fiercely strong, new Momma - these are the gifts of my week.

Still Here

So, life has been pretty busy in the last weeks, and I just haven't felt like stopping to reflect in writing.  But, we've been to Italy on holiday, been refreshed by time there with my two best friends and their husbands, and now we're winding down to the last week of term next week, which on our campus, is always invigorating in a sun's-peeking-out, let's-play-frisbee-on-the-lawn, excited-for-graduands kind of way.

In front of the Colosseum

A picture of Mommy by Little Man

Me and my 2 BFFs

I've been reflecting on how a person can become so weary that it shows in their daily appearance.  I didn't realise that had happened to me, until I came back from Italy.  Since returning, I have had almost a dozen people exclaim over how much better I look!  Now, I admit that I was tired before our holiday.  And I know that I got a little cheerful colour on my face whilst under the Tuscan sun.  And I'm happy that people are happy for me that I got some rest.  But after about the 5th person who says, "You look so much better!", I begin to wonder, did I really look that bad before??!!!

I don't take myself seriously enough to be offended by those comments, but it has caused me to stop and think.  Apparently, we can become so used to exhaustion that we don't even register its effects on our own bodies, but those who love us notice and worry.  Surely it can't be a good thing to be so disconnected from one's own appearance and general health.  I've known since I was 14 that I carry stress in my neck and shoulders.  But now that I know I carry it in my face, too, I'm asking God to help me be gentler to myself.

On a lighter note, Little Man came home from school today with a drawing on his forehead.  He and his Best Mate had decorated each other.  Here's the interesting bit: Best Mate drew a cross on Little Man and Little Man drew a PowerRanger on Best Mate.  I'm choosing to believe their choices of drawings were reflections of what they know about each other.  :D

And just to prove

to myself that life isn't all about being sick these days, I'm posting some visual cheer from life in recent weeks.

Seed onions at the Poynton Potato Fair.

Little Man wondering why there are sooooo many potatoes!

Haggis at the NTC Scottish Night.  Yum!

My two loves, on our dinner date to the Hogshead.

All the lovely people we work with at NTC, on the Faculty/Staff Away Day

Riding the steam train at the Museum of Science and Industry

Enough is enough!

We're now on the third straight week of someone in our family being sick: we've experimented with chest infection, stomach flu, and lingering cold. And after the previous round of illnesses in early December (swine flu and stomach flu), I've had enough! I'm grateful that my chest infection didn't turn into bronchitis like it did last year at this time, but I'm sick of being sick!

We've done all the things we can to stem the tide of illnesses. We've all been on vitamin supplements for the last year (multi, C, echinacea, zinc), and been diligent about getting sleep, and we've loved growing our own fresh veg, and getting plenty of great nutrition. But to no avail. The Status Cloud application on my Facebook page revealed that 'sick' is one of the 30 most common words in my Facebook status updates over the last year. Grr.

A chance comment by a friend has got me thinking. He wondered aloud if the damp climate here in Manchester has been affecting our immune systems. Could it be that I've lost my wet-weather stamina from growing up in Portland?? Perish the thought!! Though now that I think of it, our susceptibility to colds did seem to improve markedly in our last flat after we started fighting the damp with moisture absorption gadgets in our windows. However, this new house doesn't have any signs of moisture problems, so what gives? Humph.

I'm so thankful for good doctors and meds (neither of which we have to pay for!), and for jobs with generous flexibility for sick days and even the ability to take time off to care for Little Man without penalty. I'm thankful for friends who have done absolutely anything we needed to help when we've been under the weather - run to the store, take Little Man for an afternoon, cook us meals. I'm thankful for Skype, which has allowed us to call our parents for comfort and advice and prayer at any time of the day or night. I'm thankful that all of these bouts have been uncomfortable and annoying rather than life-threatening.

I have a lot to be thankful for, but I'm still ready to be done with this! Sigh.

Almost two months have flown by since my last post.  Lots and lots of things have happened, as one might expect when those two months are December and January.  ('One' creeps into one's vocabulary when one lives in England!)  Since there is so much to catch you up on, it seems the best way to do it is with pictures.

Christmas and New Year were full of friends and food and parties, and sadly lacking in far-away family.

 

We managed a lovely Christmas tree, with homemade decorations

 

There was a whole evening of fun in the making of them, too!

I went to Cambridge with some fellow Old Testament enthusiasts for the winter meeting of the Society for Old Testament Studies.  I was excited to reunite with two classmates from seminary, Kevin and Matt, who are also PhD students here at NTC, but live in the U.S. and come over for research trips.  We had a great time at the conference, met loads of interesting scholars, heard some stimulating papers, and even had a few hours to wander around Cambridge.

 

Kevin, Moi, and Joseph on a bridge over the River Cam.

 

Matt, Joseph, and Kevin in front of 'Cafe Naz' in Cambridge.

A lovely fence at a lovely Cambridge college

Lots and lots of church events have happened, of course, and this is a pic from our Family Christmas Festival. 

 

Just call me Mrs. Clause!  :)

Manchester had a looooooooot of snow over Christmas and New Year, and we had a loooooooooooot of fun with that:

The stunning tree in the back garden at NTC

 

Little Man and his beloved Masha, taking pure delight in the frozen wonderland

Mommy getting in on the fun

Little Man has started Reception at his new school (the British equivalent of Kindergarten).  He has settled into the new routine very well, leaving on the back of Daddy's bike at 8:45 in the morning, and returning at 3:30 in the afternoon.  He plays at Masha's house until Big Man and I are done with work at 5, and we all walk home together.  We don't have any pictures of him in his new uniform right now, but soon, I promise.  The second day of school, as I was getting him dressed in the morning, he said, out of the blue, "Now Mommy, today I promise not to run on the tables."  !!  After I picked up my jaw from the floor, I said, "What??"  He said, "Well, it was just an accident."  Ah, the innocence of youth...

Guess that's enough for now.  An episode of Big Bang Theory is waiting...