Wednesday, 30 October 2013

How not to do mission.

Select your location with care. About 2/3rds of the way up a narrow steeply sloping footpath is probably ideal. People are bound to need to pause and catch breath, after all. 

Select your targets with equal care. That convoy of three adults with four children in wheelchairs are ideal. They won't mind at all if you jump in front of them as they puff their way up the hill - see point one above, re: needing to pause for breath. 

Pick your moment. If you notice the group has waved you off for a minute, don't be put off. Step in front of them again. Speak loudly in order to be heard over the strangely insistent alarm sounding from the machine attached to one of the children. Don't be put off by the frantic rummaging through medical looking kit, the odd colour of the child with the machines attached, and the slightly stressed look of the adults as they appear to be telling the child to breathe. Who knows, this could be that child's last opportunity to hear the Good News? 


I admire your determination to share the word against all the odds. But here's a thought:  

You saw us. You watched us, you stepped in front of us, making our way harder. Perhaps another time you could come alongside, even offer to help push. Meet us where we are, see to the most pressing need. 

A bit of physical exertion on your part would have given you the opportunity to talk to us far more naturally. And instead of having a little prepared card to read from, you might have been blessed by an actual real conversation. Of course, that conversation would have shown you that half of us were already pretty familiar with the Good News of Christ (and the other half equally secure in their own pre messianic faith), but it might have been an interesting conversation nevertheless. And we'd definitely have been thankful for your help. 

Please, guys, open your eyes. At the risk of sounding a little clich├ęd, what would Jesus do? I'm pretty sure He wouldn't have been making a difficult situation worse. 

You ran away pretty quickly when we suggested now was possibly not the best time. Thank you for not pressing the point, but again, if you'd looked at the whole situation and not just your memory card, perhaps you might have thought to offer help? We didn't need an ambulance, but offering to call one - or to clear a path through the crowds to a quieter spot - might once again have given you an opportunity to share your news, whilst also giving you the opportunity to serve. Actions speak volumes. 

I'm sure you won't read this, so instead I'll shout out a big thank you to those Street Pastors we know both locally and further afield, who take the opportunity to be Jesus to the people they meet, in order that those people might see Jesus in them. It's probably a bit messier than throwing yourself under a passing wheelchair convoy clutching a little script. But it's almost certainly more effective. 

Tia

Sunday, 20 October 2013

The good, the bad, and the ugly.

Apparently in irreversible reverse order. Thanks, blogger. 

Here's the ugly. 
What is it? 
It appeared in our fish tank yesterday. No new plants or other additions for the past 6 weeks. And yet it was suddenly sitting on the log. I'm assuming its been lurking somewhere growing gently, but that still doesn't answer the what is it? 

The bad
From three snails came three hundred. Anyone want some water snails? What do we do with them? 

And the good. 

A long time ago, we relieved friends of twelve guppies from their seriously crowded tank. 
The guppies slowly faded away, aided by the addition of new fish which promptly went belly-up, until we were left with three hardy specimens, all apparently male. 

Last night I noticed one of them was seriously vast, and either badly constipated or deeply pregnant. Making mental notes to dig out the nursery net, I went to bed. 

 And this morning, lots of babies! 

So I'm guessing conditions in the tank are finally sufficient to support growth, which is excellent. But is the alien insect thing going to eat all the fry? 

Tia

Wednesday, 16 October 2013

More Loving

The postman called again today. A big parcel for the Little Princess this time. 

Patiently, I waited until she got home from school and let her do the opening herself. 

And what can I say? It's beautiful. So much work, so much love. Benjamin approves too! 

Thank you so much to everyone who stitched and quilted and sorted. One very happy girl keen to try it out tonight. Thank you http://www.lovequiltsuk.com. 

Tia



Sunday, 13 October 2013

When I'm not blogging.

I'm a little busy. 

Mog's out of school, currently attending for two short days a week. She's a bit better than she has been, but we're waiting for an ENT appointment. 

TLP's in school full time, and has collected friends around her, meaning that our house seems to have become pre-teen central. There's a constant stream of glue and glitter, music and chatter, cake making and sweet munching and sticky orange squash everywhere. 

And when I'm not running Mog places or sorting seizures or meeting friends, I've been a little busy with the sewing machine. Very satisfying. But the weeks have been shrinking. 


Fun at the fair

Ask tLP, and she rode six rollercoasters, ate all the food in all the stores, and won every game there was. 

Further questioning may elicit the admission that riding the snail on the galloping horses merry-go-round might just have been more like it. 

Mog was happy this year to watch and listen, but still enjoyed being a part of it all. 

No goldfish here, but one rather fabulous purple grape-scented bouncing ball. Which bounced beautifully for the rest of the evening, and bounced beautifully all of the next day. It bounced around the sitting room, releasing scent and causing much squealing. 

"Don't take it outside," I said. It went outside. "keep it on the grass," I said, "It will burst if it hits anything else. It's an inside ball really."

Two minutes later, two sad girls handed me a pile of purple plastic. "I told you so," I didn't say. And that was the end of the fair for this year. 

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